When Stars Fall

by Wendy Million

  “When Ellie was six months pregnant.”

  Her words are a punch to the gut.

  “It’s a well-guarded secret on the island.” Calshae’s voice is quiet. “I tried to talk her into telling you. You deserved to know. Ellie finally got tired of hearing me say what she didn’t want to hear and stopped calling me to hang out, stopped responding to the messages I sent her. I let our friendship go. Friendships don’t always blow up, sometimes they fade away.”

  “How old would Haven have been?” I squint.

  “Only a few months old. Years later, I wondered if I should have tried harder. Maybe our rift wasn’t about you.”

  Ellie came to see me when Haven was only a few months old. The friendship split and Ellie visiting LA are probably connected. Maybe she finally took Calshae’s advice and seeing me didn’t lead to the outcome she’d wanted. So many things I don’t understand. “This is hurting my brain.” I run my hands through my hair in frustration. “The gym. I need to beat the shit out of something.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “We pass the bar to get there. I’ll come with you.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You already asked about alcohol. Doesn’t seem like your brain is in a great place at the moment. Why do you suppose she didn’t tell you all those years ago?” Calshae raises an eyebrow.

  “Not just all those years ago—any of the years.” I scoff. “Any of them. She had ten years to tell me.”

  “Okay, so why didn’t she?”

  I sigh, frustrated with her, with Ellie, with myself. “Because I was an addict who made bad choices. Took a lot of risks when I was high. Did stupid stuff a lot of the time. I understand the reasons. Doesn’t mean I’m not pissed off at the choice she made.”

  “Let me tag along with you today to make sure you don’t do something impulsive and stupid to ruin this chance. ’Cause you still have one. You’ll have a chance to spend time with your daughter, and I’m sure Haven would love that too.”

  I swallow a lump in my throat as Haven’s hints about her father flick through my mind like a photo album. “I want that.” My voice is a rasp.

  “I know. I know. Let’s hit the gym. Beat the shit out of some stuff with your fists . . . instead of reporters with the bottom of a Jim Beam bottle.” She gets up and motions for me to do the same.

  “You watched that video on YouTube?” I stand too, wearily.

  “A few times. It was actually one of the funnier ones.”

  “Jesus, what must my kid think of me?” There are so many things on the internet I’m not proud of, so many poor decisions that I made when I was too out of it to realize I was being filmed.

  Calshae’s dark eyes search my face. She pats my back. “Ellie’s a good mom. I’m sure Haven has a high opinion of you. She’d never want your daughter to think badly of you.”

  I grab some workout clothes from the suitcase, and before I disappear into the bathroom I say, “I guess we’ll see.”

  I hit the bag in the gym over and over. Calshae runs on the treadmill, avoiding me. I beat the bag like I should have beaten myself ten years ago. My mind wanders between being amazed Ellie and I have a child together to being furious at myself, at her, to wanting to kill someone, anyone.

  Calshae checks her phone and glances at me. She frowns, and I sigh.

  “What?” I hit the bag harder and harder. The sound almost blocks out her reply.

  “Text from the front desk. Evelyn is here, Ellie’s—”

  “I remember who Evelyn is,” I say through gritted teeth.

  Calshae yanks the emergency cord on the treadmill and stands still. “She wants to see you.”

  “Sure, let’s add to the party. Let’s invite all the people who knew I was a dad before I did.” I throw out my hands and then slam another left hook into the bag. “At this point, it’d be the whole frigging island.”

  “I’ll tell her to come back later.”

  “No, no. Tell her she can come in and explain shit to me.” I whip off the boxing gloves and toss them to the side. Flexing my hands, I wait for Evelyn to walk in.

  Normally the gym is bright with natural light. But today the windows are covered by blinds and anything else the hotel staff could find to block the paparazzi’s view. The cameras and crews have descended on the hotel. For maybe only the second or third time in my life, I don’t want the attention.

  Evelyn breezes into the gym. She stands by the entrance, squinting in the dim lighting. I wouldn’t let Calshae turn on any lights, so it’s like dusk in here.

