“Shh. I know what you meant. We’re letting that be for now, remember?”
I do, and then I don’t, because he leans in, cups my neck, and kisses me. Softly at first, full of tenderness and comfort. But the kiss turns hotter the second he parts his lips, because I slip my tongue inside, lured by the solace, yet immediately swept up in the need. Tonight he tastes like the best Italian dish ever, and I could live off his kisses forever. His hands find my waist. He slants his head to angle my mouth right where he wants it. For several mindless minutes we make out in the hallway, lost to everything but each other. I almost forget I can’t handle being with him in the public eye, and he can’t risk his future on a girl with my past.
Sobering at the thought and the fact that we’re devouring each other in my parents’ home, I pull away.
“Umm…I think I’d better just go to bed.”
He runs his hand over my hair, brushing it back from my face. “It’s going to be okay,” he says before kissing my forehead.
I study the little furrow not normally on his forehead. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Something tells me he’s not, not at all, but he turns before I can question it.
…
A few marshmallow clouds hang in the light blue sky as we stand at Mason’s burial site. White folding chairs are situated in two rows for family members. Beautiful multicolored flower arrangements from the service adorn the short ends of the plot.
It’s my first funeral, and I hate it.
The pretty exterior does nothing to dull my inner pain, but I guess the warm summer day is better than rain.
As some unseen device lowers Mason’s casket into the ground, I cling to a memory of the two of us lying on towels at Big Foot Beach State Park, laughing as we tried to sculpt sand castles that kept collapsing, but really we didn’t care because we were content just hanging out together.
When the casket is released, a whimper slips through my pressed lips. I can’t imagine what his parents are going through right now. Vaughn squeezes my hand. He hasn’t let go of it the entire time we’ve been at the cemetery. He’s kept me standing when more than once I’ve wanted to crawl.
Mom takes my other hand, laces our fingers together. If not for these two people on either side of me, I’m not sure I would have been brave enough to remain here.
Mason’s passing has drawn a huge crowd to pay their condolences. Practically everyone in our small town knows Carrie and Brian, knows what happened that tragic night. Nobody’s blatantly pointing or shooting me dirty looks, but I once again feel like a pariah.
My gaze lands on Sarah standing beside Davis. They got engaged a few weeks ago, and as happy as I am for them, I know we’ll never be friends again. I think that makes me normal. Beside Sarah is Taylor. Taylor was the gossip queen in high school, and judging by the rumors she shared during our brief conversation, still is. Next to her is Willow Baker. Jim’s daughter can’t wait for law school and definitely wants to connect there. I simply nodded in response, grateful when another friend interrupted us in order to meet Vaughn.
I take that back. I’m grateful Vaughn is with me, but not thrilled with the attention he’s garnering. The people my parents’ age aren’t interested in him, but Mason’s and my friends from high school are an entirely different matter. Glancing across the burial site, they’re huddled together and trying to covertly snap pictures of Vaughn with their cell phones. Prior to the service, when I’d made the effort to say hello to everyone, the overwhelming response had been excitement at meeting the guy from the magazine ads and music videos.
This is a funeral. Honoring Mason and expressing sympathy to his family should be top priority. Instead, Vaughn is a distraction I didn’t think about. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I look up and catch Carrie’s eye. As expected, grief pulls at the lines of her face, but what isn’t expected is the irritation. She cuts a glance to mine and Mason’s old friends, then back to me. The message is clear—the twenty-somethings are more interested in Vaughn and my relationship than paying respects to her son. Her displeasure hits me like a punch in the throat.
“Hey,” Vaughn whispers in my ear.
I turn my head to look up at him.
“You all right?”
“I’ve been better.”
He brushes his thumb over my cheek. “Have I mentioned how strong you are? How brave? You’re here today when most people in your shoes probably would have chosen not to attend.”
“Thanks for saying that.”
“It’s the truth.”
