When Stars Fall

by Wendy Million

  “That’s true.” Calshae gives me a rueful smile. “It’s just . . . I can’t say for sure that you weren’t drinking. I know you told me you poured them down the drain.” She eyes me. “I’ll bet you’ve learned a thing or two about how to cover your tracks over the years?” Her voice rises at the end.

  I’ve brought my A-game to this conversation. My facial expression is going to match these words. I will not crack. She needs to be in my corner or Ellie will never let me near my daughter again. “I understand what’s at stake. I was not drinking.” If she checks my room bill, she’ll catch my lie.

  “But you still drink?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Poor Ellie.” Calshae chuckles. “How is she ever certain you’re telling the truth? Your ability to sidestep a direct question is astounding.”

  “Will you help me or not?” I sigh.

  “I’ll help you. You want to be better, but you’re not there yet. You can keep your foot in the door. But you’re going to need a crowbar for Ellie to let you in after this.”

  If a crowbar is what I need, I’ll find one. No matter what it takes, I’m wedging myself into Haven’s life, and Ellie’s too.

  “I’ll meet you downstairs.” She picks up my bag. “We’re going in the secret entrance to Ellie’s place?”

  “Yes. Can you get in touch with her security?” I’m already dialing Yasmeen, my travel agent, to get on a new flight.

  “Yeah, I can do that.” Calshae shoves the suitcase out the door.

  I turn away from her while I fill in Yasmeen, and then call Tanvi and tell her my flight’s been delayed. She could check my lie, but she won’t. No matter how things go with Ellie, I’ll be in LA today. She tries to talk about Haven, but I brush her off as kindly as I can, saying we can chat about my daughter over tea in person.

  To get to Ellie’s house, Calshae takes us on a long detour to lose the paps trying to follow us. The ride gives me too much time to ponder the depths of Ellie’s anger. I lied. I’m going to keep lying. But I’m done drinking. That certainty needs to beat like a drum in my head when I talk to Ellie. I must convince her I’m clean and sober.

  Dipping into the path, Calshae glances behind her before accelerating along the tight route. Parking in front of the side entrance, she peers behind us again. “Do you want me to come in?”

  “Yes,” I say, gruffly. “I need you to tell her what we agreed.”

  Climbing out of the car, she knocks on the side door.

  Nikki answers, a weary expression on her face. “Haven’s here, Wyatt. Ellie’s barely holding it together. You were drinking?”

  Each of her phrases is a bullet to my gut. “I wasn’t drinking. Ellie doesn’t understand. I need to talk to her.”

  Nikki glances over her shoulder and then whispers to me, “Based on how Ellie’s acting, I can guess what happened between you two last night.”

  “She misunderstood.” That part I believe. She sees a few minibar bottles as a sign of my addictions. A weakness, maybe. But alcohol is not a problem. I’m not downing a bottle of Jim Beam every night.

  “I bet you’ve never lied to her about something like this before.” Nikki raises one eyebrow.

  I hate how she’s gotten to the root of Ellie’s anger. Whether I’m telling the truth or lying doesn’t matter. Ellie will believe whatever she wants to believe because she thinks she understands how I operate. Those empty bottles are not indicative of who I am now, and I won’t let her turn me into someone I’m not.

  When we come through the kitchen and into the living room, Ellie rises from the couch, and her tear-streaked face is a knife to my heart. My gut clenches. I did this. After telling her she wouldn’t be sad with me anymore, I’ve ripped her heart out.

  “Ellie.” I shove my hands in my pockets to keep from sweeping her up, comforting her.

  “No.” Holding up a hand to ward me off, she pressed her other one into her chest. “You’ve been drinking. You promised me you were clean.” Her voice catches. “There’s nothing you can say right now. Nothing.”

  Beside me, Calshae’s intake of breath is audible in the room. “I never saw him drinking, never smelled alcohol on him. He poured those bottles down the drain in a fit of rage.”

  “Did you see him do that?” Ellie crosses her arms.

