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Oh. My. God.
The interview isn’t about him being the new host. It’s about me. I stop breathing when Kit says my name and what I did to Mason. The crushing blindside has my finger on the remote to turn off the interview. But then the camera cuts to a close-up of Vaughn, and I’d swear he’s also stopped breathing. I watch his lips move, but don’t hear what he’s saying.
I use the remote to rewind the past several seconds.
Vaughn defends me. His voice is calm. Definitive.
A video is mentioned. It plays on the screen. Holy crap. It’s from the night I met him. How in the world…?
Vaughn comments on the recording, shares what happened, and opens himself up to professional damage by not denying much of anything as far as his own behavior that night. He sings my praises. He continues with basically telling everyone I saved him in more ways than one and to back off the funeral speculation.
Then he tells everyone watching he loves me.
I think I maybe levitate off the bed, his words pure magic. I’m lighter than air and ready to float right back to him.
He ends with, “I’m hers for the taking, but the ball’s in her court.”
The program moves to the next segment. I turn off the television and power on my phone. I need to get in touch with him. He could have chosen to ignore the video, to not dignify it with a response, and yet he spoke up. To help me. To reach out to me and do right by me, even when I told him to leave me alone. I’ve been an idiot.
A gazillion notifications fill the screen on my cell. I swipe to open and find four text messages. I check those. They’re all from Amber and Dixie, sent to our group chat.
Holy shit. Did you see Vaughn’s interview?
Helllloooo…where the hell are you? Please tell us you saw Vaughn on national fucking television.
L.A. is two hours earlier so they obviously watched the show live.
Princess, if you don’t text back, I’m going to break something.
Ignore her. She just hates not being in the know.
I text back Just watched it.
My phone rings. It’s Dixie. “Hey,” I say.
“Hi. How are you?”
That she asked speaks volumes, but I’ve learned when it comes to her it’s best to pretend she doesn’t really care. “I’m shocked. Blown away. My heart has never pounded so hard.”
“Well, I thought you might like an update.”
“Okay.”
“Dylan just stopped by. Vaughn got the job as America Rocks host, but when that video hit YouTube, they took back the offer.”
My whole body sags, every muscle aches. He must be devastated. “Who released the video?”
“Nobody knows.”
Except me. I know. Or at least, suspect.
“I’m coming home.” I disconnect with a quick good-bye, my mind a massive highway going in several different directions. Vaughn has continually put me first, and it’s past time I did the same for him.
His getting, then losing, the job as host is bullshit. I need to fix it then claim his heart.
My story is out in the open now. Since last night, I’ve hated that. But I don’t have to. I can welcome it and use it to help others. One comment flits through my mind. The only one I should remember, rather than all the negative ones. Why is it so much easier to let harmful opinions bother us, rather than allow good ones to lift us up? Kendall, @blakedreams had written, you’re not alone. I got a DUI at 17, too, and lost someone. It gets easier, I promise.
I wish none of my past leaked, but it has. And if I don’t tell—or better yet, show—Vaughn how I feel about him, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.
