When Stars Fall

by Wendy Million

  “When the reporters started showing up late tonight, I came to help field questions. Then I stayed. I was worried. Just a bad feeling, and I tried to call you, but I couldn’t get you. I was sure something was coming. Hoped it wasn’t this, though.”

  “What room is Wyatt in?” My legs wobble, and I brace a hand against the wall.

  “Top floor. Number 56. Are you going to be okay? Should I have security on standby? I’ve heard he sometimes has a temper.”

  “You might need a cleanup crew, but I doubt it,” I say with more confidence than I have. Wyatt’s reaction is an unknown. “He’d never hurt me. Never. No matter how mad he is.” She scans my face, but I don’t waver. “Stairs?” I glance down the hall.

  Calshae points to the left. “Good luck.”

  I hurry up the stairs. My choice is gone, just like my mother had warned. I have to talk about Haven. Tomorrow, the truth will be all over the news. Hell, Haven’s parentage might already be on TMZ’s newsfeed. If that’s how Wyatt found out, I’m in even more trouble. At the door to his room, I wipe my hands on my shorts and take a deep breath. My heart beats erratically. With one hand pressed to my chest to contain it, I knock on the door.

  Almost immediately, the door flies open. Wyatt’s expression is beaten, bewildered. He searches my face. I can’t look away, even though he’ll recognize what I haven’t said in words.

  “So it’s true.” He rocks back as though I’ve hit him. “Haven’s mine?” His voice cracks.

  “Yes,” I whisper and close my eyes. “Yes.”

  He leaves the door ajar and heads into the room. The balcony doors that face the ocean are open. The reporters don’t appear to be on this side of the hotel. But mere eyesight can be deceptive. Powerful camera lenses can get impossible shots.

  “Can you shut the curtains or the door?” There’s only a bedside lamp on. The TV is switched to TMZ. I swallow. Shit. TMZ.

  “Why? Why does it even matter? The whole fucking world knows I’m Haven’s father. TMZ knew before me. Christ, I’ve been sitting here thinking about the things people have said over the last few days, and I’m a complete idiot. She looks so much like your mother, Ellie, so much. But you know what’s not you? Her eyes. That blue comes from my family, doesn’t it? Now that I see it, I don’t understand how I didn’t see the truth before.”

  I’m silent, clutching my middle, watching him pace around the room. There’s nothing I can possibly say. Sorry isn’t enough. It’ll never be enough.

  “Does Haven know? She does, doesn’t she? Some of the things she said to me . . .” He chuckles, humorless, and shakes his head. “Even she knew. A nine-year-old.” His expression is filled with disgust. He’s never leveled that in my direction before. “Were you going to tell me?” He stops pacing to stare at me.

  I can’t make eye contact. The expression I glimpsed on his face is enough. He hates me. But I’ve never thought of myself as a coward, and I’m not going to start tonight—one of the most important moments in my life.

  “While you were here? I’m not sure.” I flinch at the anger in his eyes. “I was going to tonight until you mentioned your drug-addicted, violent sister lives with you.”

  He winces. “That’s a low blow, Ellie. I’m not the one who lied to you for ten years.”

  “I told you back then.”

  “When?” He puts his hands on his hips. The word is an accusation.

  I scoff. “Why do you think I flew home out of the blue ten years ago? Why do you think I came back to you with the information on rehab? Why do you think I pushed so damn hard? Wyatt, why do you think I left?”

  “But you didn’t tell me. You didn’t.” Wyatt steps toward me. “When I asked you where the rehab shit was coming from, you never said anything about being pregnant. Not one word about a baby.”

  “Would it have mattered?” My voice is quiet, barely louder than a whisper. This question has haunted me. Before he talked about Jamal, I was confident of the answer. Ten years ago, the last thing Wyatt wanted was a kid. He was too consumed by his grief and guilt over Isaac.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Of course my daughter would have mattered to me.”

  “If I’d told you, you can tell me with one hundred percent certainty you’d have gone to rehab? You would have totally changed your lifestyle—given up the publicity, created stability, been completely sober? You can say that?” If he’s going to make me the devil, I’m going to earn that title.

