Promise Me

“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—”

“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.