“Nobody’s going to tag Kendall. She’s not the drunk celebrity,” my dad points out, “and her back is to the camera most of the time. I assumed it was her based on the totality of the circumstances.”
A tiny fraction of the pain in my chest subsides. He’s probably right. Whoever took the video—it had to be Becca or her friend—wouldn’t know Kendall’s last name or be concerned about figuring it out. I’m the target. Me. Because I didn’t want to keep up with our charade? I knew she could be manipulative, but this is…fuck. The next brick in the wall of consequences lands heavily in the pit of my stomach, because the opportunity I worked hard for, and won, is no doubt about to be withdrawn thanks to shady revenge tactics from someone I once called a friend. I should be off-the-chain furious, but right now I just find the whole thing sad. “I haven’t seen the video. Until you told me, I didn’t even know there was a video, but I promise you the situation wasn’t what it looks like.”
“Let me put it in focus for you, Vaughn. To your mother and me, it looks like you don’t give a shit about us or what it would do to us if something happened to you,” he says bluntly. “To a random viewer it looks like you got trashed and lost control of your car. In case none of that matters to you, I’ve got one more. To the producers of America Rocks, it looks like a whole lot of risk they don’t need. Risk you have a judgment problem, potentially a substance abuse problem, and a propensity to ignore the law and endanger yourself and others.”
Guilt and an oversized brick of self-pity threaten to pile on, but I deflect these and use the rubble to construct an architecture of truth. “I do give a shit about you and Mom. I lost Andie, too. I felt the pain, too, and I saw what it did to you. I’ve spent years trying to distract you, most of all, from that pain, so do me the favor of knowing me well enough to believe I wouldn’t throw everything away intentionally. I did drink too much that night, but I didn’t get behind the wheel. I went for a walk. Bec…” Right now I want to rat her ass out so bad, but there’s no point. Her word against mine, unless I drag Kendall into it. And I won’t. “Someone else decided to go to a club, took my keys without my permission, and made it as far as the end of the driveway, nearly running Kendall and me over in the process. I would have ended the night in a body bag if not for Kendall, because the person driving my car didn’t—”
“Was it Dylan?” my dad asks, with a real crack in his voice. “I know it’s not Matt, and I’d give Dylan more credit, but that kid has a reckless side.”
“Not Dylan. Not Matt.” I look around to confirm nobody’s paying attention to my end of this conversation. “It was Becca,” I relent. “Either Becca or her friend recorded and uploaded the video. Perfect timing to wreck my career, because Nigel called me less than fifteen minutes ago to tell me I had the job.”
An extended, presumably shocked silence greets my revelation. Finally, my father clears his throat. “Why would she do this?”
“Jealousy? Spite? Because I told her it was time for us both to move on.”
“I thought she understood how this business works.”
A flight attendant catches my eye and signals for me to end my call.
I nod. “Dad, this business involves people, not chess pieces. When you manipulate them to further your own ambitions, can you really act surprised when they turn on you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe not. Perhaps I’m guilty of tunnel vision where you’re concerned, but it doesn’t change the fact that you earned the hosting job. This bullshit bad press doesn’t have to cost you your shot. We just need to get ahead of the scandal and overtake it with our narrative before it has a chance to do any damage. I’ll place a call to Nigel to explain everything and convince him to give us twenty-four hours to resolve this to their satisfaction. The video doesn’t show you driving—or even in the vehicle—so he should be able to grant us that much. Hell, we can accomplish a lot of damage control in half that time. An interview with a major media outlet—Kit from Access Live will jump all over this. You tell the real story. Kendall will corroborate, and…”
I feel his fervor through the phone, and it’s so fucking tempting to grab the lifeline he’s holding out to me, but… “I can’t.”
“What?”
