“We should talk.” Worry eats at me, a worm in an apple. After the quiet stage, the next is the vindictive one, though I was never on the receiving end. He’s already called lawyers. Going up to his room might lead to another fight. There’s not much choice, with him leaving tomorrow. Determining a way forward over the phone gives us too much room for misunderstandings.
He takes my hand and the small action, so deeply familiar, gives me hope. He offers a gentle squeeze when our fingers intertwine, once a silent form of reassurance. Maybe we won’t fight. Heat floods my cheeks. Calshae gives me a sly look but this isn’t what she thinks.
When we get to his room, he drops my hand the minute we’re in the door. He sits in one of the chairs by the desk, hands clasped across his middle.
I perch on the edge of the bed, waiting. Starting with the lawyer seems confrontational, but I don’t want to hide what I’ve learned either.
“I just keep getting angrier.” He runs a hand down his face. “It’s like an endless spiral of rage. I don’t know when I’ll get to the bottom, but I’m not there yet.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“About why I’m angry?”
“No, I understand why you’re angry,” I say. “But if you want to talk about anything . . .”
Wyatt’s shoulders fall. “There are so many things. The firsts with Haven. All of them—gone.”
“There are still some left. Lots of them.”
“Don’t. Okay? I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t.” He shakes his head. “I’ll say shit I don’t mean. Or that I mean right now, but won’t mean later. I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m also not sure how to move forward.”
I scooch back onto the bed, drawing my knees to my chest. The answers don’t exist in me either. There’s no clear path to get past what we’ve both done to each other.
He examines me for a while before he speaks again. “You used to sit like that when we lived together. Do you realize that? If we got in a fight and you were in the wrong, you’d curl up into this little ball.” He stands and shoves his hands in his pockets. “I know that about you. I notice so many things. The last few days, I’m remembering more and more. Weird, right? I come after you because I love you and then spend these last few days remembering why I love you.”
Tears prick at my eyes. Seeing him again has been like that for me. Except I’ve spent years denying my feelings existed. Embracing them wasn’t an option. I have no idea if it is now either. His back is to me like he can’t stand to look at me.
“Everything about Haven’s nine years bothers me. All of it.” He goes to the curtain on the sliding door, drawn tight, and twists it back, peeking out. Turning, arms crossed, he stares at me. “The other thing that makes me angry, irrationally angry”—he chuckles and runs a hand through his hair, as though he knows I’m going to think he’s lost his mind—“is that I didn’t get to see you pregnant with my kid, with Haven.” He comes to me and takes my hand, tugging me to my feet.
“I had terrible cravings for the strangest combinations,” I whisper. “Some things you might be glad you missed.”
“I’m not so sure.” He presses his hand against my stomach. “I think I would have loved it all. God knows I loved you.” The raw need in his voice hits me straight in the chest, piercing my heart.
“Wyatt,” I breathe out. The heat from his hand burns through me. I itch to shift his palm a little lower. My thoughts from earlier today are tiny fires threatening to become an inferno.
“All day, I’ve been looking at you, wondering what it might have been like if I’d gone to rehab like you asked, if I’d stayed that day instead of leaving, if I wasn’t so fucking out of it when you came back.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “I’m sorry about everything I said during that fight, Ellie.”
Going back to either of those days doesn’t help us now. Without realizing it, we’ve shifted closer, so close that breathing makes our bodies touch. Every exhale skims us together. My heart wants to escape my chest and brush up against him. My eyes flutter closed, lost in a haze of sensations that have nothing to do with thinking. Wyatt’s breath stirs my hair next to my ear. I long for the press of his body against mine, for the length of him to fill me, to be sure he’s mine again. I’d give anything to have him mine again.
“Not unless you say yes.” Wyatt’s mouth is close enough to my ear his lips graze my earlobe, and I suppress a moan.
Fireworks go off in my brain, leaving behind a haze of memories. Every time he’s whispered in my ear in a crowded room, under the glare of lights, beneath the cover of darkness, bursts to the surface. I don’t want to think anymore. I don’t want to argue anymore. I want to feel.