  “Yes.” Calshae doesn’t look at me, doesn’t elaborate.

  Ellie’s jaw is tight, and she comes around the couch. Her brown eyes scan my face, searching for the truth. It’s buried deep. All she’ll find is my lying confidence. She comes almost toe-to-toe with me. She turns to Calshae. “I don’t believe you.” Then she stares at me. “I don’t believe you either.”

  “You’re wrong not to trust me.” Confidence oozes out of me. Whatever I have to say or do, I’m going all-in today. She’s not shutting me out.

  “Supervised visits, that’s what you can have.” She whirls to leave my side.

  “Perfect. That’ll be great during our joint filming schedule.” The words are out before I can reconsider. Ah, well. Maybe Tommy was on to something. At least this way, she’ll be forced to spend time with me, and I will not screw up again. I understand the stakes now. I didn’t when I let the liquid roll down my throat, warm my stomach, soothe my rage. If I’d been aware of what I was risking, I wouldn’t have allowed myself the luxury of a few drinks.

  “I’ll be at the car. Watch your time.” Calshae ducks out of the room to the kitchen.

  Good instincts. A fight is brewing.

  “I have my own commitments.” Ellie scoffs. “Just because Kathleen Kirkton flaked out doesn’t mean I step in. Any movie with the two of us would be a media circus.”

  “Fine.” I swallow my anxiety, and I raise the stakes. “I’ll take you to court. There’s a lawyer lined up.”

  She glances at Nikki. There’s no surprise between them. Evelyn must have told her. Her mother has been giving everyone’s secrets away. Nikki rises from the couch and disappears down the hall. Is she going to monitor Haven or giving us privacy?

  “Court wouldn’t go well for you.”

  “Who knows? I’ll take my chances.”

  “Haven,” Ellie says. “She doesn’t deserve to be dragged through a messy court battle.”

  “You don’t believe I haven’t been drinking. Fine. I have a promotional tour for Sixty Seconds to Live—it’s not long. Then I should start work on the Kirkton project if we have a new lead. Step in for her. Give me a chance to prove I’m not the man you think I am.”

  “You couldn’t stop drinking for a week. Why would I tie myself to you for months?”

  “We’re already tied for years. Her name is Haven.”

  She lifts her hair and lets it fall and then gathers it up again, placing it over one shoulder. With her arms crossed, she bites her lip. “Why this project?”

  “Why not a movie project? We’ll both have a few weeks to cool off. Then we have a few months to work together. During our free time, we can figure out this family thing.”

  “This ‘family thing’?”

  I don’t like her mocking tone, but I’m also not letting this opportunity go. I’m close to winning her over. She doesn’t completely hate the idea, though I’m surprised. “You, me, and Haven.”

  “I’m off the table. There will be no relationship between you and me. We’re not anything. Co-parents. We’re not a family.”

  Her words slice through me. I came here for her, but with Haven in the picture, a life I never knew I could have stretches out in front of me. But it doesn’t include supervised visits or never being with Ellie again. After last night, I want it all.

  “We could be a family. I know you’ve felt it too. It’s possible.”

  “You’re lying to me. Not a doubt in my mind.” She points her finger at my chest. A deep shuddering breath only partially conceals the sob rising into her throat, leaking into her voice. “And it breaks my heart that I let myself believe you were better than this
last night.”

  The sob escapes her now, and I draw her into my arms. She comes willingly, and my shirt absorbs her tears while my heart breaks with hers. One stupid fucking mistake, and it’s all crashing down around me.

  “I’ll prove you wrong,” I murmur into her hair. “Do the movie. I’ll prove you wrong.”

  “We’ll never be anything again.” Ellie pushes away from me, sniffing and wiping her tears.

  There’s so much conviction in her voice that anger rises in me. One mistake, one I didn’t realize had this much weight, shouldn’t have the power to undo the progress we’ve made this week.

  “Tell me last night meant nothing,” I say.