  “How can I answer that?” He runs both hands through his hair in frustration. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

  “You’re right. I asked the question I thought needed answering, and you said no. I asked you to get sober. You chose the drugs. Maybe you didn’t completely understand the choice, but if you were going to continue to live that life, I didn’t want our child anywhere near it.” I take in his haggard appearance. “How can you say you’d want a kid around that lifestyle? You grew up with that. You hated how your parents raised you and Anna.”

  “Which is why I would never do it. Anna showed up with a kid who wasn’t even mine, and I got my shit together.”

  I debate how honest to be with him. We’ve gotten this far. No point in holding back. “I did tell you. I came back to our house three months after Haven was born.”

  Wyatt frowns, and he searches my face. He probably thinks I’m lying. “What?”

  “I thought you were living with Katrina, but when I showed up, Blanca answered the door. She let me in. I went to the bedroom and tried to talk to you. You woke up, but you couldn’t carry on a coherent conversation. I left.” The breeze from the open window hits me. I shiver. “But I went to tell you. I wanted you to know.”

  Emotions flicker across his face in rapid succession. None of them are there long enough to identify. “You told me?”

  “You were really high, Wyatt.” I purse my lips, and more tears flood my eyes.

  “And that was it. I got two chances to know my daughter, to see her grow up.” His voice is soft, but there’s steel underneath.

  He doesn’t believe I did enough. Maybe I didn’t. But I couldn’t worry about his feelings anymore once I saw how bad he was; I had to protect her. Back then, he didn’t want to save himself, had no interest in getting better. He loved me so much, and he wouldn’t get help for me. I couldn’t take the chance that he wouldn’t be sober for our daughter either. Faced with him now, and the weight of my decision, my guilt rests heavy on my shoulders. Maybe I should have done more. I don’t even know anymore. But I didn’t, and here we are.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Wyatt

  Present Day

  My accusation sits between us, and rage simmers below the surface. Underneath the anger are emotions I’m not touching. Guilt. Remorse. Love. Anger is my friend, not that other shit. She should have told me when I was capable of understanding.

  “Did you ever try again, Ellie? Twice in ten years? You made it impossible for me to see you or contact you. Impossible. You had my daughter, my—” I close my eyes and grit my teeth. “Daughter.” The desire to punch something, break something, beat something bloody strains my muscles. All these pent-up frustrations with nowhere to go. Images of Haven from the last few days play over and over in my head.

  “I couldn’t risk her well-being,” she says, as though the decision to hide my daughter from me was simple.

  “Did you ever check up on me? What if I’d sobered up eight years ago, five years ago?”

  “Oh, Wyatt.” Her laugh is heavy. “I kept tabs on you. Google, YouTube, your wide-open social media accounts. I searched constantly for signs you were better.” Her jaw hardens. “Then I stopped hoping.”

  For the first time, there isn’t a glimmer of the Ellie I used to know. She was never vindictive. That was my game, not hers. “You’ve spent ten years punishing me for not saying yes right away.”

  “I spent ten years protecting Haven from an alcoholic and a drug addict who didn’
t always make good choices. Ten years protecting Haven from endless media scrutiny. Ten years keeping our kid away from YouTube searches.”

  “That’s harsh.”

  “I’m being honest.”

  Anger rises in me. She doesn’t get to be frustrated with me. We stare each other down. For ten years, she kept my daughter from me. Lied to everyone.

  “How’d you find out?” She closes the balcony door and the curtains.

  We should have done that earlier. She was right. Our arguing, drifting out the door and landing on the people below, wouldn’t be good for any of us. But the room needed airing out.

  “Tommy, my manager, called me. He caught wind of something. Wondered if I came to the island to meet my daughter.” I mock myself. “I tried to set him straight. Laughed him off. Haven’s not mine, she’s Nikki’s. Ellie wouldn’t lie to me, not about something so big. Then he said TMZ called with the details from a birth certificate. Within the hour, the proof was on their website, livestreaming on their news program for the whole world.”