“Yes,” I whisper, eyes closed.
“Look at me.” His voice is gruff, one hand cupping my cheek.
Opening my eyes, I see my desire reflected on his face. So familiar. If I say the word again, there’ll be no turning back. If I think about what saying yes means, I won’t speak the word. “Yes.”
His hands sink into my hair, and his lips rush to meet mine. I wrap my arms around him, everything so natural I can switch off my brain, go on instinct. In one swift movement, he lifts my shirt over my head, my hair tumbling around my shoulders. Both hands come back to my hair, and he deepens the kiss. His lips are firm but soft, and his tongue tangles with mine.
I slide my hands up his muscular chest, taking his shirt with me. Our lips break contact only long enough for his shirt to pass his head. His kisses are hungry, demanding, as though we can rewind ten years in one night. Maybe we can.
My shorts pool at my feet. I step out of them while Wyatt trails his mouth down my neck. Nibbling my earlobe, he returns to my lips while I push his shorts off him. My hands slide into the waistband of his boxer briefs, grazing his ass and coming around to cup his manhood.
He groans into my mouth. “Ellie.” A rasp. The way my name used to sound on his lips before he came, as though he couldn’t control himself, as though he’d never loved anyone more.
Desire swells in me. Hearing him say my name like that causes my knees to weaken. This wildfire of emotion is the standard he set, and I don’t understand how I was ever with anyone else after. Our chemistry burns through me. He scoops me up, laying me back on the bed. Trailing his hand down my body, he follows with his mouth. When he gets to my stomach, he pauses, his palm skimming across my middle. “No trace,” he whispers, his voice full of awe and sadness.
An ache blooms in my chest. My job, my life, depended on there being no sign I was ever pregnant. He doesn’t wait for a response, just continues to drop lingering kisses along the edge of my panties. His lips skim my inner thighs before he removes my panties in one swift action. Shifting his body to the side, he comes back to my lips while his fingers circle my sensitive spot, working magic on my most intimate parts. In the years we were together, he took pleasure in learning every way to take me over the edge—quickly, slowly, and every increment in between. I moan into his mouth, slick with need, headed along the path of no return.
“Not yet. Not without me,” he says.
I arch my back, then he takes each breast into his mouth, sucking and licking the nipples. When his teeth graze them, I gasp, and he chuckles.
“Say it,” Wyatt murmurs into my neck. “Tell me, Ellie.”
“I want you.” I bite his earlobe and scrape my nails along his shoulders. “Please, Wyatt.”
His lips return to mine as he positions himself between my legs. Cupping my ass with one hand, he pushes into me, filling me. I wrap my legs around his waist, keeping him tight. Both his arms come up underneath me, cradling me as he rocks into me. The full body contact is delicious and sends a flood of sensations through me.
“I love you, Ellie,” he murmurs before he kisses me, long and deep.
Our mouths barely break contact, and he shifts to rub me the way I need to climax. I missed him. I missed this. No one makes me come alive like he doe
s. The way we move together, the tenderness and love of being cradled in his arms. There’s nothing like being with him.
“Ellie.” His voice is strained.
“Yes,” I say, breathless. “A little more. Yes.” I moan. “God, Wyatt, yes.”
He pushes into me harder, the contact sending me over the edge, crying out his name in a haze of ecstasy. He chases my orgasm with his own and then kisses me tenderly.
Rolling to the side, he tucks me against his chest. He wraps both of his arms around me, and he presses his lips to the top of my head. “I’ve missed you.” His chin rests on my crown.
“Me too.” The truth is so much easier to admit than I expected. I have missed this version of him, which I got so often when we first started dating and less often as he spiraled out of control. Maybe we can carve out happiness together.
Exhausted, lulled into a sense of security by the soft thud of Wyatt’s rhythmic heartbeat, my eyes drift shut.
Hours later when I wake up, Wyatt has me secured to his chest, his arm a weight across my middle. His steady breathing is near my ear and stirs my hair. I shouldn’t stay any longer. Haven will get the wrong idea if she realizes I slept here, and I’m not sure what the right idea is yet. We didn’t talk. Still, hope fills my chest. I shift Wyatt’s arm, even though I long to stay.
