His breath hitches before his hold on my hand tightens. The gesture gives me the courage to continue before I lose my nerve.
“It was after prom. My boyfriend, Mason, and I were both drunk—everybody was, not just us, and maybe that made it harder for us to realize how wasted we were. We never should’ve gotten in his car, but we’d made these big, romantic plans to spend the night at a hotel and finally, you know”—I clear my throat—“commit to each other in the one way we’d been saving.”
“But it never happened.”
He’s falling with me now, and I’m sorry for it, but there’s no way to shortcut the distance or soften the impact. We’re going to go all the way down, we’re going to hit hard, and afterward, things won’t be the same. “I can still feel the vibrations moving up my arms and through my body as I tried to handle the steering wheel, tried to keep control of his truck so it wouldn’t spin out. I’d taken a curve in the road too fast, distracted by Mason’s hands on my body and his voice in my ear urging me to go faster. I was too drunk to question my actions. The radio was blasting, the big V-6 engine roaring, and yet I heard this strange silence between my mind whispering Oh shit, and Mason yelling ‘Look out!’ Sometimes when I close my eyes I can recapture the sickening weightless sensation just before we plowed into a tree, but the moment of impact remains a blackout.” My breathing seesaws as guilt and pain lance through my chest. “All I remember is a rain of sticky glass particles pelting my face.”
“Jesus,” Vaughn says so softly I barely hear it. He wraps his arm around my shoulders and brings me closer, turning his body so it forms a barrier between me and the rest of the restaurant. Not just to comfort me, I realize, but to shield me from the curious stares of other diners. He thinks he knows where this fall from grace ends, and he’s gallantly trying to protect me. He doesn’t know, but I’m beyond grateful for his attempt. It puts him in a small, trusted circle. My parents protect me. Brit protects me. But most of the people Mason and I grew up with judged me—some silently, some loudly, almost all without a shred of mercy. I could never go through that again. It’s one of the reasons I don’t go home often or stay more than a few days.
I guess I’ve been silent for too long because Vaughn whispers, “Mason?”
“He didn’t have his seatbelt on and went through the windshield.” A tear trickles down my face. Vaughn gently wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.
“I’m so sorry.”
He thinks we’ve hit bottom, and I’m bizarrely tempted to let him believe it, but the truth is we’re still falling. “Me, too. I’m sorrier than I can ever express, but…” And down we go. “He didn’t die. He suffered severe brain trauma. He’s still breathing, but otherwise unresponsive.” The tears start to fall more heavily, because I hate this part the most. Seeking escape, I turn away from Vaughn and lean my forehead against the wall. “We were supposed to go to college together, get married, work together, and have babies together. We had it all planned out.”
The arm around my shoulder gently pulls me into the safe harbor of his chest. “You loved him.”
“I loved him so much. A part of me always will, and it’s like an anchor around my heart.”
Vaughn’s regard is tangible, like he’s realigning all this new knowledge to piece together my past. Prom…hotel room…my virginity…my hesitation to get involved with him.
“I understand,” he says with tenderness I’m not sure I deserve. “When was the last time you saw him?”
This is one of the toughest things for me to accept. “I saw him in the hospital briefly after the accident.” I close my eyes to block the worst of it. “I wasn’t supposed to. I had broken ribs and a concussion, but I needed to know how he was. People kept saying, ‘He’s alive,’ without meeting my eyes. I couldn’t take it anymore. I had to see for myself, so I snuck down the hall to ICU. Apparently the nurses found me screaming and crying hysterically in his room. They had to sedate me. After that neither my parents nor Mason’s wanted me to see him. Everyone thought it would be…damaging.”
“I get that,” he says quickly. “But now, after this much time, it might help—”
“His parents still aren’t open to it. His mom says he wouldn’t want me to see him the way he is now, and he deserves to be remembered as young, vital, full of life. She’s protecting him. And in a way, me, too. I want to remember him looking strong and vibrant in his football uniform, his jeans and T-shirts, his tux that night. I can’t blame her, but—”
“But you don’t have closure. That weight you feel around your heart, that anchor? It’s not him. It’s you. This is your life. You’re in charge of charting your course, and you have to decide when it’s time to let go.”
I nod, because deep down I know he’s right. It took a suspended license, sixteen months of community service, three years of probation, mandatory alcohol awareness training, and hours of therapy to get me to this truth. “The last four years have been one long, slow exercise in letting go and learning to reach out again. I let go of the dreams I shared with Mason. I let go of my hope for forgiveness from our old friends, who wouldn’t look me in the eye but whispered behind my back. Eventually I let go of self-hate and bitterness, which weren’t getting me anywhere but were hurting the people who love me a great deal. I reached for ways to make my life meaningful. I reached for New York and college. I reached for new friends and new goals.”
“And you succeeded,” Vaughn says.
I’m proud that he thinks so. “Mostly. There are things I’ll never fully let go of. Regret will stay with me always, and it should. Some of the goals I’m reaching for don’t feel right for me anymore, but to please my dad maybe I need to give them a chance. And then there’s the whole virginity thing.”
Our meals arrive, and I’m grateful for the distraction even though I can’t eat a bite. Vaughn’s been beyond understanding, but it’s time to let him off the hook. “Thanks for listening to all of this, but we can go if you want. I’m sure it wasn’t the date you imagined.”
Vaughn shifts just enough to allow us room to eat. “I imagined getting to know you better. I don’t see how we do that without honest conversation.” He slides linen-wrapped utensils my way. “Thank you for confiding in me.”
Relief I didn’t anticipate washes through me, leaving my head light. To hold myself together, I unroll the utensils and cut into my steak. “I wanted you to know me—ugly parts included—before things between us got too…friendly.”
“Are things between us going to get friendlier?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, but something inside me flutters at the prospect. It could be panic.
“Can I ask you one more thing?”
He can ask me anything at this point. I literally have nothing left to hide. “Sure.”
“Is ‘the whole virginity thing’ something you’re trying to hold onto, or let go of?”
This question, off another guy’s lips, might compel me to slap his face and say, “I just shared my most painful secrets with you, and you’re trying to figure out whether you have a shot at getting laid?” But the concern in Vaughn’s eyes as he searches my face tells me it’s the exact opposite. He’s trying to figure out what I want. He’s putting me in charge of how…ahem…friendly we get. He’ll play it my way. A new lump forms in my throat, and I take a sip of water to ease it before answering. “I think, for a long time, it was something I held onto out of love, loyalty, or guilt—probably a combination of all three—but it’s difficult to say for sure because nobody really tempted me. Until now.”
His quick smile assures me that last part went straight to his ego, but then he tips his head and strokes his thumb along my cheekbone. “Maybe you’re tempted now because you’re ready?”