When Stars Fall

by Wendy Million

I shrug. A drink of some sort. Tasted like candy. Isaac wouldn’t give me something bad.

  “You didn’t tell her?” Disbelief is clear in his voice. His brow furrows with disappointment.

  “It was a glass of lean. Calm down,” Isaac says.

  I swipe Isaac’s shot before he can drink it, and I down the liquid in a gulp. “You’re a hypocrite.” My words slur.

  Isaac pours another, handing it to me. Wyatt settles into his seat with his jaw clenched. Blanca drapes herself over him. Gross.

  His sea-colored eyes are trained on me as I chat nonsense with Isaac. When we step out of the limo at the club, the camera flashes are rapid and blinding. I stumble, and Isaac drags me tighter to his side to keep me from falling. We navigate the crush of people with club security as a wall around us until we reach the front entrance.

  Strange that we’re arriving this way. We rarely go in the front entrance because of the paparazzi. Wyatt and Isaac enjoy the attention, but I’ve learned they like it best on their own terms.

  Inside the bar, Blanca leads the way to a VIP room at the back. At least this part is normal, even if I don’t feel normal in any way. There are others in the VIP area, and Isaac glues himself to my side so I don’t feel out of place. He always knows everyone. For what seems like hours, he takes me around from person to person, introducing me and speaking a weird mix of Spanish and English that I couldn’t follow sober. Isaac speaks Hindi too. Right now, I can barely speak at all.

  “What’s Wyatt’s problem?” I ask when we slide into a booth without him.

  One side of Isaac’s mouth tilts up, and he turns to examine me. “Oh, Ellie. How much time have you got?”

  “Isaac!” The crowd in front of us parts, and a striking dark-haired white woman appears. She’s tall and reed thin, and the closer she gets, the more recognition dawns in my addled brain. Wyatt’s younger sister.

  Isaac scoots over to give Anna room to squeeze into the booth with us. She’s on the other side of him, and he throws his arm around her narrow shoulders. “Anna, have you met Ellie? She’s starring opposite Wyatt in the movie we’re shooting.” He shifts to me. “Ellie, this is Wyatt’s baby sister. Kinda like my baby sister too.” He kisses her temple. “The Sharmas unofficially adopted the Burgess kids.”

  Anna takes me in with eyes that are an unusual blue-green shade, just like Wyatt’s. Her allure is remarkable, and her modeling career makes a lot of sense. She’s the same age as me, but there’s a toughness to her I don’t possess.

  “You the flavor of the month? How long are you going to last?” Anna asks, and she sips her drink while watching for my response.

  “Be nice,” Isaac says.

  Anna rolls her eyes and then focuses on Isaac. “Have you got anything?”

  “What’re you after?” He digs into his pocket.

  “You got any benzos?” She peers into his pill bottle.

  While they sort through Isaac’s stash, I look over to see Wyatt brush Blanca off his lap and leave his bar stool. With a swagger, he comes over to where Isaac, Anna, and I are sitting, and he holds out his hand. “They’re playing our song. You gotta come dance with me.” He tips his head toward the dance floor.

  “Did he just say ‘our song’?” Anna asks Isaac in an overly loud voice. “Wyatt, stay and do a line with us. Don’t be lame.”

  “Not now, Anna,” he says, and he doesn’t break eye contact with me.

  I listen and catch a few bars of the chorus. It’s the Alicia Keys song he asked to have played the other day during our love scene.

  “Come on, Ellie,” he says.

  Longing is written on his face, and I cave. When I rise, I stagger, and Wyatt lifts me out of the booth as though I weigh nothing to carry me to the dance floor. He sets me in front of him and then ever so slowly draws me into his arms.

  While we dance, he holds me close and sings along at a level only I can hear. The lyrics to “If I Ain’t Got You” flow out of him, smooth and deep. We sway to the music with his lips next to my ear. I relax into him, letting him lead me around the dance floor, wishing the song would go on forever. He’s a good singer. The Daisy Network days benefitted him in at least one way.

