“Kids?” Anna scoffs. “Yeah, right.” Her eyes are glassy and bloodshot. She gives me a wicked grin. “No one at this table will be having kids. Recipe for dysfunction.”
Wyatt squeezes my knee under the table. “Kids aren’t really in the cards for us.”
We’ve never talked about it, but his answer doesn’t surprise me. Family, in any capacity, is a tender spot. Doesn’t stop my heart from sinking a notch. While I might not want them soon, I can’t imagine never having them. The life we live right now isn’t child-friendly. Anna isn’t wrong in that regard.
Tanvi taps her spoon on her plate to dislodge a piece of chicken. “You’ll change your mind. Children are a gift. You are all my gifts.” She takes Anna’s hand and squeezes it.
Tears spring to Anna’s eyes, and she covers her face for a beat. Whatever has caused her glassy eyes has also put a chink in her tough exterior. She’s more prone to rages, and tears are often from regret.
“No crying at the dinner table,” Isaac says, but he’s on the other side of Anna, and he throws his arm around her in a consoling gesture. He whispers something in her ear, and it makes her laugh. She bumps his shoulder and picks up her fork.
“When do you start shooting the TV show?” Kabir asks Isaac.
“That was a bust.” Isaac releases Anna. “Didn’t test well with audiences, so they recast me. But Wyatt got me an audition for the villain in his new thriller, and I nailed it.”
That’s not quite what happened. Wyatt tied Isaac to him when the studio came calling. If they wanted Wyatt, they had to find a part for Isaac.
“You get to work with Wyatt again?” Kabir grabs a piece of naan from the center of the table. “Should be a good movie. Lots of promotion behind it. Very bankable. Maybe you can ride this opportunity to some success.”
“Maybe.” Isaac’s tone is tinged with annoyance.
Later when we go to leave, Kabir draws Wyatt into another hug and whispers something in his ear. At the Rolls-Royce, after some cajoling from Isaac, Anna agrees to ride with him so I can go on the motorcycle with Wyatt. When they leave the house with Kyle driving, I can’t contain my curiosity.
“What did Kabir say to you?” I ask.
A hint of a grin tugs at the corners of Wyatt’s mouth. “Told me he was proud of me, and he thanked me for watching out for Isaac.” He passes me a helmet. “About the kids thing—”
“It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”
He kisses my temple before putting on his helmet. “You always do.”
Chapter Fourteen
Wyatt
Present Day
I called Camila an hour ago to check in. Everything is fine at home with my sister and her son. Thank God. I don’t want to cut my time short with Ellie for anything or anyone. But if my sister needed me, I’d return to LA. When we were kids, I couldn’t protect her from our high-functioning drug-addicted parents, couldn’t even protect myself. I’m doing my best to be there for her now. To be there for Jamal.
On my balcony, I wait for Ellie to text me. I can’t be in my room. The minibar is there, calling to me. The devil in a tiny bottle. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol since I arrived, but it’s getting harder and harder to resist. I should gather the bottles and take them to the front desk—remove my temptation. I stride into the room, intent on getting rid of them, when there’s a knock on my door. To be safe, I check the peephole. Since I used a pseudonym, the only people who realize I’m here are staff and Ellie’s family.
A sigh of relief escapes me at the glimpse of Ellie. I yank open the door, and the suddenness startles her. When the surprise dissipates, sadness settles over her features. Not the expression I want to inspire.
“You ready?” she asks.
“For anything.” I tip my chin at her. “You okay?”
“Having you here is a lot to process.” She shrugs, and uncertainty coats her like a blanket. “Nikki and I had a long talk.”
“Let me guess. She’s not happy.”
“She gave me some things to think about, that’s all,” she says. “We don’t have to go back to my place, but we shouldn’t go anywhere too public either.” She sticks her hands into the pockets of her shorts.