“Where are you going?” Wyatt mumbles into my neck.
“Bathroom.” Another shiver flows down my spine and across my body. I’ll never understand how he can make me want so much with so little. Fingers crossed he falls back to sleep. I don’t want to fight, and he won’t be happy with me sneaking out, even if it’s for the best right now.
He releases me, and I tiptoe to the bathroom, collecting my clothes as I go. I dress and then stare at myself in the mirror.
What am I doing? I grab a tissue and brush away the mascara that’s smudged under my eyes. Balling it up, I toss it toward the garbage, and I catch sight of a familiar bottle. I crouch to examine the trash can. My heart kicks at the realization of what’s stashed inside the white plastic bag. There are fifteen or more minibar bottles, empty.
He lied to me.
I suck in a sharp breath. Anger rises in me, but tears leak out. Removing each bottle from the garbage, I line them up on the counter. From my purse on the floor, I find a pen and a scrap of paper. With tears blurring my vision, I scribble a note and leave it propped against the bottles.
How could you? What else have you lied about?
I risk one last glance at him before leaving the room. His sleeping form almost undoes me, but the row of bottles I laid out mocks me. He made me believe he had his addictions kicked, or at least under control. He fooled me. There’s nothing controlled about that much alcohol. A headache builds behind my eyes. I embrace the anger and frustration because my other option is heartbreak. We were so close.
Twenty in total. He’s still drinking.
When I leave his room, the door closes behind me with a click.
Chapter Thirty-One
Wyatt
Present Day
“Ellie,” I murmur. For the first time in years, her name on my lips as I wake up is a comfort. I reach out an arm to secure her warmth against me again. Instead, I’m met with a cold mattress. With a frown, I rub the heels of my hands into my eyes and sit up.
“Ellie?” I squint into the semi-light sneaking through the curtain. She must be here somewhere. Please, let her be somewhere. Anywhere but gone.
The curtains to the balcony are still shut, so I check the bathroom first and freeze. “Shit!”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.
My shorts are on the floor, and I fish out my phone from the pocket. No messages from her. I hit redial on Calshae’s number and rub my forehead. This is not good. You fucked up, Wyatt.
“Need a ride?” The buzz of the hotel in the background almost drowns out her voice.
“Yes.” I yank out clothes from my packed bag and tug them on while keeping the phone to my ear. “To Ellie’s.”
“Wyatt, you’ll miss your flight if I take you to Ellie’s. What happened?”
I check the clock on the bedside table and realize she’s right. I’ll be lucky if I make my flight as it is. Being with Ellie last night made me forget anything else existed. I didn’t set an alarm. Tanvi won’t ever agree to watch Jamal again if I don’t show.
“Fuck.” I grab the tips of my hair. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
With my dirty clothes from the floor tucked into my bag, I practice deep breathing. I sweep the room for anything I might have left behind and try to keep a level head.
Maybe it’s not that bad. Maybe she’ll be reasonable.
A piece of paper is propped against the bottles in the bathroom. In giant letters, she’s scrawled: How could you? What else have you lied about?
Reasonable is out the window.
Each bottle represents my weakness, and I throw them at the shower wall. A few are glass and shatter on impact. The sharp sound is satisfying, but the tang of alcohol fills the room again, reminding me I’m an idiot.
A fucking mess. I drag my hands down my face. Tommy, my manager, has probably been earning his money this week. I scroll through my recent calls.
“I need the name of whatever family lawyer you turned up,” I say as soon as he answers.
“Hello to you too, Wyatt. Why would you want that? Your little family promotion parade yesterday was gold. TMZ has taken the bait. They’re running with their version of reality. You, Ellie, Haven—a secret family for years, everyone was duped.”
“I fucked up.” I sink into the desk chair. My leg bounces. I need a run. Or to go box. Something physical. The flight home will kill my nerves.
Silence greets me on the other end of the line. “What’d you do?”