  Ellie steps toward me, fury vibrating off her. “It meant everything to me.” Her voice fills with agony. “And then I found twenty minibar bottles in your garbage.” She points her finger at me again. “Tell me the truth. Did you drink them?”

  “No,” I fire back. “I’m not drinking.”

  Her shoulders drop, and the fight goes out of her. “I’ll do the movie. But I’m doing it for your relationship with Haven. That lie—the one you just told me—it cost you us. I can’t trust you.”

  If I told her the truth now, the consequences are laid out before me. Supervised visits, court battles, more lost time. She’s giving me the movie. Months of time. I can win her over. Show her that whether or not I was drinking here, she can trust me. I’m not returning to my old habits.

  A text pops up on my phone from Calshae. I need to go, or I’ll miss this flight too. “I have to go,” I say. “I need to get home to Jamal.”

  “Have your manager contact mine with the details. We don’t need to talk.”

  “We have a daughter.” I throw up my hands. “You’re not denying me access to her.”

  “I’ll figure out a way for you to speak to her that doesn’t involve me.” She glares at me.

  My instinct is to dig in and keep fighting, but the longer I press her, the worse what little is left of our relationship will get. If I leave now, maybe we can salvage something. We both need time to cool down. “Make sure you do.” In frustration, I run my hands through my hair before passing her on my way to the side door.

  “Did you get what you wanted?” Calshae asks when I climb in beside her.

  “Not yet,” I say. “But I’m one step closer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ellie

  Present Day

  The section of Algonquin Park in Northern Ontario that the film scout pinpointed for our movie’s location is full of evergreens and a lot of snow. If I had to be on a set with my nine-year-old for the next three months, I would have picked almost anywhere else. Perhaps I should have asked Wyatt or my manager more questions. Other than negotiating an exorbitant amount of money for my participation, I didn’t care about much else. He wanted me here, and agreeing was what was best for Haven’s relationship with him.

  Our trailer, by Hollywood standards, isn’t lavish. I asked for something kid-friendly, which seems to have been translated into an interior covered in shades of lemon and pink. There are two bedrooms, plus a bathroom, a kitchenette, and multiple sitting rooms.

  “When is Dad getting here?” Haven picks up the throw pillows on our trailer’s couch, examines them, and puts them back. She’s spoken to Wyatt every day since he left the island.

  “Call and ask him.” We saw him briefly earlier today when we arrived, but he’s been on set for the last couple of hours prepping with James, the director.

  I’ve given in and gotten Haven her own phone so I don’t have to be the intermediary between her and Wyatt. Terrible parenting. Hearing Wyatt’s voice drifting down the line reminds me too much of what I want to forget.

  Setting down my purse and the backpack filled with Haven’s school supplies, I close my eyes. We haven’t talked in any detail since he left the island. I haven’t kept Haven from him, but I’ve kept myself as far away as possible. What he’s said, what he hasn’t admitted, echo in the distance between us.

  “Knock, knock.” Wyatt peers in the door. “Your tutor-nanny is in my trailer.”

  Of course she is. “Did Stacy get lost?” I hope my tone hides how much seeing him again turns my insides to mush. His dark hair, his light eyes, his tall, toned body. The memory of what that body can do to mine rises to the surface.

  “I ran into her in the parking lot.” Wyatt grins as Haven tackles him in a side hug. “Needed to meet whoever was going to be looking after my daughter.” He starts at my feet and travels up my body. “Wanna come meet her, Haven? She seems nice.” Once we make eye contact, his eyes never waver from mine.

  “Should I bring my stuff?” Haven points to her backpack and the winter jacket I bought for this trip.

  “Might as well.” He shifts his attention to her. “You can make my trailer study central. It’ll be nice to hang out with you.” She leaves him to grab her things and then he slings his arm around her petite shoulders when she returns to his side.

  The two of them have grown so close, so quickly that it rattles me. I shouldn’t be surprised. Haven’s wanted her father in her life since she understood he existed, and so many things about her have reminded me of him.