  When the song comes to an end, Wyatt brings the back of my hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss across my knuckles. My body vibrates, anticipates. The tension that’s sprung up between us is one I recognize.

  There’s an unasked question in the depths of his eyes. My answer now, and probably for the rest of my life, is yes. I can’t imagine saying no.

  I want this. I want him, and I close the little space between us in a silent plea for something, anything. He tugs me toward him and buries a hand in my hair. He gives me a last desperate glance before his lips rush to meet mine. I clutch onto him, rising on my toes to deepen the kiss. Throwing my arms around his neck, I press myself closer, and I lose any sense of where we are as heat rises through my body. If I could stay in his arms, I’d never want the night to end.

  “Come home with me,” I say between kisses.

  “Ellie.” There’s so much need in his voice that my knees almost collapse. He shifts to create space between us, and I’m sure he’ll tell me no. Blanca is here, and one kiss between costars on the dance floor means nothing. But I want so much more than a kiss. Say yes to me, Wyatt.

  “I can’t.” He kisses me again as though he can’t help himself.

  “We’re young. This doesn’t have to be some great love affair.” He’s cracked a window between us, and I’m not letting the opportunity pass. Whatever Isaac gave me hours ago is wearing off. I’m buzzed enough to ignore Anna’s rudeness, but not so out of my head I don’t understand what I’m suggesting.

  “I can’t make any promises.” He dips into my neck and his lips trail kisses along the sensitive skin.

  “Don’t need them.” I dig my fingers into his biceps. My knees won’t hold me up, and my blood has rushed to my core in anticipation.

  “I wish you weren’t high right now. What if you don’t remember?” he murmurs.

  “Doesn’t that mean we get to do it again?” I run my hands through his dark hair.

  He groans and returns to my lips, kissing me deeply, cradling my face in his hands. This time when we break apart, he sweeps me up off the dance floor and carries me through the crowd toward the side door.

  “Why’d we come in the front earlier?” I loop my arms around his neck and tuck my cheek under his chin, away from prying eyes.

  “Blanca wanted to be seen with me,” he says.

  “You do that sort of thing?” I try to covertly scan the crowd for anyone watching us. There are a few curious stares but nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Trade favors? Sure, why not? Her agent called my agent. None of it matters.” He strides up to the exit with determination. “It’s a game, Ellie. You’ll see.”

  At the door, he sets me down and takes his phone out of his pocket as we head outside.

  “What about your sister or Isaac or . . . Blanca?” Her name tastes sour on my tongue.

  “You don’t need to worry about them.” Wyatt tugs me toward him, and his lips find mine again. He backs me against a pillar, running his hands along my sides. “I’ve thought about doing this with you for real a thousand times.”

  Only a thousand? A glance from him across a crowded set was enough to make me think about dark rooms, beds, the brush of his skin against mine. Every place he touches lights up, glows, explodes with sensation. His hands and lips offer a special kind of magic.

  “One other thing.” He kisses me again, and then he gives me a hard stare. “No more accepting shit from Isaac, okay?”

  “It was one drink. Made me feel good.” I try to reach for him, but he maintains space between us.

  “I’m serious. If you want to try something, ask me, and I’ll get it for you. But Isaac takes stupid risks and mixes shit he shouldn’t. He thinks he’s invincible.”

  “You and Isaac ar
e friends.” They both pop pills, drink alcohol, and manage drug combinations like they’re working a second job.

  “He’s my best friend. There isn’t a friend in the world like Isaac. That’s the truth. He’s my brother—his whole family is more mine than my own.” He pauses and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Doesn’t mean what I said isn’t true too.”

  “Are you on something right now?” He seems together. Coherent. His eyes are clear, focused.

  “I’m always on something. Sometimes I hide it better than others. If we’re doing this,” he takes a breath and then continues, “whatever this becomes, my habits aren’t up for discussion.”

  “You’re fine. Why would we talk about them?” Other than his oscillating moods toward me, he’s professional and focused on set. He’s a phenomenal kisser, and a lot of fun on nights out. “What if I did bring it up, so what?”