“I was drinking,” I admit. Even saying the truth out loud is a betrayal. So stupid. I was so close to getting everything I wanted. “There’s no way in hell Ellie’s going to let me near Haven now.”
“Who knows?” Tommy is in damage-control mode. He’s scrambling for a pen and paper, I’m sure.
“No one. The hotel owner’s daughter, who is also Ellie’s friend, thinks I poured them down the drain. I had myself half convinced I did.”
“Hmm . . .” Tommy taps the pen on the table. “She believed you?”
“Yeah, I think so.” I hope so.
“Bluff. Have her confirm to Ellie you weren’t drinking, that you poured them down the drain. Come back at her hard, full of confidence.”
“With what?” Adding more lies to the mix seems like a bad idea, but if I’m honest, I’ll take any chance I have with Ellie and with Haven. She won’t believe I can control this, that alcohol doesn’t spiral into drug use.
“You and Ellie have been getting along?”
If this morning hadn’t happened, I would have said we’d been getting along very well. Even before last night, there’d been an ease between us, as though we both remembered how good it could be if we let ourselves go there. That ease will be gone now. I lean forward in the chair, resting my elbow on my knee, letting my head fall into my hand.
“They’re still after a costar for your next movie.”
“Seriously, Tommy?” She won’t agree to be anywhere near me. I’ll have to fight dirty to see Haven after this morning.
“It’s not a terrible idea. The publicity will be huge.”
“Which she’ll hate.” Tommy is used to me, someone who loves the press. Ellie has never been a fame whore like that.
“You can insist Haven comes to set. Prove to Ellie you can stay clean and sober. You can do that, can’t you, Wyatt? Be sober?”
“I wasn’t drunk. A couple drinks. I didn’t know Haven was my kid. Ellie dropped me off, and I started to pour them out. Most of them went down the drain. That’s the truth.”
There’s a knock on the hotel door.
“Not sure how much the truth matters anymore, Wyatt, my boy. Yo
u’re gonna have to spin this like you’ve never spun anything before. Your drug- and alcohol-filled exploits haven’t exactly been discreet.”
“I realize that.” I cross to check the peephole. “I gotta go.” I hang up and swing the door open in one movement.
“We’re not going to make it.” Calshae enters the room before I invite her in. “Were you drinking? Smells like alcohol in here. Please tell me you and Ellie didn’t get drunk last night and sleep together.”
I raise my eyebrows, at a loss for words.
“Oh, Lord.” She whistles. “Which part of that is true?”
“We were not drinking last night. But I did throw empty minibar bottles at the shower wall.”
“Why?”
“Ellie found them in the trash after I fell asleep last night. Then she left.” The reality of how stupid I was keeps slamming into me. She was here, and we were on the cusp of something, something good. We won’t recover from this. I can feel it in my bones. She’ll keep me away from her, from Haven, and I’ll have to fight tooth and nail for the bare minimum.
“Can you reschedule your flight?” She grabs my carry-on suitcase and deposits it by the door.
“I need to get to LA for Jamal.” My phone is heavy in my hand. Tanvi will understand if I call, just as long as Anna’s still on her bender and not trying to break down her door. “When’s the next flight out?”
“Three hours.” She checks her watch for confirmation. “I’ll have enough time to take you to Ellie’s, for you two to hash it out real quick, then to the airport. The hashing part will need to be unbelievably quick.” Her dark eyes are sad when they meet mine. “Maybe you shoulda let me have someone clean your room.”
Of course, that might mean I’d have someone selling “Wyatt Burgess on a Bender” stories to the press. Not quite true. Truer than I’d like.
“How many bottles were there?” She peeks into the bathroom and retreats.
“All of them.” I don’t mention the phone call to the front desk to order more in a moment of weakness. Luckily, she doesn’t spend long enough in the bathroom to count the bottles lying around. The number of unbroken plastic ones screw my story right away. “Would you . . .” I clear my throat, gathering my nerve. “Would you consider telling Ellie you never saw me drinking, never smelled any alcohol on me?”
When Stars Fall Page 23