  “Wyatt?” She scans the room.

  Her petite stature reminds me of Ellie. Their hair is almost the same color too, so from a distance, they could be mistaken for each other. Those details soften me to Evelyn, even when I don’t want to be softened. Like today—I don’t want any softness today. “Evelyn,” I say. “Or should I call you Grandma?”

  “I was a grandmother even when you believed Haven was Nikki’s.”

  “I should go.” Calshae steps off the treadmill and tucks her phone in her pocket. “I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

  “Like I said, I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “How many times have you considered using?” Evelyn asks. “Searched any bags? The nooks and crannies? Maybe a pill was left behind? Considered calling any old friends?”

  So fucking smug. Like she has any idea how I feel. Right now, I hate her. I clench my hands and release them, and don’t answer.

  “I’ll come find you when I leave,” Evelyn says to Calshae, who is standing at the door before she ducks out. The door clicks closed.

  “You have to keep it together,” Evelyn says quietly, clasping her hands in front of her.

  “I’m aware.” I push the words out, my anger barely in check. “Why do you suppose I’m here in the gym instead of at the bar?”

  “A whiff of anything and I’ll be counseling Ellie to stay away.”

  “Yeah, well, you won’t have much of a leg to stand on when I tell her that you’re the reason I’m here in the first place.”

  “I’m still Ellie’s mother.” Evelyn’s expression tightens.

  “And I’m the father of her child. That puts us at an impasse.”

  “You’re angry. But having Tommy calling family attorneys on the island, asking questions about custody, visitation? Is that how you want this to go between you and my daughter?”

  My hands are laced behind my head, and I release them. Pisses me off that she already knows about that. “My rights, since they’ve been denied to me for the last nine years, are important.”

  “Ellie isn’t going to stop you from seeing Haven.”

  “I want to be sure she can’t.” I’m trying to work out why she agreed to give me Ellie’s address. She knew what Ellie was hiding. “What did you expect would happen?”

  She crosses to the bench that houses weights on one end. Slowly, she lowers herself to sit on the edge. “I hoped you’d come here clean and sober. Ellie would realize what I have known for years, and the three of you could work at being a family. Instead, you created this incredible public spectacle.” She tosses her hand toward the windows for emphasis. “You found out in exactly the wrong way.”

  When I remember my conversation with Tommy, seeing the birth certificate on TMZ, I clench and unclench my hands. “How was I supposed to guess Ellie had a real reason for staying away from me?”

  “I should have made the terms of our agreement a little firmer.”

  “Six months of meetups, breathalyzers, and random drug testing on my movie set weren’t enough?”

  “You agreed to that.”

  “And thank goodness I did. Right? Or else I still wouldn’t know I had a daughter.”

  “Haven would have sought you out at some point. Ellie never lied to her about you.”

  “Small comfort, Evelyn. I’ve missed nine years.
When I realize everything I haven’t been here for—what the hell am I supposed to do? How do we overcome that?”

  “You need to take a hard look at yourself. Ellie came to see you when Haven was only a few months old.”

  “I’m aware of that, now.”

  She watches me for a few minutes as I pace around the gym. The memory, if one ever existed, of Ellie coming to see me is gone. I can’t locate it or verify its existence. They can tell me it happened, but it doesn’t feel as though it did. When I glance in Evelyn’s direction, there’s a crease in her brow.

  “What would you have done if she’d told you she was pregnant?”

  “That’s a shitty question. I can’t answer that. How can I answer that?”

  “I suspect you can, you just don’t enjoy the response springing to mind.”

  Fury tinges the sides of my vision, even though she’s right. The truth, the horrible truth, is that I would have told Ellie we weren’t ready to be parents. If Ellie had stayed, I’m not sure there’d be a Haven. I would have talked her out of keeping the baby. Guilt wells in my throat. Haven wouldn’t exist.