  “I’d pick the drugs.” He doesn’t hesitate, and a shiver cascades down my body. “Now you know the answer, so you never have to ask the question.” The limo arrives, and Wyatt examines me for a long beat. “Still time to back out. Things will stay as they are. I won’t treat you any differently on set if you say no.”

  I drag him to me for another kiss. Change my mind? Not likely. He occupies all my thoughts. Whatever happens after tonight I can’t control. But for now he’s mine, just mine. My hand is linked with his as we climb into the limo.

  In the back seat, I straddle him and frame his face with my hands. Confidence oozes out of me. He stares at me with such contentment that my heart swells. I can’t imagine ever asking him to be anything other than who he is right now.

  Chapter Eight

  Wyatt

  Present Day

  An hour after Ellie drops me off at the hotel, I’m in my room, pacing. I called my addiction coach, and we had a long chat about Ellie as a trigger for my addictions. Camila doesn’t think I should be here. Some bullshit about not being able to recapture the past.

  Camila wasn’t there to see the way Ellie looked at me today. The connection between us isn’t dead, it’s just buried under years of neglect.

  I take out my phone and search the location of the hospital. My suitcase is open on the bed, and I rifle through the items I brought. Baseball cap and sunglasses. Lamest disguise ever. Best I can do.

  I tug the Yankees cap low on my forehead and grab my sunglasses. At four inches over six feet, I draw people’s attention due to my height, disguised or not. Normally, I don’t mind. If I’m spotted at the hospital, Ellie will murder me. At least I’ll be in the right place for resuscitation.

  In the doorway of my hotel room, I second-guess my lack of a plan. Impulsiveness and my addiction go hand in hand. Some knee-jerk reactions I need to curb. Nikki will be there, even if she’s sick. When I was using, I’d needed someone to blame for Ellie’s abandonment. She spent a week at home with her family and decided my addictions weren’t acceptable anymore. That notion had to come from someone, because Ellie was fine with my behavior until then. Nikki and her mother bore the brunt of my anger, but I don’t know if that was justified. I’d hoped sobriety might bring clarity around how or why we broke up, but it hasn’t. We were good . . . and then we weren’t. Snap of the fingers. Blink of an eye. In my bed. Out of my life.

  I take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. At the concierge desk, I join the line. The high, open ceilings lead out to the beach, and the paintings on the wall depict scenes from the island. Even the tiles on the ground are vibrant blues and greens. I’ve missed Bermuda with its bright buildings. LA has always been my home, but there’s something to be said for the tight-knit community that exists here. I take a deep, cleansing breath. Ten years was too long.

  As soon as the concierge sees me, he motions me to the side. “Mr. Burgess, what can we help you with?”

  “I need to get to the hospital.”

  “Are you ill?” The concierge’s expression turns concerned, and he keeps his voice low.

  “No.” I hesitate. “A friend is there.”

  “Is it an emergency, sir? We can have a staff member drive you there themselves. Very discreet.”

  “Yeah, that would be excellent.” A sigh of relief escapes me. The fewer people who are aware, the better. I squeeze my phone in my pocket. The itch is back, my constant companion, a restlessness that plagues me.

  Christ, maybe my sponsor is right. Maybe Ellie is a trigger. At this point, life in general might be a trigger. If she was the reason I used, I’d have quit the bullshit the minute she packed up and moved out. I wouldn’t have been so into it when she met me. She put up with my nonsense during the three years we were together, every bit of it, and she never complained. In the end, she just left.

  “Do you happen to have any stress balls?” My coping mechanisms to handle the itch are varied. When one doesn’t work, I try another, and another, and so on until the itch stops. Anything to keep me from reaching for a bottle of pills or contacting an old friend for one hit.

  The concierge passes me one from behind his desk. The hotel name is emblazoned on it. “You get a lot of stressed people?” I ask, amused.

  “Just me, sir.” He grins.

  Calshae approaches with a set of keys dangling from her hand. “I hear you need a ride.”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask.

  She nods at the concierge and leads me toward the exit. “My family bought this hotel a few years ago. I run it.”

