Wherever It Leads (34 page)

“I hope.” Her voice breaks. “Just pray, sweetheart.”

“I pray all the time.” A door bangs closed and I wheel around. Fenton is gone. It’s unlike him to walk away like that and to nearly slam the door is odd. I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong with him too.

“Is everything okay?” Mom asks. “I can hear the stress in your voice, honey. I know you’ve been put on the back burner so much with this whole thing and I feel terrible about that. I just can’t—”

“Mom. No. Don’t worry about me.”

“Of course I do. You’re my daughter.”

I smile. “I am. Now go take care of my dad and tell Aunt Donna hi. I have some things I need to do today, okay?”

“I will. I love you, too, Brynne.”

“Love you, Mom.”

Clicking the phone off, I hold it to my chest and try to get myself together. Taking a few cleansing breaths, I head to the door and knock gently.

“Yeah?”

“Can I come in?”

“Of course,” he says.

I open the door and step inside. He’s standing over his briefcase and I hear it click as the door shuts behind me. He turns to face me, his features creased.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Did something happen?”

He shakes his head warily. “I’m fine. How are you, rudo?”

“That was my mother,” I say finally. “More bad news from Africa.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice gruff.

“There’s been an increase in chatter from Nekuti.”

He studies me for a long minute. “Don’t panic. It could mean a million different things.”

I pace across the room, not having a destination in mind, but needing to move. To think. “I suppose, but right after the video? I really have a bad feeling. They said in the video they would be making demands, which we know the government won’t do anything about. What if . . .” My voice cracks.

I look at Fenton, dressed for the day we had planned. He’s in jeans, sneakers, and a plain grey t-shirt that matches his eyes. He could have walked straight off the pages of a magazine, all casual sophistication. Yet the look on his face tells a completely different story, one I’m not sure about.

“You can ‘what if‘ yourself till the cows come home, Brynne,” he gulps. “The fact is, you can play those games and never know anything for sure. You just have to believe the best.”

Fenton starts to turn away but pauses, seemingly torn about what to do. I can’t offer him any advice because I don’t know what to do with myself. I just watch the uneasiness, the apprehension, wash over his face before he gives a subtle nod and turns away.

He leaves the room and I watch him walk into his office on the other side of the living room, a room I was in only briefly this morning. I hear a few drawers slide open and shut, keys jingling, before he marches back into the master. His hands are to his side, his fists closed. His features are on lockdown and I can’t read what he’s thinking.

He makes a beeline for me like a man on a mission, stopping a few steps in front of me.

“I want you to have this,” he breathes, extending a hand towards me and dropping a bundle of metal into my hand.

Holding it in my palm, I pick it up with the other. It falls, a delicate gold chain with the head of an elephant on the end. It’s small, so small I can’t imagine crafting the intricate design. It’s smooth and cool, and when I look up to Fenton, I see he’s holding his breath.

“Fenton?”

He forces a swallow, his brows pulling together. “It was my mother’s.”

Gasping, my hand trembles. “I can’t take this.” I try to put it back in his hand, but he steps back and out of reach. “Fenton, I can’t take this. It’s beautiful and I’m honored you’d want to give it to me, but I can’t. Really . . .”

“I want you to have it.”

“But why?”

He looks at the floor, his sneakers shuffling around before he speaks. “Elephants represent strength and loyalty. My mother would wear that necklace before she would go into a meeting and was unsure about the outcome or when she felt beaten down by the world. She would touch the emblem and say it reminded her to be loyal to what she believed in. I actually kept that in my pocket for a few months after she passed away.” His eyes shine as he draws them to mine. “And I want you to have it.”

I close the distance between us quickly and wrap my arms around his waist, the necklace secured safely in my hand. There’s so much I want to say, but the lump in my throat keeps all words away. We just stand in the middle of the room and hold each other, in a way, letting each other know we’re here together. That right now, liking each other is enough.

By the time I pull away, something has passed between us and when I look at him again, he’s still the handsome cashmere I know him to be, but he’s something else. Something deeper, something more intimate, something more . . . important.

My throat feels parched as I realize what this feeling is.
Love.
I love him.

I’ve known it was possible to love Fenton for a long time. Even though I haven’t given myself permission to feel it, I’m there. It’s an overwhelming, breathtaking moment, and I know now that I’ve never been in love before. Not like this.

He makes me happy, gives me hope, makes me feel protected. We have undeniable chemistry and being with him is the easiest thing in the world. He’s handsome and smart and sexy and kind.

And I love him.

“You okay, rudo?” he asks, his voice soft.

“I don’t think I can accept this,” I say again, watching the light reflect off the gold in my hand, still reeling from my realization.

“I want you to have it. Please.”

“Are you sure? It was your
mother’s
.”

“It was. And she would have loved you.”

I grin shyly. “You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. She’d like that you keep me in my place and she’d like your heart. She’d like that you make me think about things. She always said that if what you’re doing is easy, it’s not worth doing. And I think . . . I think I fell into that trap a little bit and you’re forcing me out.”

“Well, I won’t let you take the easy road,” I joke.