As much as I want to forget this day, I won’t. I’ll remember the way Vaughn took my sadness and softened its edges with tenderness. I’ll remember how hard it was to keep my heart closed off when he understood it so well. He knows what it feels like to lose someone, and while my love for Mason and Vaughn’s love for his sister are very different, the experience of loss forms another bond between us.
“You won’t mind if I remind you a few more times, will you?”
“No.” How could I? It’s not lip service. His sincerity is tangible.
The moment the burial concludes, I tune out the rampant whispers from my peers and approach Carrie and Brian to apologize for any disturbance Vaughn and I have caused this morning.
Carrie doesn’t mince words. She asks us to leave. It’s crushing and expected at the same time. I fight back tears when I once again give her my condolences.
My legs shake as I say good-bye to my parents, telling them there’s no need for them to rush. I’ll see Vaughn off and then meet them at home.
“I’m really sorry my being here caused a problem,” Vaughn says. He wraps his arm around me, bringing me close to his side. I hear and feel his misery. It wasn’t his intention to upset anyone. I know that.
I also know I can’t keep doing this. “Me, too,” I say, sorry that when I say good-bye to him this time, I will stand by it for both our sakes.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Vaughn
People mill around in the distance, talking in small groups or slowly making their way to their cars and saying the kinds of things people say at times like this. “Such a beautiful service,” or “He’s at peace now.” Yes, and hopefully, but my guess is funerals are for the living rather than the deceased. I know the person I’m most concerned about is standing right in front of me, looking pale and tired.
I don’t want to add to Kendall’s burden. I didn’t come all this way to cause more stress during one of the most difficult times in her life. I sure as hell didn’t intend to turn a memorial service into a fucking photo op and watch a grieving mother hold Kendall accountable for the bad behavior of grown-ass adults who can’t keep their curiosity in check during a funeral for one of their own. But that’s how it went down, and now the Town Car’s engine idles in time to the seconds ticking off in my mind, reminding me I’m running out of chances to turn “for now” into “for keeps.” Hell, I don’t even know if she’s still coming back to California.
I wrap my arms around her and slowly pull her close until our bodies touch. She doesn’t resist, but she holds herself stiff for a moment, then sighs and relaxes into me. Her arms link around my waist and tighten in a quick, almost desperate hug. “Thank you for being here. I don’t know how I would have made it through without you, but…”
No buts. I tighten my arms when she tries to ease away. “You would have made it through the same way you made it through everything that came before this—with honesty and courage.” Before she can argue I kiss her. A little hard, a little possessive, because I need to make sure she feels the truth of my next words. “But here’s the thing. I want to be with you. Not just for this trying time, but for all the times. It’s kind of a permanent thing. My heart is yours. I need you to know that.”
She pales further, which I didn’t think was possible, and shakes her head. So much for not adding to her stress.
“I don’t… I can’t take it,
Vaughn. As much as I want to, at the end of the day your father was right—”
“My father was out of line. He has been for a long time, and I’ve finally gotten him to wake up to it. We’ve talked. Our relationship has been broken for years and one phone call won’t fix it, but he knows I’m not going to accept things the way they were. I’m taking control of my life and career.”
“He’s just trying to protect you.”
“I don’t need protecting. Not anymore. And never from you.” I pause to let that sink in. “You’re my brave, fierce guardian angel.”
“I’m not.” The denial is instant and breathless. She starts to pull away, then changes her mind, grasps my shoulders, and tries to give me a shake—which is pretty much like a butterfly trying to shake a tree, but I sense her rising panic. “I’m none of those things, because the idea of my past mistakes being splashed around for public consumption terrifies me. Mason’s death doesn’t erase my mistake. It doesn’t protect his parents from the nightmare of seeing their deepest tragedy served up as entertainment, like what happened today. It doesn’t shield you from—”
“I don’t need shielding, but I can do right by you and the people you care about. You would have to trust me to make sure it wasn’t a nightmare. That’s all, Kendall.” I hold her stare, attempting to sway her through sheer force of my will. “Just trust me. Let me be your guardian angel.”