  The humid air hits me in the chest the minute we step out of the main building and coats me in a thin mist. Calshae takes me to a tiny car, and I stare at it before I open the door to wedge myself into the passenger seat like a human pretzel. Maybe I should have risked a cab. My knees are glued to my chest.

  “Sorry. The hospital’s not too far.” She scans my cramped position. The car chugs to life, and I pray I’ll make it there in one piece before Ellie leaves.

  While we drive, Calshae taps her fingers on the steering wheel. The tension in the car swells. Small talk. I need small talk before she starts asking questions I don’t want to answer. Engage first. Control the conversation. Basic strategy, but I’m not in the mood to charm Ellie’s friend, to convince her I should be here.

  “Your family own many hotels on the island now?” I clutch onto the holy-shit handle each time she takes a corner. She’s mistaken this car for a Formula 1 masterpiece. Impressive this death trap can take a corner at full speed.

  “A few.”

  I shift in my seat and suppress a groan at how tight my body is. She’ll have to pry me out. Maybe I can take my mind off my stiffening muscles by inching into a conversation about Ellie. “You and Ellie are still good friends?”

  She gives me a sideways glance. “Ellie’s good to everyone on the island with her time and money.”

  Not a yes, and not a surprise given the tension between them last night. “You’re not really friends anymore? Why were you at her house last night?”

  “I was worried about her, so I went to see her.”

  “Worried about her?”

  “I thought what you said on Jackson Billows’ show was brave.” She fiddles with the radio.

  “Which part?” I ask. “The part where I declared my undying love for Ellie or the part where I admitted that I’d tried to commit suicide after she left me?” When she opened the door to me last night, I expected her to ask about or at least acknowledge that piece of the interview. Again today, I was sure she’d bring it up. Still nothing. Head in the sand approach? Maybe she doesn’t care. Too long ago.

  “Both, Wyatt. Both.” Calshae’s expression is sympathetic when she glances at me. “Somewhere, someone watching will be grateful for your vulnerability, even if it doesn’t end up being Ellie.”

  Telling the world instead of telling Ellie might not have been the best strategy. Camila says I need to work on my communication skills.

  “We’re here. Where do you want to be dropped?”

/>   “Oh.” I take in the massive white stucco structure. “Uh.” I hate when I don’t plan far enough ahead. Happens to me all the time. You’d think I’d learn.

  “Would you like me to go in and find out what room?” she suggests.

  “Yes!” I point my finger at her with a stupid amount of enthusiasm. “Ellie won’t be happy if people realize I’m here.”

  “I’ll be right back.” She disappears into the hospital, and she isn’t gone long before she returns. “Side entrance. Room 237.” She starts the car, checks over her shoulder, and steers us onto the road. “You realize who you’re visiting, right?” A frown creases her brow.

  “Yeah. I mean, I know who’s in the room. I’m going so I can talk to Ellie.”

  When she draws parallel to the curb, she searches my face before passing me a slip of paper. “For the door. It’s coded. The girl on reception is a family friend and I told her what I needed.”

  “Oh.” The small-town mentality across a whole island is unsettling sometimes. None of this would be happening if I was in LA. Well, maybe having a driver, but I would’ve had to throw around celebrity weight to get the rest. Even then, not a guarantee. “Thank you.” I open the door and ease out a leg. My muscles groan in response. When did I get old?

  “Would you like me to wait?”

  I focus on the entrance to the hospital. Ellie might chase me out with some sort of cutting instrument. “Nah, that’s okay. I’ll convince Ellie to give me a ride to the hotel.” Or maybe to her house. You never know.

  “I’m sure you convince a lot of women to do a lot of things.”

  “No comment.” I chuckle and climb out of the car.

  “Let me give you my number in case you need that ride after all,” she says through the car window, and she holds out her hand for my phone before inputting her number. When she passes it back to me, her black eyes scan my face again. “Good luck in there.”

  Once I’m in the side door, the nearest set of stairs is to the left, and I head for room 237. The door is ajar, and Nikki and Ellie are on either side of a hospital bed. I jerk away, unsure. She told me Nikki was in the hospital. If she isn’t sick, who is?