  “I just found out the story was breaking.” Ellie’s voice is quiet. “I turned off my phone. If I’d known it was going to come out earlier—”

  “You would have enjoyed the last few hours of my ignorance?”

  “Now who’s aiming low?” Her expression is rock solid when she meets mine, the softness gone. “No. I would have come to tell you myself. I never wanted you to find out this way.”

  “Putting my name on the birth certificate is a stellar idea to keep the truth a secret.”

  “I thought you’d come for us. I wanted her to know, and I never expected it to take ten years.”

  “I fucking came, Ellie,” I burst out, throwing out an arm. “Years ago, I came. You wouldn’t see me.”

  “No one told me.”

  “Well, your parents were aware. Your mother met me at the gate. She took one look at me and walked all the way back down the path to the house. Didn’t say a single word to me.”

  “You were still using.”

  “Of course I was,” I snap. “I had no reason to quit.”

  “You needed a reason after what we had together? I should have been the reason. I asked you to. There’s your reason.”

  “Yeah, you did. But you didn’t tell me why, Ellie. And that would have made the difference.”

  “We’re going in circles.” Impatience sparks off Ellie, directed at me. “I didn’t try to make you aware again, and I should have.” She presses her fingers into her forehead. “I don’t know anymore. But I didn’t. I can’t take it back.”

  “Just go—leave.” Ten years of Haven’s life are lost to me. All the firsts. How do we recover from a lie that big? “I can’t stand the sight of you right now.”

  Ellie’s eyes fill with tears. Something deep inside of me shifts on a dime, an instinct so ingrained I can’t help myself, and I step toward her. With only one exception, Ellie’s tears have always been my undoing. If only they’d undone me that time too.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” I admit.

  Her bottom lip trembles. A tear falls, and she uses a finger to scoop it. Her shoulders shrug, almost imperceptibly. “Maybe I deserve it.”

  “I’m really angry. I’m frustrated. I can’t—I don’t know how to handle this.”

  “You think I do?”

  “You’ve had years to prepare for this possibility. I didn’t even realize it existed.”

  “Do you want me to go?” Tears slide down her cheeks. She brushes them away, but they don’t stop falling.

  My anger is a pit, bottomless. But every time a tear trickles out, I long to reach for her, to tug her close, to ease her pain. I want to beat the shit out of whoever made her cry. Not so simple this time. I wish it was.

  “I want you to go,” I say. “But I’m coming to your house later today. I’m spending time with my daughter. I don’t care if I bring the storm to your doorstep.”

  “Okay.”

  “You should have told me, Ellie. You should have told me.”

  She closes her eyes, and more tears slide down her cheeks. “I’ll go.” She steps past me to head for the door.

  My arms ache with the effort not to grab her. Seeing her so sad crushes me, but every time Haven crosses my mind, I can’t get my anger under control either. I love her, but I hate what she’s done.

  Ten years.

  The door clicks closed behind her. I stride over to slide the locks in place, but when I reach the door, her muffled crying comes through the thin wood. She must be leaning on the door because it rattles with each sob. My hands and forehead are pressed against the surface, seeking the connection. I want to go out, drag her into my arms, tell her I can fix everything.

  I’m not sure we can be fixed.

  The itch hits me in a rush, as strong as it did the first week I quit. I leave the door to grab my bag, and I tear through the nooks and crannies, searching for anything left behind. Whatever I find will be expired, but I don’t care. Anything to take the edge off. In the bathroom I stare at the empty alcohol bottles in the garbage. An impulsive prick. I want another one of those bottles so badly.

  My hands are splayed on the bathroom counter, and I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My wild look peers back.

  I’m not going to screw up my life. Not this time. Not any time. Not anymore. I roll my shoulders and take out my phone. My manager, Tommy, answers on the second ring.

  “It’s true? What the hell is this?” His TV booms in the background. He’s a compulsive TMZ consumer. Good for his business, I suppose.