There are two places on the island that are special to me. The deserted beach and the hotel ruins. When the two of us were together and insanely famous, those places were a refuge from the craziness of our lives. I cock an eyebrow at her. “The hotel?” She didn’t take us past that one the other day, so I’m hoping it’s still derelict and uninhabited.
She nods and turns on her heel. The defeated slant of her shoulders causes my protectiveness to spike. Whatever she’s thinking about, whatever Nikki said, makes her feel like shit. There’s a thing or two I’d love to say to Nikki right now.
We pass Calshae in the hotel foyer, and I call out a hello. She waves at me as Ellie and I exit the building. Ellie tosses out a hi laced with a sheepish dip of her head.
“You two aren’t close anymore?” I ask as we walk to Ellie’s bike.
“We lost touch.”
We climb onto the bike. This time, she doesn’t move away from me when I press myself close, but she doesn’t respond in typical Ellie fashion either. Nikki’s words, whatever they were, must still be buzzing in her ear.
We cruise to the hotel, another out-of-the-way spot on the island. The location thrived once, long before I ever came to visit. We nicknamed it the Mermaid Mansion years ago, after its cement pool built into the ocean with mermaids perched in various positions around the ocean side, guarding swimmers from going too deep.
The hotel stands four or so stories high. The pale-pink paint is fading and chipped. There are places where the cement blocks are visible. The outline of grandeur is still there. Deserted. Private. Exactly what we need.
Ellie slides on her sunglasses, which I know are armor from me more than from the sun. We stand at the edge of the tide pool. The waves lap over the sides of the cement. Ellie sighs before she sits. I take a seat beside her, giving her a minute before I say anything. I don’t want to spook her. There’s a fragility that’s new and old. The young girl is still there underneath.
“What are you thinking about?” I pick fragments of shells out of the surrounding sand.
“How am I supposed to understand the right thing to do with you? It’s impossible.” She faces the ocean, her glasses concealing her eyes.
“Follow your heart.” I give her a sideways glance. Might be terrible advice, but I hope her heart leads her to me. Our connection is still there. The air between us hums with old feelings brought back to life.
She shakes her head, picking up a fistful of sand and letting it run through her fingers over and over before she speaks again. “When I left ten years ago, it was the right thing to do. You weren’t good for me anymore. You wouldn’t get help. I had to leave.”
“Why then?” I say. “Why did you decide to leave me then? I’m not saying you were wrong. Looking back, I was out of control. My sober self can see that now. Couldn’t admit it at the time.” I try to slot a piece that’s never fit into the puzzle. My trip here is as much about seeking answers as it is about rebuilding what we shouldn’t have lost.
“Our breakup had been coming for a long time.”
She’s a good actress, but not good enough to make me believe something that far from the truth. Unless I was so out of it I missed all the signs, she’s lying.
“Didn’t feel that way.”
“I’m surprised you could feel anything. Percs, oxy, Adderall, bennies. I could probably list about ten more that were in rotation. After Isaac died, your consumption went through the roof, and mine went to zero. That whole ‘scared straight’ thing was real for me. I didn’t want to die, and I didn’t want you to die either. Sober Ellie wasn’t good at coping with addict Wyatt.”
Maybe that’s true. Or partially true. She’s on the defensive, which isn’t like her. My
grief, which fueled my worst habits, would have been hard to be around, but what I don’t believe is that she went home for a week and got tired of my issues and then left after barely one conversation. The suddenness of her departure is what throws me every time I think I’m close to cracking her true reason open.
“You lied to me about your habits all the time. You could still be on something now. How would I know?” Ellie asks.
On movie sets, during interviews, at family dinners, I could fake sobriety as long as I managed my drug combinations. An upper here, a downer there. When I wanted to be, I was a master at it.
That’s all behind me now, but I can’t change her opinion of me, of who I used to be, if she won’t get to know me again. We’re both quiet for a long time as we watch the ocean ebb and flow through the decaying cement pool.
“Did you bring a suit?” Avoidance is the best I’ve got right now.