Smooth hands link at the back of my neck. She rises to her tiptoes and slams her mouth against mine, and then holds on like I’m the only solid thing in her world. For a second I think I’ve won, but then I taste her tears on my lips. “I c-can’t,” she whispers when she draws back. “Please don’t text or call. It’s too hard. Good-bye, Vaughn.”
Feeling her move away from me is like relinquishing a limb or a vital organ. It’s oddly soundless, considering how deeply I feel my insides tear. I watch her leave through a haze of pain. I can’t slay this dragon for her. I do understand the stakes. I already paid my own at the hands of the media, and they were pretty fucking steep—I got a text from my agent last night confirming America Rocks rescinded their offer—but I paid that price willingly, because being with the woman I love in her hour of need was more important than fighting to keep a job. It hurts knowing she doesn’t care enough to fight for us, too, but I can’t make her trust me.
The driver coughs into his fist to get my attention. “We need to head out now if you want to make your flight.”
Right. Numbness sets in as I ride to the airport. I’m on autopilot through the terminal and the flight. My body is present and accounted for, but my head’s somewhere else. It’s back in Lake Geneva, standing on a path at a cemetery, replaying the conversation with Kendall and wondering what I could have said, should have said, to convince her we’re worth the risk. Should I have told her I lost the America Rocks job? I didn’t, because she had enough sadness to deal with. She didn’t need mine. Especially when it doesn’t fundamentally change anything. I’m not going to quit pursuing my professional goals because one fell through, which means for Kendall to be with me, she has to be 100 percent sure that if her past comes to light, she can trust me to say and do the right things to protect her and the people she cares about.
I still haven’t figured out how to prove I can do this by the time I’m wheels down at LAX, but when the ding sounds, signaling it’s okay to take phones off airplane mode, mine’s in my hand, automatically checking to see if I have a text from Kendall. My heart doesn’t want to give up on us.
Kendall hasn’t reached out, but my phone’s been busy while I’ve been out of the loop. Several of the social media icons are dotted with tiny red circles containing unexpectedly high white numbers considering I haven’t posted anything in a couple of days. A quick scroll through Instagram tells me what’s up—photos of Kendall and me at the funeral with accompanying text that holds nothing back. I’m tagged, and Kendall, along with reference to the accident and speculation about us. Same show on Facebook and Twitter.
My phone slips from my sweating palm before I can check my text messages. Fuck. This is bad. The likelihood of someone besides my dad identifying Kendall as the girl in the YouTube video just got a lot higher, except now Kendall’s backstory will be attached. Her worst fear is forming like a tornado on the horizon, and there’s no containing it. Not when the posts are coming from the personal accounts of people in her hometown rather than a tabloid. I shouldn’t have gone to the funeral. I should have realized this could happen. If my father were standing beside me right now he’d be saying, “I told you so,” in his most infuriating voice. My heart pounds in my ears. I want to hurdle seats and push my way off the plane, but I bank the impulse and scoop my phone off the floor. I can’t undo this. And I probably can’t stop the story from making the jump from social media to mainstream media, but I can make sure I don’t add to the damage. I can provide Kendall some shelter from the harshest elements of this storm. I love her, and I need to protect her, even if she ends up hating me for what’s happened. I quickly search my messages, looking for the one person I know can help me do what I have to do. He’s there. My dad texted twice. The first is consolation. Nina told me America Rocks withdrew their offer. I’m sorry. You earned it, and it’s their loss. I thought I’d mentally accepted this outcome, but an avalanche of new disappointment tumbles through the hole in my chest where my heart used to be and lands heavily. His next text is hours later, obviously in response to the social media activity. Instead of the “told-you-so” I predicted, the message simply says, Let me help.