  “What I’ve been missing out on for ten years.”

  “This is why she avoided you for all this time? Canceled meetings, missed movie premieres, not coming to the Oscars?”

  “Yes. Yeah, Haven’s the reason.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I need the number for the best family attorney on the island. Can you get me that?”

  There’s a long pause on the phone. “You just found out. Isn’t it a little quick to be going for the jugular?”

  “Get me the information. I don’t need a lecture.”

  “Should I be calling Camila?”

  “No. No. I’m fine. But Ellie’s not keeping my kid away from me anymore either. I want to understand what rights I have. And if she doesn’t play nice, I want the path to custody.”

  “Wyatt.”

  “Precaution. That’s all.”

  “You went there to get Ellie back. Don’t blow your life to shit when you could have what you’ve wanted for years.”

  “You’re right. I should have had this years ago.” There’s a knock on my door, and I purse my lips in annoyance. “I’ve got to go. It’s going to be a fucking gong show here today.”

  “Do you want me to send people to help you manage the crisis?”

  “No, I leave in the morning. Anna’s run off again. I’ve got to get back to Jamal.” I take a deep breath when I realize how complicated my life has gotten with one revelation. “No idea what I’m going to do.”

  Tommy chuckles. “Well, the studio’d be pretty happy if you got Ellie on board with your next project. Kathleen Kirkton backed out.”

  “We’re not quite there yet,” I say. “I’m having a hard time looking at her. Not sure I’m that good of an actor.”

  “You are. So is she. If you want me to ask about a switch, give me a call.”

  “Sure, Tommy.” Sarcasm drips from my voice. “Top of my list right now. Get me that lawyer’s name.” I hang up the phone without waiting for his reply and stride to the door. Whoever is there, they’re persistent.

  Calshae is framed in the view from the peephole. Stepping back, I stare at the door for a minute. She knew. I’m sure of it. I open the door, but I don’t speak. On my way to a chair, I gather my thoughts for the millionth time since TMZ made me a father. After I sink into one, I stare at her blankly.

  Her steps are cautious, and she peers around the room as thoug
h she expected a hurricane. Her breath leaves in a whoosh, and her shoulders fall. “I was worried about having to clean this place up.”

  My disgust at her, at Ellie, at every other fucking person who was aware of my daughter’s parentage before me rises to the surface. “You knew, didn’t you?”

  Calshae freezes. “I did.”

  “For how long? Does every person on this damned island know?”

  Her lips quirk up, but her expression isn’t a happy one. “A lot of people do. The island is tight. We’re good secret keepers. Were. Not so much anymore. Though if whoever spilled the secret gets found out by Ellie’s parents, they’ll regret doing it. Everyone and their aunt signed an NDA when Haven was born. Her mom sealed the birth certificate.”

  “I’m sure whoever leaked it is rich now and won’t care.” I drag my stress ball out of my pocket and examine it for a minute. “How do I get the minibar restocked?”

  “Why?” Her eyes widen.

  “I poured the bottles into the drain last night in a fit of rage. Now my rage wants to drink.” I shrug.

  “Don’t see how getting drunk would be helpful.”

  “Don’t see how waiting ten years to tell me I’m a father is helpful, but it happened.” Every time I remember what she did, I want to explode or take a pill to dull the edge. I don’t want to feel this way. Been a long time since I’ve felt something I couldn’t face.

  “I can imagine the news is a lot to process.” Calshae perches on the chair opposite me.

  “Do you think?” I ask and then stand. “I need to get out of here.”

  “It’s a madhouse out there.”

  “It’s, like, four in the morning. How bad can it be?” Which is a stupid question because I’ve been in enough media scrums to understand exactly how bad it could be. But we’re in Bermuda, far from most media outlets.

  “It’s bad. I’ve never seen this many news outlets on the island. I have no idea how they got here. Private planes, maybe.”

  “They realize I’m here?” The TMZ reporter on the screen is at the front entrance of the hotel shooting live footage. “I guess so.” I cross my arms. “When did you say you knew?”