She pulls her shirt away from her body. “Looks like.” Her amused expression is tinged with sadness. “You’re not going to touch my last question?”
“The answer is trust, Ellie. I gotta earn that. It’s not going to happen in five days. It just isn’t. The real question is whether you even want to take a chance. Am I worth the risk? Are we?”
“Oh, is that all?” She chuckles, a sound that is almost bitter.
“I’ve got the drugs under control. All I’m asking for is a chance to prove that to you.” I stand and offer her my hand.
She stares at me for a moment before taking it. When I pull her up, her chest is inches from mine. Her breath catches. I grin. She gives me a gentle shove, so I’m forced to take a step back, and a laugh escapes me.
“You did that on purpose.”
“I need all the advantage I can get.” I wink.
“Me wanting to sleep with you isn’t the same as me wanting to be with you.” She takes off her shirt and shorts, and she tosses her sunglasses in her heap of clothes.
The ability to think coherently vanishes at the sight of her. Her bikini is a swirl of sea colors and fits her in the right places. She always understood how to dress for her body type. My dick twitches at the memories, the reality of her here, with me.
She raises an eyebrow.
I’m not the only one doing devious things on purpose.
I take off my shirt, slow stripper fashion, and she laughs. With a flick of my wrist, I toss my shirt right at her.
She catches it and pretends to be overwhelmed. “Oh, my gosh, Wyatt Burgess threw his shirt at me.” She fans herself and tugs the shirt over her own head. “I’m never taking it off.”
“Oh, I can think of a few ways I could get that off you.” I close the distance between us, and my smile is wicked. “Looks good on you, but it’d be even better laid out on the sand.”
She tries to run from me, but I grab her around the waist. Her back connects with my chest. I turn her around, keeping her as close as possible. She meets my eyes in challenge. Now this Ellie, I recognize. Never one to back down. I grip the bottom of my shirt and slide my hands up her body, taking the shirt with me. As the fabric comes over her head, her hair cascades around her shoulders and down her back. The things I want to do to her right now are limitless.
She gives me the once-over, and a hint of a smirk crosses her face. “Last one to the mermaids has to buy lunch.” Shoving me, she sprints for the water.
I kick up the sand as I chase her. In the shallow water, I catch her. As soon as we’re at swimming depth, she overtakes me. She grew up around the ocean, and she’s an excellent swimmer. I survive. Barely.
We swim around the cement pool instead of through it. My eyes are open, even though the salt stings them. The fish dart underneath me as I thrash around. Ellie videotaped me swimming once. I was convinced I couldn’t be that bad. At the time, I thought I did everything well. My swimming was not a pretty sight.
When I get to the closest mermaid, Ellie is already sitting on the edge of the pool. Her feet dangle in the water. I hoist myself out to sit next to her. Water streams down my chest back into the ocean, and its sticky remains coat my body. I’m more of a lounge-by-the-pool swimmer.
“Never thought to take any swimming lessons?”
“Too busy learning other skills,” I say. “Unless I’m being paid to learn it, it doesn’t happen.”
“Favorite skill you’ve picked up over the years?”
We’re shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time since I showed up on her doorstep a couple days ago, the rapport between us is easy. Almost like old times.
“Playing Gordon Lampton. The cooking and the accent were definitely highlights. Recently? I finished a superhero movie.”
“Yeah, I knew about that.” She gives me a sideways glance.
“You heard?” Did she keep tabs on me?
“I took a few calls about the love interest, but it was too high profile. Then as soon as you were locked in, that cemented my choice.” She splashes the water with her fingers.
“You stopped doing big budget films. How come?”
She leans back, her palms resting on the edge of the pool. “I like my quiet life here.”
I let the crush of the press get too extreme when we were younger. I lived for the attention, and the intense need to be wanted didn’t fade. There was no threshold that was high enough for me. Camila has helped me delve into why I sought acceptance and love in public opinion instead of finding it in myself or in my personal relationships. No surprise to find those negatives are rooted in my parental issues.