  They leave together, the door clicking closed behind them. I sink into the couch. Flopping back, I let the tension ease out of me. Managing three months of being on edge and queasy with anxiety will be my undoing. To make matters a tiny bit worse, this movie is being hailed as the return of the cinematic rom-com. Wyatt and I have to pretend to be funny and romantic together when we’re neither. Oh, joy.

  There’s a knock on the door. I yell for them to come in without moving. Wyatt clears his throat, and I bolt up. “Oh.” I smooth my clothes. “I didn’t realize it was you. Where’s Haven?”

  “The tutor-nanny is doing the nanny bit. Stacy wants to get to know Haven before the production schedule starts later today.”

  “I guess we have the same call time.” I stand. “Did you want something?”

  “I wanted to talk to you without Haven around.” He unzips his heavy jacket.

  When he eases it off his shoulders, my heart rate skyrockets. I could so easily walk over and help him. Let my hands slide along his arms, across his chest, lead him to the bedroom.

  “About what?” I ask.

  “I saw you and some guy went to a charity thing together a few weeks ago.” He slides into a seat at the table.

  I shrug and wait for whatever he’ll throw at me. The guy is an old friend, but Wyatt wouldn’t know that. When I asked him to attend the fundraiser with me, he didn’t realize I was asking to spite Wyatt, but I understood the effect the pictures would have. We’re not getting back together—not if he’s drinking and definitely not if he’s lying about it. A little buffer, something to throw Wyatt off, is useful.

  “I’m capable of dating other people.”

  “Any other man is second choice.” His jaw tics. “How’ll they feel when they realize that?”

  The trailer becomes claustrophobic. He’s coming for me whether I’ve tried to create a smokescreen or not. I should have known. When he truly wants something, very little can hold him back. Another reason his “just a few drinks” terrifies me. I’ve seen where that slippery slope leads, and I’m not letting him drag me or our daughter down it.

  “I don’t see why any other man would realize that. It’s not true. Your drinking took you out of the running. You’re Haven’s father, but otherwise you don’t have a place in my life.” I wander to the far end of the trailer. Space. I need space.

  “I’m carving myself back in. I didn’t do what you think I did.” Confidence cascades off him.

  “You drank. You told me you were done with the drugs and the drinking. Then one of those nights—maybe even the night you found out about Haven—you let the urges get the best of you.”

  “I never had the same problem with alcohol that I did with drugs.”

  “Yeah, it�
��s perfectly normal for people to have Jim Beam in water bottles. From there it becomes smoothies laced with codeine. Just one sip, right? Something to take the edge off.” I hold his eye contact in challenge. “You did it all the time.” I cross my arms. “If you can’t last one week without drinking, you have a problem.”

  “People drink alcohol socially, after a long day, as stress relief. I wouldn’t say any of those people have a problem.” He rubs at a spot on the small table.

  “You’re right. Sometimes, after a long day on set, I love a glass of wine. Hell, maybe even a whole bottle. But I never disguise my drinking. I don’t pour wine into a flask and hide it on set to drink between takes.” For three years, I bore witness to every trick. If he’s drinking, the word moderation doesn’t exist.

  “I don’t do any of that anymore.” Wyatt clasps his hands, and his expression is steady. “I’m not doing that.”

  “But you’re still drinking.” My education in the things Wyatt doesn’t say runs deep. He’s being evasive. Not a lie. Not the truth.

  “Not anymore.”

  “When was the last time you drank?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  I chuckle. He’ll recall the next one. “When was the last time you took a pill?”

  “December, two years ago. Around Christmas. It was . . . Anna was . . . and I couldn’t stand seeing Jamal crying like that.” Wyatt winces. “That was my last relapse. I’ve been good ever since.”

  “You’ve memorized that, but you don’t have a clue when you took your last drink?”

  His jaw hardens. I’ve caught him. If he digs in, I’ll never believe another word he says. He stands up and crosses the trailer. “I’m not drinking. You want a Breathalyzer installed? You want me to breathe in your face every day? You want to follow me around? I’ll do it to prove I’m sober.”