Just saying the words calms my racing pulse to a steady, purposeful rate. The flight attendant returns, and this time she’s not fooling around. Me and another asshole in the row ahead of me are getting serious stink eye. “I can’t do anything about this right now. I’m sitting on a plane about to pull away from the gate, talking to you on borrowed time. Once I hang up I’m out of the loop for at least twenty-four hours.”
“Get off the plane. Whatever you’ve booked, this is more important.”
“No.” The certainty calcifies in my bones. “Kendall needs me. She didn’t plan it, and she didn’t ask me to be there for her, but she needs me right now, and I’m not going to let her down, because I…” The words “I’m in love with her” nearly tumble out, but I bite them back, because Kendall deserves them first. “I’ve got to go, Dad.”
“Wait.” I hear his long exhale, followed by a silent moment while he struggles to choose the right words. “Being there for Kendall is more important to you than fighting for America Rocks?”
“Yes.”
Silence.
Another deep breath follows, and I imagine him loosening the knot in his tie. “All right. I understand. It’s your call. Do what you need to do.”
He’s letting me make this choice—not that he has any other option unless he can teleport me off a plane—but still. Progress.
I disconnect and switch my phone to airplane mode. The flight attendant starts her safety spiel. I close my eyes, exhale slowly, and release my grip on the goal I held in my hand for a whole fucking minute.
The plane backs away from the terminal, and it’s like I’m backing away from my dream. At this very moment, though, there’s something—make that someone—more important than a job. Nigel said as much. He told me there are some things more important than America Rocks, and I’m onto one of them. Kendall. She matters, because I’m in love with her. She’s my priority.
I hope to God I can convince her I should be hers.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Kendall
Early Monday night the doorbell rings. Mom is wrist deep in homemade pizza dough while I shred cheese so I quickly wipe my hands with a paper towel and go to answer it. Swinging the door wide, I can’t believe my eyes.
“Vaughn?”
He lifts his aviator sunglasses to his forehead. “Hi.” He smiles next, making my pulse trip over itself.
I lean against the edge of the door for support. “What are you doing here?” Now I know why I hadn’t heard from him. He was flying the friendly skies and no doubt making all the flight attendants’ and passengers’ day from his mere presence.
“I thought maybe you could use some extra support at the funeral tomorrow.”
Wow. This is one of those surprise moments life has up her sleeve that I’m both happy and confused over. Despite the uncertainty between us, Vaughn is here, standing two feet in front of me, offering his support. He didn’t have to be here. Not at all, yet he chose to be. This is better than the “I’m just a boy standing in front of a girl…” Notting Hill moment. This is a supreme gesture, one that presses pause on our debatable relationship.
Does this make my decision about where or if he fits in my life more difficult? Heck yes. But deep down, I’m bowled over by his concern and thrilled to see him.
Something of my inner monologue must show on my face because his smile falters.
“I should have checked with you first.” He takes a backward step, adjusting the duffel bag hanging off his shoulder.
“What? No.” Now that he’s here, a greedy part of me insists on clinging. I lunge at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my face to the crook of his neck. His scent is familiar. Soothing. I breathe it in like I’m oxygen starved. “Thank you. Thank you for coming a
ll this way.” This will probably make a final good-bye even more painful, but I’ll deal with the fallout later. The fact that he’s made a gesture like this overwhelms me to the point that I’m incapable of gathering a single defense.
He tucks a finger under my chin to lift my face to his. The soft kiss he presses to my lips makes my legs weak. “I had to come. I couldn’t stand not being here for you.”
“How did you know where I live?”
“Dixie hooked me up with your address. Then she told me she’d have my balls if I so much as blinked at you the wrong way while you were dealing with Mason’s death. I think she’s starting to take her sister status a little more seriously.”
“Maybe so.” I take his hand. “Come inside. My mom and I are cooking. I’ll introduce you.”
“I should warn you right now, moms love me.”
I roll my eyes but inwardly smile. I close the door behind him, put his bag on the hardwood floor next to the entry table, and note he’s dressed a little less casual than usual with a light green collared button-down that turns his eyes emerald. “I’m pretty sure everyone loves you,” I say over my shoulder.