The media machine could treat me any way they wanted as long as they fed my need to be seen, but I hated how our fame impacted Ellie. The crotch shots. The insults hurled at her. How insecure she sometimes felt. Got in more than one fight with aggressive cameramen. I was fair game, but they weren’t supposed to touch her. Never quite worked like that.
“You didn’t even come to the Oscars the year we were both nominated,” I say.
“You mean the year you won?”
“Oh, is that what happened?”
Ellie bumps my shoulder. The waves hit the reef further out and settle as they come closer to shore. We sink into a comfortable silence. There’s peace in sitting beside someone and not having to say anything.
“I watched the show on television. Not my year to win. Jen had the award locked in—her performance was head and shoulders above the rest of us.” She stares at the breaking waves and then continues, “I sobbed my heart out during your speech when you raised your Oscar and said you hoped that wherever Isaac had gone, he was proud of you.” She rubs a hand along my back, the way she once did years ago. “You taking Tanvi as your date slayed me. Heartbreakingly perfect.” Her head falls on my shoulder.
With my arm around her, I kiss the top of her head. “Wish I’d known you were watching. I was so sure you’d be there—I got so lit up that night because I was frustrated and angry. And disappointed. Won an Oscar and didn’t care. Didn’t care at all. I would have given back the golden man for five minutes in a room with you.”
A heavy silence rests between us. The number of times I braced myself for an encounter with her that never happened were too numerous to count. The Oscars stung more than the others. She’d been so driven to succeed when we were together, seeking out character-driven pieces and directors who would hone her skills. That nomination would have meant something to her, but not as much as avoiding me.
She eases away, but I sense her reluctance. “Ready to head back to shore? It’s probably almost lunch. What do you fancy?” She slips into a British accent.
“I watched that film of yours. Was quite good.” I use my best British in response.
“Ten years.” She puts a hand on my unshaven face.
“Weird, isn’t it?” Some things don’t change. Ellie is as beautiful to me at thirty-four as she was during the three years we dated.
“You’ve been everywhere and nowhere.” She gives me one last glance before slipping
off the edge of the pool.
Everywhere and nowhere.
I don’t plan on being nowhere anymore.
Chapter Fifteen
Ellie
Present Day
We eat at a food truck that sells locally caught fish on a bun. Sitting on top of a picnic table on the side of the road, we have an ocean view. Being with him is normal and surreal. Ten years stretch between us, but each year is a snippet of time, not a sequence of days. Those years should matter, make it hard for us to connect, to understand, to feel close, but they’ve fallen away as though they didn’t happen. Without Haven as evidence of their passing, I might believe we could pick up where we left off without missing a beat. Every time I glance at him, my heart aches or races, sometimes both. I can’t get my bearings.
“What are you doing after this week?” I take a bite of my sandwich.
He dusts off his hands, having eaten his much faster than me. “I have a couple things to check on and take care of in LA, then I start a promotional tour for Sixty Seconds to Live.” His elbows rest on his knees, and he plays with his sandwich wrapper, bouncing it between his hands.
The promo material for Sixty Seconds to Live, his race-car movie, has been everywhere. Like many of the movies he does, it’s a big, splashy production with a hefty budget. I check my watch, conscious of school ending soon.
“What do you have at three?”
“I’m picking up Haven from school.” I hope I sound like a wonderful aunt and not a concerned mother.
“Nikki seems like she’s doing a good job with her. Haven has a great sense of humor.”
Before I can talk myself out of it, I say, “She’s been asking about you. Did you want to stay and have dinner with us?”
“Yeah. I’d love that.” Wyatt’s eyebrows go up and then a slow smile is in bloom. He flexes his hand around the empty wrapper. “You taking her to Nikki after dinner?”
“No.” The truth. Now what? “She’ll stay at mine tonight.”
He nods. “Being a single parent can’t be easy.”
When Stars Fall Page 10