  “She understood you better than anyone. When she came to us, sobbing her heart out, she realized she had to make a choice between keeping her baby or keeping you.” She gives me a hard look. “She loves Haven. Having a child is like watching your heart running around outside your body—how do you protect it? How do you keep it safe? You’ll get to experience that. The most beautiful and terrifying feeling.”

  Those feelings should have been mine a long time ago. “You’re just making me angrier.”

  “What I’m trying to say is when Haven was more of an idea than a person, Ellie struggled. She did. She loved you so much. Her devotion to you scared me as a parent, to see my child attached to someone who could destroy her.”

  “I didn’t destroy her.” My voice is tight. I’m sure of that, at least. I protected Ellie.

  “After Isaac died, you were out of control. A loose cannon. Consumed by fame, drugs, drinking—anything bad for you was fair game. You were at your worst when Ellie found out she was pregnant.” Something in her expression shifts and she gives me a rueful smile. “I was glad when she chose to keep Haven. I was worried you were going to get my daughter killed.”

  “There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done for Ellie back then.”

  Something on my face must tell Evelyn she doesn’t need to correct me because she checks her watch. Then she stands up and crosses toward the door. “Remember that feeling you just had, that realization you let her down, when you talk to those lawyers. She needs you to make the right choice this time.” Evelyn opens the door and disappears without another word.

  Once in a while, I see where Ellie gets her dramatic flair.

  From the ground, I scoop up my boxing gloves and pound on the bag again, trying to block out Evelyn’s words. I don’t want to feel sorry for Ellie. I don’t want to be ashamed that she came to talk to me and I don’t remember it. I want to be angry.

  “Wyatt?” Calshae calls from the doorway.

  “Go away.” I hit the bag with more force. “I don’t need another person on Ellie’s side.”

  Calshae sighs, her hip cocked, and one hand braced on her waist. She’s changed into some sort of summery island dress. The vibrant colors in it are in stark contrast to her dark skin. “You’re insufferable.”

  “No, I’m not.” I screw my face up in annoyance.

  “Security’s moving the reporters. It’s still a bit early, but I can get you to Ellie’s in about half an hour if you want.”

  The clock on the wall has just passed nine in the morning. This day is both speeding by and dragging along.

  “Come on. Go shower. I’ll get us breakfast to go. The reporters will be gone and then I’ll take you over to Ellie’s place.”

  I yank off the gloves and squint at her. There’s still so much anger coursing through me, I’m not sure how I can be around Ellie without letting my rage show.

  “You don’t want to hear this, but she was really unhappy years ago—I think she’s been unhappy for a long time. If Ellie has a chance to be happy, I want that.” Calshae smiles again. “Besides, I kinda like your grumpy ass. Seeing you happy might be nice too.”

  I throw a glove at her, and she ducks.

  “See? Grumpy.”

  Despite my sour mood, I chuckle and shake my head. “A half hour? Also, what’s with the women on this island not knowing how to cook?”

  “If a man can cook, he shouldn’t complain. It makes him look more attractive to those of us that can’t.”

  Ellie used to get so turned on every time I cooked. Never complained about that outcome. “Can you make sure no one cleans my room?” She gives me a quizzical look. “When the press swarm, people will take and sell anything that’s been in the room as a trophy.”

  “Yeah. Of course,” she says. “I’ll make sure no one goes in.”

  Seeing Haven again is going to be weird. I can’t quite process that she’s known the truth for years, and I’ve only just found out. My chest tightens at the reality of becoming an instant parent. I don’t have a fucking clue how to be a father, and I’ve got no idea where to start when I see her again.

  My daughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Wyatt

  Ten Years Ago

  My head throbs. I open one eye, wondering where I’ve ended up this time. In the semidarkness, I make out an alarm clock and a framed photo. Careful not to move anything else, I drag the frame toward me. Isaac and I are at a club, laughing, and someone—was it Ellie?—snapped a picture. I’ve looked at this photo a thousand times in the last few months. If I return home, I often end up in Isaac’s room to sleep off my hangover. With a groan, I ease myself to a sitting position, rubbing my forehead. My clothes are missing. I must have shed them as I came in here. My legs are wobbly when I stand, and I fumble my way out the door.

