26. Chapter Twenty-Six
Vaughn
T he engine hums below me, Sydney’s bustling streets speeding past as I sit in the back of the car. The sun is out, but it feels a little cold; the weight on my shoulders isn’t in the least bit light. Every media outlet and headline is filled with news of our time on the island.
“Vaughn Graham,” one headline reads, “A Picture of Resilience.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at how truly absurd it all is. Resilience? That word feels hollow—a label that doesn’t even come close to defining the insanity of the past few days or the mental anguish I am still in the midst of trying to overcome.
I look out the window, and the city looks blurry. The storm is brewing inside me, but people go about their day, walking along the sidewalks, not giving a damn. They don’t know what it is like to be stranded on that island, scared out of your mind as the hours tick away. The polished image of a soccer star does not include the man who lost himself in the chaos of emotion and vulnerability.
And now, I can’t think about that. I have a mission to focus on—my “Save the Ocean” campaign. I’m here to stand up for something I care about, and I know I’ve got to show up with a good front and be who I’ve always been.
As we pull up at the venue, I exhale, square my shoulders, and shake off the frustrations of the past week. I can see the banners being set up and the atmosphere buzzing with activity. I can feel the energy of it. It’s infectious, and my competitive spirit kicks in. That’s where I excel—on the field, in the limelight, where I can focus on something bigger than myself.
I step out of the car, and I am immediately bombarded with camera flashes and reporters shouting my name. I feel overwhelmed but put on my game face—the one I’ve used so many times in public. I smile and wave at the crowd as they want, but inside, I’m fighting the thoughts of Rachel.
Snippets of conversation trickle over me as excitement hums in the air while I make my way inside.
“Did you hear about his time on the island?”
“He’s such a hero for keeping it together.”
“What a dedicated athlete!”
I steel myself, not letting their perceptions shake me. I know that public opinion is fickle and how fast things can turn. For now, I lean into it, letting their admiration push me forward.
Once inside, I’m led to the stage and positioned at the podium. The crowd settles, and I can feel the weight of their expectations pressing down on me. I clear my throat and start to talk. The words flow about ocean conservation and what we can do together.
“This mission is about more than just me,” I say, my voice steady and strong. “It’s about all of us protecting our planet. We can make a difference.”
I get a rush of adrenaline as the crowd claps.
This moment is where I can channel all of what I’m feeling—pressure, uncertainty, the chaos of the island—into passion and purpose. As I speak, I feel the connection with the audience growing. I will talk about the initiatives we’re pushing forward and the partnerships we’re forming.
Yet, I can’t shake the thought of Rachel. As I glanced out over the sea of faces, I ask myself again, How is she? Has she settled back into her life in New York? What does she think of it all?
Something inside me has shifted. My time on the island unearthed emotions I had buried for so long, and I can’t help but feel the loss now that I’m apart from her.
As the event ends, handshakes and congratulations pour in from all angles, but my mind is elsewhere. I wander around the venue, shaking hands and posing for photos, but it feels a bit flat. The cheers and applause turn to a distant hum as I look for something—or someone—familiar.
Finally, I step outside to breathe in some fresh air. The sun has fallen lower in the sky, casting gray shadows across the pavement. I close my eyes, letting the heat wash over me, and lean against a railing.
“Vaughn!” A voice breaks through my reverie, and I turn to see one of my teammates approaching with a wide grin on his face.
“Great job out there, man! You really killed it!”
“Thanks,” I reply, forcing a smile. “Just doing what I can.”
“Are you down to get a drink tonight?” he asks. “You know, to celebrate?”
I pause. Part of me wants to join the revelry to drown out my thoughts of Rachel, but another part knows I need to work things out for myself first.
Trying to sound casual, I say, “I think I’ll take it easy tonight. Just need some time to think.”
“Suit yourself.” He shrugs, and I watch him walk away.
I realize I have a choice to make: I can let this moment define me, allowing myself to be consumed by the public persona I’ve become, or I can acknowledge the emotions I’ve felt and the connection I’ve made with Rachel—and figure out how to move forward from there.
I know I need to call her, at least to tell her she’s still on my mind. The island may have separated us physically, but it brought us back together in a way I cannot ignore. Maybe—just maybe—I can bridge the gap between us.