“I’m sure.” He steps behind me and lifts the necklace out of my hand. He lays the charm on my chest and brings the chain to the back of my neck. His fingertips sweep the hair off the back of my neck, my skin breaking out into goose bumps at the contact. He fastens the piece of jewelry and moves to face me again. “It’s perfect.”

“Are you absolutely sure?”

He nods, his gaze glued to the elephant. “I’m absolutely sure. It’s right where it belongs. When you get scared or nervous or start losing your faith, I want you to touch it and remember to be loyal to what you believe in. And that I believe in you.”

“Okay then. Thank you,” I whisper, blinking back tears.

His lips lower to mine in a soft display of something. What, I’m not sure, I just know it’s not love. Because he doesn’t believe in love. But me? I just fell head over heels.

I
touch my cheeks. They feel hot to the touch and dry against my fingers. I slathered on tons of night cream before coming to bed, but they still feel parched.

We spent the entire day watching a mishmash of local bands perform at an outdoor arena. It was something I’d have done before Brady went missing and I realized how much I’ve missed things like this. The excitement and energy pricked a part of my psyche that has gone untouched for a long time, the distraction that I so desperately needed.

This was living—laughing, holding hands with a good-looking man. Drinking ice cold beer and eating with no care for nutritional value while listening to music I’ve never heard before. It was such a beautiful, brilliant day and exactly what I needed to keep my mind off of my mother’s call earlier.

It seemed like a good idea to give each other a little space and to kind of absorb all the newness to this relationship, a connection I still can’t quite define. It’s love, I’m sure. But a new type of love that needs space to blossom and grow.

Even though I insisted some time apart might be a good thing, Fenton disagreed. Adamantly. He insisted I stay another night with him and it’s very difficult, if not impossible, to tell him no when his mind gets set on something.

After a quick pit stop at my house to get clean clothes and toiletries, we were back at his. After a quick shower, a quick fuck with me sitting on the bathroom countertop, and a pizza delivery and wine, we now lie in bed and listen to the little fountain Fenton turned on in the corner of the bedroom.

The water trickles over rocks, the sound dancing like a dream. My head is on his chest, absorbing the tranquility, when Fenton whips out his phone. He studies it, sweeps his fingers across, and then responds to an email or a text. His brows are pulled together, his message going in fast and hard.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, my curiosity piqued.

He nods, but doesn’t answer me. I just watch him continue to type away, a flutter of movement that seems to go on forever. Finally he seems satisfied, and with one final glance, pops the phone onto the nightstand.

“That was some serious texting,” I point out, not wanting to press but more than a little interested.

“So it was,” he grins, knowing exactly what I’m doing.

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

“It’s work. You wouldn’t care.”

“Lame,” I sigh, rolling my eyes for effect. “You never tell me anything.”

“I tell you everything that has to do with you. I’m not going to bore you with my job.”

“What if I’m interested? What if I want to get to know you better? That’s what we’re supposed to be doing, isn’t it?” I point out.

“Keep asking me questions and I might have to fill your mouth with my cock.”

“I might like that.”

He chuckles, running his hand through my hair. “I had a really good time today.”

“Me too,” I yawn. “It was a lot of fun. Presley and I used to go there a lot last summer.”

“I’ve never been to a concert before.”

“What?” I gasp, watching him laugh at my reaction. “Seriously?”

“Not one. I liked it though. We should do that more often.”

“So, you just decided today we’d go to a concert?”

He grins. “Presley might’ve given me a pointer or two.”

“That worries me.” I feign concern, making his grin grow wider. “She can be a lunatic.”

“I can see that. The first thing she suggested . . .”

I slap my palm to my forehead. “Did it involve anal?”

He bursts into laughter and I sit up, watching his face light up.

“It did, didn’t it? I’m going to kill her.”

“I told her I didn’t think you were ready for that.”

“I’ll never be ready for that,” I laugh. “It’s not my thing.”

“Scaredy cat?”

“Totally. That’s an out. Not an in. I just . . .” I shiver, twisting myself around to lie beside him.

He rolls onto his side and faces me. Like always, his hands drops across my mid-section and I realize it’s his habit. And I know him well enough now to know his habits. That makes me giddy.

“What else scares you?” he asks thoughtfully.

I shrug. “Sexually or in other areas?”

“Either way.”

I consider his question. “I’m scared of snakes. And of dying in dark water,” I reply. “Both things make me want to pass out. When I was a little girl I was sure that quicksand was going to play a bigger role in my life and that stuff still freaks me out.”

“Quicksand? Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously! Have you ever seen Indiana Jones? Brady and I practiced hopping on pillows for weeks after that, just getting ready for the inevitable.”

“You continue to surprise me.”

“Quicksand shouldn’t surprise you. That stuff is dangerous.”

He re-grips my side, his palm pressing harder into my skin. “What else scares you, Brynne?”

A heaviness rolls over my chest, a seriousness that comes out nowhere. It feels right, though, to open up to him. To tell him my fears. To let him see a part of me I don’t let many people see.

“I’m scared of failing. Whether it be at a board game or at school or at life. I just want to do the best I can and always think people will laugh at me if I go for something and it doesn’t work out.”

I look at the ceiling, both afraid he’s already laughing at me and trying to find some inspiration.