Something flashes across his face, but as soon as it’s there it’s gone. He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, thinking better of it, I guess. And proving that while we can tease each other, our situation is also fraught. Right now it’s too easy to say the wrong thing. We arrive at the kitchen just as Mom calls out, “Who was at the door?”
“Mom, this is Vaughn. Vaughn, my mom, Sherry.”
Her eyes bug out of her head when she looks at him. I’m not sure if it’s because of the things I’ve told her about him or because she’s surprised. Probably a combination of both.
“Hello,” he says. He starts to extend his hand then notes her hands are full of flour as she rolls out the pizza dough and drops his arm. “It’s a pleasure to meet the mom of one of my favorite people.”
“The pleasure’s mine.” Mom takes the two of us in before settling a questioning gaze on me.
“Vaughn came for Mason’s funeral.”
“For Kendall,” he corrects, and sends me a patient look. “I know tomorrow is going to be tough.”
Mom washes her hands at the sink and shoots me a look that says, He’s a keeper.
She misses my, Yeah, but I can’t keep him, look because she wipes her palms down her apron then steps toward Vaughn and hugs him. “Thank you.” She pulls back. “That means a lot. We’re making pizza for dinner. Would you like to stay?”
“I would.”
Jeez. Slow down there, Mom. Dinner with the family puts me in more danger. It means my mom and dad will get to know Vaughn directly. And vice versa. Stories will be swapped. Laughs shared. It’s one thing for my parents to hear about Vaughn from me, where I own the flow of information. Quite another for them to bypass me and form their own bonds. I try to catch my mom’s eye before this spirals further out of my control, but there’s no stopping her when she’s in Mom mode.
“Where are you staying tonight?” she asks, resuming cooking duties while unknowingly sending my pulse into a tailspin.
“I thought I’d grab a room at the nearest hotel.”
“Nonsense. You’ll stay here. I’ll make up the guest room.”
Vaughn laces our fingers together. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
And now things are definitely, irretrievably beyond my control.
The hand holding does not go unnoticed by Mom. “How are you at slicing tomatoes?” she asks the guy currently in possession of more than my hand.
“Umm…”
I glance at him and out of nowhere, I laugh. Only my mom would look at Vaughn Shaughnessy and think, “Sure, he’s easy on the eyes, but can he slice tomatoes?”
“Vaughn’s more of a takeout kind of guy.” I release his hand and slip around the counter to get back to grating cheese.
“Today he’s the tomato guy. Come on, I’ll demonstrate.”
It’s surreal standing in the kitchen of the house I grew up in with my mom and Vaughn and talking and laughing while we make pizza. I sneak peeks at him constantly, admiring the quick, genuine smiles he offers my mom as she not-so-subtly pumps him for personal deets.
“Kendall tells me you live next door to Jack and Sally. Did you grow up in Los Angeles?”
“Born and raised.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“Mom.”
“It’s okay,” Vaughn says, finished slicing the tomatoes. “I had a sister, but she passed away several years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.” Mom touches his arm in comfort.
“Thank you.” A beat of silence passes. “How about you? I’m not sure which side of the family Aunt Sally is on?”
Mom grins and launches into our family tree. I’d like to hide behind a giant oak right about now, but I grin, too, and bear it. Thankfully, our tree isn’t all that big, and he’s already met almost half of it. Mom puts two pizzas in the oven just as my dad walks into the room.
I make introductions, and then, since Mom has a green salad ready to go, the four of us sit down at the table to start eating.
Dad doesn’t waste any time getting to the bottom of my relationship with Vaughn. “I take it you and Kendall have gotten to know each other well.” It’s a fair question considering I’ve never told anyone outside of family and Brit about the accident and Mason.
“Vaughn’s been a true friend.” I don’t need my dad to know exactly how deeply we’re involved.