  In the living room, my pants are in the middle of the floor. I check the pockets for my phone. Did I call Ellie last night like I promised? Squinting at the screen, I try three times to punch in my passcode before being locked out. I hurl the phone across the room, satisfaction piercing my gut as it smashes on the tile and skids to a stop, pieces scattering everywhere.

  From my other pocket, I take out my pills and shake the bottle. Empty. Can’t stay that way. I turn toward my room to go refill it, and my foot catches on the Persian rug Ellie and I bought in Turkey. The snag tips me forward, but I catch myself just before my face connects with the hard ground. My skull barely contains my bouncing brain, and my eyeballs throb with each beat of my heart. I close my eyes to block out the pain, and Isaac is there, collapsed on the ground, thrashing on the dirty sidewalk.

  Rage at my incompetence floods me, drowning out everything else. When I rise, I grab a fistful of the carpet, yanking it over and over until the furniture releases the fabric.

  A fire. I want to burn it all down.

  Striding to the massive fireplace, I shove the grate out of the way. I’m about to find out whether this fireplace even works. There’s lighter fluid in the kitchen, and I grab that before returning.

  I stare at the black pit for a minute in indecision. Fuck it. If I have a fireplace, I should use it. I douse the ornamental logs in fluid and remove a box of matches out of my discarded pants’ pocket. When the match is lit, I toss it into the pit. The logs and fluid catch with a whoosh. Quick and ferocious. I step backward, laughing. Something else has to go in there. I stare at the carpet. Too big.

  With the flames roaring, I enter Isaac’s room and gather anything I can carry. I rip the sheets off the bed; I grab the photo from the bedside table and any other photos I can find. Back in the living room, I toss them into the fire. The sheet trails along the ground, and I grab the last corner, stuffing it into the fireplace. When flames lick at my hand, I shake it, chuckling. Fuckin’ hot.

  “Wyatt?”

  My heart
races at the sound of her voice. Ellie’s by the kitchen island, a bag at her feet. The exact day and time is fuzzy, but I think she’s home early. There’s no way to be sure. I’ve gotten terrible at keeping track of anything.

  “You’re here.” My back is to the flames.

  “What are you doing?”

  I hate when she treats me like a delinquent child. “I’m cleaning up.” We don’t need any of this stuff. He’s gone.

  “You’re burning sheets?”

  If my heartbeat wasn’t so fierce and irregular, my head might not pound in sync to it anymore.

  “Is there someone else here?” she whispers.

  “No.” I glance around the room, and my voice echoes in the emptiness. “Should there be?”

  “Why are you burning sheets?” When she gets closer, her expression changes from uncertainty to one of realization. She sighs, and her shoulders drop. “They’re Isaac’s.”

  “Yeah.” I scrunch up my face. “Why would I burn our sheets?”

  She’s wearing the silver bracelet I gave her for our first Christmas together. She rotates it, and stays focused there instead of on me. “Do you remember calling me last night? I took a red-eye to get here. I’m supposed to be on set today.”

  “Why aren’t you?” Sweat trickles down my back. Turning, I realize the fire has tentacles peeking out of the cavern, shooting up the mantle.

  Ellie’s eyes widen, and she strides to the kitchen and throws open a door by the stove. She grabs the fire extinguisher and hurries to my side.

  “No.” I rest my hand on top of her arm. “Just a sec.” I leave her to search Isaac’s room. With the drawers open, I remove anything I can find that reminds me of him. My arms are overflowing when I re-enter the living room.

  “Wyatt.” Ellie shakes her head. “No, don’t do that. You’ll regret doing it.”

  “Like hell I will.” I toss everything into the fire. “He’s gone, Ellie. He left us. Don’t need his shit lying around anymore.” The photos on top of the pile curl and smoke.

  “Wyatt.” She sets the fire extinguisher beside her feet. A thin sheen of sweat coats her face when she drags me into a hug. “Wyatt,” she murmurs against my ear. “I want you to come to my set with me.”