Am I certain he knows how to dial back his ambitions and support me rather than direct me? No. But he wants to help, and I want to give him the chance. I’d like to feel like my dad has my back—as a dad—not as someone orchestrating my every move. We’ll see.
I call. He picks up on the first ring, and he listens without interruption, which is a major change. Within seconds he’s up to speed, including how I want to handle this situation. Instead of trying to talk me out of it, he tells me he’ll meet me at my place so we can get to work. He’s endeavoring to get behind my decisions, not make them for me, and that’s a distinction I appreciate. Even in the middle of a shitstorm.
He’s also genuinely good at crisis communications. He knows who to call and how to get the message out. I’m calmer just for having run through it with him, I realize, while retrieving my bag from the overhead compartment. He’s not trying to take over, or tell me to do this thing his way or the sky will fall. The sky is falling no matter what we do, it’s just a question of whether we can get it to land in the least impactful place.
When I open the front door for him ninety minutes later, he gives me a hug. “Thanks for letting me help with this, Vaughn. I know Kendall’s important to you. I get that now.”
“She is.” I pat his shoulder a little awkwardly—we’ve never had the most demonstrative relationship—and lead him to the office. “Thanks for stepping up.”
I take a seat behind the desk and gesture my dad to one of the chairs on the other side. Last time he stood where I am, perhaps unconsciously taking the power position, while I faced him from the subordinate side. It’s not lost on me that the tables are turned this time.
His decision to investigate Kendall’s past and deem her unacceptable isn’t what we’re here to talk about, but it still sticks in my craw, so I can’t stop myself from taking the detour. “You’re not the least bit tempted to tell me we could have avoided all this if I’d just listened to you?”
He takes off his suit jacket and sits. I don’t know what he dropped to rush to my side, but based on how he’s dressed I’m guessing it was business. “No. I overstepped where she’s concerned. I’ve just…” He studies me as he considers his words. “I’m not sure when I started to see people as potential problems simply because they hadn’t come vetted through me, but I did. The easy answer is because you’re my child and I want to protect you, but there are other, less admirable factors, I’m afraid. Ambition. Posi
tioning. It’s easy to lose sight of what’s important because you’re too focused on what’s strategic.”
“Like Becca? She was strategic?”
This pulls a dull laugh out of him. “So much for protecting you, huh?”
“Dad, I’m not a child. I’ll always appreciate your expertise, but I don’t need protection.”
He nods. “I know. In my head I know that. In my heart? Well, the heart of a parent is a complicated thing, especially when you’ve lost one child.”
And there it is. He lost, and I’ve been trying to make up for it ever since. I take a deep breath and calmly say, “I’m also not Andie. I know you loved her. I loved her, too. And I know you two were extra close, but I can’t defer running my own life just to give you a sense of purpose and the illusion of control.”
“I know. The ironic thing is Andie and I butted heads about this all the time. She wanted more say over the direction of her life and career. But after she died I second-guessed every bit of freedom I gave her. She should have been seeing a specialist. That trainer she used wasn’t qualified to take on clients with her condition. How could I have let it happen?”
“You didn’t let it happen, Dad. You didn’t know. Nobody knew—”
“I was her father. I should have known, for Christ’s sake!”
His raised voice echoes off the walls before the silence rushes in, all the louder after his outburst. The shock in his expression tells me he’s kept that guilt locked up for years.
“You can’t protect someone from everything.” I keep my voice low but sure. “That’s not living. Living comes with inherent risks. The trick is to make sure you’re taking the right risks for the right reasons.”
He stares at me for a long moment. Finally he clears his throat. “For you, this is the right risk, and Kendall is the right reason?”
I look him straight in the eye. “Even if it drives another nail into the coffin of my career, this is the right risk. Even if nothing I do changes Kendall’s mind about taking a risk on me. But it means a lot to know I’m taking this risk with you on my side.”
Promise Me Page 27