“She’s been a better one,” Vaughn says easily, going along with my friendship description.
Dad gives a nod of acknowledgment. “Did you talk to any of your old classmates today?” he asks me. “Jim Baker’s daughter is starting law school in the fall, too, you know.”
“I did not know.”
“You two should touch base before school starts.”
I run my fork through my salad. “Maybe.”
“Kendall is going to make an incredible attorney one day,” Dad tells Vaughn.
“I’ve no doubt she’ll be incredible at anything she chooses to do,” he says. His eyes bounce from my dad to me. Hold. They’re saying everything he respectfully won’t say out loud. Choose what you love.
Sometimes that isn’t an option. What is that saying? Do what you have to do until you can do what you want to do.
Whatever decision I ultimately make about my career, with Mason’s funeral tomorrow, I’m too emotional to think too deeply about it now.
Mom pulls the pizzas out of the oven. I’m grateful we polish them off over simple conversation. When finished, Vaughn and I do the dishes. I show him the guest bedroom and bath. While he’s brushing his teeth or whatever, Mom corners me in the hallway.
“I won’t bug you for all the details now, but I need the whole scoop after he leaves.”
“I’ve told you—”
“Don’t even,” she interrupts with a wave of her hand. “I can see the way you two look at each other, and I’ve heard the sound of your voice for weeks when you’ve talked about him on the phone. You two are in love.”
“What? No we’re not.”
“Do not lie to me, Kendall Hewitt.”
I rest against the wall with a sigh. Oh my freaking God. That can’t be true, can it? “You think he loves me?”
“He flew all the way here to be with you, sweetie. What do you think?”
“I think our lives are going in completely different directions.”
“That may be true, but ask yourself this: is your life going in the direction of your dreams? You gave up one dream after the accident. I’d hate to see you settle for something that means more to your dad than you.”
I’m floored by her intuition, even though I probably shouldn’t be. I can’t hide things from her like I do my dad. She’s always seen right through me. “I don’t want to disappoint him.”
“He could never be disappointed in you.”
But he could. After the accident, wh
en he took care of all the legalities on my behalf, I overheard him use those exact words with his law partner. I’d let him down, and if it had been anyone else in the car with me, things could have gone very differently. Carrie and Brian didn’t push the district attorney for a harsh sentence—a big saving grace for my father’s efforts to shield me from maximum penalties.
The guest bedroom door opens and Vaughn steps out.
I abruptly lift away from the wall. “Hey. Want to watch a movie?” I ask him. It’s the first thing to come to my mind.
“Sounds good.”
“Good night, you two,” Mom says with a smile. “Breakfast is at eight. We’ll leave for Mason’s service at nine.”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say.
“Thank you again for having me,” Vaughn adds.
As soon as Mom rounds the corner, Vaughn scoops me into his arms. He holds me for a long time, his chin on top of my head, his hand rubbing up and down my back.
“I can hear you thinking, Kendall. Stop worrying. Stop feeling like you have to draw a line so we both understand the boundaries. I’m here because I wanted to be with you. That’s all we have to say. For now.”
There’s a big conversation hidden in those two little words, so “for now” I’m going to tiptoe around them, but still speak from my heart. “I’m really glad you’re here,” I say into his shoulder.
“I am, too. Your mom makes the best damn pizza ever.”
I manage a smile. He’s trying so hard to lighten the seriousness of the situation. I still can’t believe he hopped on a plane to be with me for the funeral. His flight back to L.A. is in the afternoon. He’s traveled all this way for less than twenty-four hours because he cares about me.
And if you truly care about him, you’ll cut him a clean break before he gets back on that plane.
“If you think her pizza is yummy, you should try her spaghetti and meatballs.”
“Anytime,” he replies, and I realize my attempt to keep the mood light came out like an invitation, or at least a possibility. “Vaughn, I didn’t mean—”
Promise Me Page 26