***
When I move through the motions of training, I feel the weight of Rachel’s absence. The energy has been sucked out of each drill; they are dull and repetitive. Even in the locker room, surrounded by my teammates’ laughter and playful banter, all I can hear is her—her laughter, her spirit, and how effortlessly she navigated the chaos of our life on the island.
I try to push the thoughts out of my head and focus on the drills, on the rhythm of the ball as it meets my foot. Each kick is hollow. I miss the spark Rachel gave to my life. It’s frustrating, and the tension is building inside of me, an undercurrent of longing that just won’t go away.
I make my way into the locker room, the air thick with sweat and the smell of liniment after practice. My teammates are milling around, changing clothes and joking with each other. Collins comes up to me, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“Hey, Vaughn,” he says, his expression serious. I can hear something in his tone. “Have you heard from Rachel since she got back to New York?”
At the mention of her name, I feel a pang in my chest. It’s like a knife twisting in my gut. “No,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “I haven’t.”
Concern furrows his forehead. “I’ve been thinking a lot about her. Having been stranded on that island, you know . . . I hope she’s okay.”
I’m jealous, in an unexpected way, that Collins cares about Rachel. Why is that a problem for me? I’m just her boss, and I remind myself I’m nothing to her. I hate the thought of Collins being concerned about her more than I want to let on.
I shrug it off and say, “Yeah, she’ll be fine,” but the words sound hollow. “She’s a tough bird.”
With a raised brow, Collins looks at me but doesn’t press the issue. He shifts gears, and the sound of his voice hints at hesitation. “I was thinking about Rachel. Listen—I know she works for you. I kind of like her, man. Would you mind if I asked her out?”
The question hangs in the air, and I get angry. “What do you mean, ‘like her’?” I’m unable to suppress the edge in my voice, and I ask, “She’s a secretary, you know. She is my secretary.”
“But that doesn’t mean anything. She’s a free woman, Vaughn.” Collins shrugs, undeterred. “Plus, we’re friends, and I think we’d get along really well.”
Frustrated, I run my hand through my hair and sigh. “I don’t know, Collins. It’s complicated. You know how it is. She’s been through a lot.”
“Exactly,” he replies, his tone more insistent now. “She could use someone to lean on. I genuinely like her, man. It wouldn’t be for fun.”
I look at him, mulling over his words. Deep down, I know he’s right. Rachel deserves someone who can be there for her, someone who will stand behind her, who will help her when I can’t because I’m so consumed with my job right now. The thought of Collins asking her out twists the knife a little bit more.
“Fine,” I say reluctantly, trying to sound casual, but the tension in my voice betrays me. “If you think it’s a good idea, go for it. Just be careful. She’s had a rough time.”
A satisfied grin spreads across Collins’s face, and it makes my stomach turn. “Thanks, man! I appreciate it. I’ll talk to her soon.”
I feel the mix of anger, jealousy, and something else I can’t quite place as he walks away. It doesn’t make sense. Why should I care if Collins likes Rachel? I don’t know what I want for myself, let alone for her.
The truth is, though, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing her, even if I don’t know I ever had her. Although the connection we forged on the island did feel real, it’s as though it disappeared into the background of our crowded lives.
I crawl into the showers, turn on the taps, and let the hot water wash me clean of my frustration and confusion. The steam swallows me, but my thoughts drift back to Rachel. She must be wondering what I’m up to. I wonder if she is thinking about me or if she misses me as much as I miss her.
I finish up and decide to get in touch with her again. I can’t change what’s happening between us, but I can at least tell her that I’m here and that I care. I step out of the shower, still wet, with water dripping from my hair as I grab my phone and type her name into my contacts.
Doubt creeps in as I hover over the Send button. What if she’s moved on? What if Collins is really interested in her, and I’ve missed my one and only chance? I’m frustrated with myself and shake my head. This isn’t about competition. It’s about telling her the truth and myself the truth.
With an exhale, I hit Send with a surge of determination. The message is simple but loaded with meaning: Hey, Rachel. Just wanted to see how you’re doing, I guess.
I watch the message fade away into nothing, and I am relieved and anxious at the same time. Whatever it is, I’m taking a step forward. It’s a start. It may not change anything, but it’s a start. Maybe that’s what I need right now—a chance to close the gap that’s formed between us, even if that feels wonky.