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. Positioning. 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.”

“Always,” he says with gratifying speed. “If I haven’t mentioned it lately, I love you, and I’m always on your side. I meant what I said about supporting your decisions rather than making them for you. I’m on this.”

“Thanks, Dad.” For the first time in a long time, the sentiment is heartfelt.

…

The morning following the funeral, social media posts concerning the event have gained almost as much notice as the video. My publicist is working overtime to field calls on both. Neither Kendall nor I are being given a break, but I’m sick to my stomach to see she’s being dealt the bigger blow. I’m ashamed of the pedestal women are putting me on, cutting me slack when I’m the one who dragged Kendall—unintentionally—into this media freak show.

It’s killing me to keep my distance from her. My fingers itch to dial her number or text her to say I’m sorry for bringing her deepest fear down on her. I’m thankful she’s got her parents while at the same time mad as hell I’m not the one there to shoulder her pain. She asked me to stay away, and I’m abiding by the request, but she didn’t ask me to keep my thoughts about her to myself.

Hence, Plan B. Will Kendall watch? If she does, will anything I say change her mind? I don’t know. All I know is I’ve got to give this my best shot. She deserves nothing less.

Sitting on a comfortable couch on the set of Access Live, I watch a tech adjust studio lights while a makeup artist does last-minute touch-ups to ready Kit for the camera. Thanks to my dad’s connections, she was more than happy to set up an interview today. Although she’s been as congenial as always, I know she’s not going to pull any punches once the camera starts rolling. She’s got me in the hot seat, she’s done her homework, and if there’s dirt to dish she’s going to make sure Access Live gets the first and biggest shovelful.

Makeup finished, Kit looks up and gives me a smile. “We ready?” she asks to the room in general. The segment producer responds in the affirmative, and seconds later we’re rolling. She does a short intro spiel and then lobs me a softball question about how it feels to be part of last week’s number one most viewed music video.

I tell her I learned the news midway through a photo shoot in San Francisco, when Laney called me screaming a bunch of stuff they’d have to bleep if I quoted her word for word, but she was really excited and very cool to share the credit with me. I’m pleased people liked the video and stoked for Laney, because her first single is amazing, but it’s just the start. The rest of the album is going to blow peoples’ minds.

“Can we look forward to seeing you in more videos with our newest America Rocks winner?” Kit asks. Her smile and twinkling eyes invite me to divulge things we both know I’m not at liberty to discuss.

“You’ll have to wait to see,” I say with a smile.

“Vaughn, we’re terrible at waiting. After receiving that good news in San Francisco I understand you traveled to a small town in Wisconsin.” Kit tips her head slightly, and adds, “Was that for a new video by any chance?”

Obviously no, and she’s well aware, but this is her way of leading into the real reason for this interview. I imagine when the segment airs, this is where they’ll flash one of the internet pictures of Kendall and me embracing. “My visit to Lake Geneva was personal,” I respond. “I went to support my friend Kendall, who lost a close friend after a long battle with injuries following an accident.”

Kit nods, her normally perky expression serious. “Your friend Kendall Hewitt, who was driving while intoxicated when she crashed the vehicle and inflicted severe brain trauma that ultimately killed her passenger, Mason White.”

I nod. “She made a terrible mistake at seventeen, and it had tragic consequences. It’s an all too common mistake, statistically speaking. According to the most recent reports from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, over a third of fatal motor vehicle crashes among people aged sixteen to twenty involve alcohol, and that statistic doesn’t change much for drivers over the age of twenty. Ever heard the saying ‘There but for the grace of God go I?’”

“Of course.”

“Nobody got much of God’s grace that night when two teens climbed into a car after attending prom, but Kendall’s spent every day since then ensuring nobody else makes the same mistake while she’s around. Including me.”

Kit leans forward. “She stopped you from driving under the influence? That’s an interesting statement, especially considering I recently viewed a video that appears to show you in a drunken exchange with a woman many speculate to be Ms. Hewitt, after losing control of your vehicle.”

And this is where they’ll cut to the YouTube video. I own up to my mistakes, no sugarcoating. I explain our story, to the extent I can. My lawyer has weighed in on things like how I can’t say Becca stole my car while intoxicated and almost killed me without risking a defamation lawsuit. Plus she contacted me, genuinely distraught, and assured me she didn’t release the video. Her friend did, in a sick way of supporting Becca over our “breakup.” So instead, I explain that an unidentified person or persons helped themselves to my car and took a joyride down my driveway, nearly hitting me before losing control, stalling in a hedge, and abandoning it—which sounds like a load of crap, but it’s the best I can do. I explain how Kendall risked her life to prevent me from getting run down. How she confiscated my keys when I tried to get behind the wheel to move my car. How by doing that, she reminded me there is no situation where it’s okay to drive under the influence. I finish by saying, “I can’t know why fate put her in my path that night, but I’m forever thankful to Kendall for being there.”

“She was your guardian angel,” Kit says.

I couldn’t have asked for a better response. “Absolutely. And it goes beyond me. She’s fought hard to find meaning and purpose for her life. She volunteered during college. After graduating, she accepted a position working with traumatized youth. She finds ways to quietly contribute every day.”

I pause for breath and then stare at the camera. “What she didn’t do was seek any of this current attention. She’s a private person. She didn’t ask me to attend her friend’s funeral. I made that decision on my own.”

“Why?” Kit asks.

“Because when someone you care about is going through a rough time, it’s hard to keep your distance. But if I’d realized my presence would put her in a spotlight I knew she didn’t want, I would have tried harder to stay away. Not because I think she should hide her past or be ashamed of the woman she is today, but because I try to respect her wishes. I admire her, I’m really proud of her, and…well, I love her.”

The segment director and production assistant practically high-five over my on-air confession. Kit flashes a smile so wide it’s blinding. “Oh my goodness. Is Vaughn Shaughnessy off the market?” she asks.

I can’t muster up a smile of my own, because my response is completely serious. “I’m hers for the taking, but the ball’s in her court.”