Page 47 of Falling Like Stars

I think about how Rowan looked at me after our kiss. Shell-shocked in a way I couldn’t put my finger on. As if something had gone wrong even before my bullshit ruined that perfect moment. That perfect kiss…

Or she let down her walls for you and the literal next second you ran to your ex.

“We’re not talking about her,” I remind Eva. “And it doesn’t matter if I’ve asked her or not. I can’t take you. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

I stare and give my head a shake. “Why not? How about because we’re not together? How about because you’ve been with Laurent Moreau for a month?”

“He’s just a friend—”

“Or how about the fact that—until today, coincidentally—you’ve acted as though you can’t stand the sight of me. Now you want a free ticket to the Oscars?”

“Please, Zach,” Eva says brokenly, reaching for my hands. “It’s just one night—”

I pull away from her touch and stand up to pace in front of the windows. “I can’t, Eva. It’s not good for me. It’s not good for us because there needs to be no us, once and for all.”

Eva hurries to join me. “You don’t have to worry about the press. We can spin it as an amicable reconciliation. A friendship born of a past romance. You know how much they loved us together…”

Her hand is on my arm, and I recoil. “You do this every time,” I say in a low voice. “You try to pull me back in, and like an asshole, I fall for it. Because you know how badly I wanted…” I bite the words back. “I can’t, Eva. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”

I stride to the door, away from her pleading eyes and the sound of her crying.

“Please, Zach. Please…”

Her pain is like pressing an old, fading bruise that's never allowed to heal. But the sense memory of Rowan’s kiss is still on my lips. The feel of her hands pulling me to her, as if she wanted to crawl inside and take refuge in me. And how badly I want to be that for her…

“Goodbye, Eva,” I say and shut the door between us.

Fucking coldblooded, I think with a pang, but I don’t know what else to do. This film and whatever I could have with Rowan hang in the balance.

Outside, I climb into the waiting car. Andrew gives me a curious glance. “It’s handled,” I say.

The car begins the three-hour drive back to Glennallen. My phone is blowing up with calls from my agent, my publicist… The Scandal Sheet article is making the rounds all over the internet, no doubt. I shut off my phone and watch the road that is taking me to Rowan, to my chance to salvage whatever is happening between us, though something tells me it’s already too late.

Chapter Thirteen

THE GUY AT the top of the call sheet may have skipped town to meet his ex in Anchorage, but there’s still work to do for the rest of the day. Thank God. I do whatever the AD asks; the shoot is wrapping up—maybe one or two days left—and I run errands, help the grips with their equipment, and keep myself occupied so that thoughts of Zachary can’t infiltrate my every waking moment.

It doesn’t work.

His kiss felt like more than a kiss. It felt as if every particle of my being was touched by him in some way, inside and out. Zach’s mouth on mine had been more than an unleashing of desire (though there’d been plenty of that). Something fundamental in me had been dying, and his kiss was the resuscitation. The sustenance I needed to live instead of merely exist, showing me what kind of life was possible if only… And then the guilt swooped in like a wrecking ball, smashing that perfect moment all to pieces even before Eva took a swing at ruining it.

Hours later, we’re done for the day. I hitch a ride with a key grip from Gakona to Glennallen. In my hotel room, I sit on the edge of the bed, sucking in deep breaths. It feels as if a hand has reached into my chest and is squeezing my lungs. Squeezing out the exhilaration, desire, and…joy? of kissing Zach and replacing it with an old, unrelenting thought: I don’t deserve any joy.

I go to my room’s bathroom and splash cold water on my face. My reflection shows a woman with a haunted look in her eyes. My cheeks are pink with the memory of Zach’s arms around me, shoving me against the wall, needing and wanting me so badly…

I wanted him too. And I should just be able to have him, to have that perfect moment, but I can’t.

Ten years. Why is it this bad after ten years?

The answer comes dressed in J.J.’s voice. Because you haven’t dealt with any of it.

I suck in deep, steadying breaths, and what felt like a panic attack slinks away like a wild animal, loitering close, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation. On my bed, my phone shows a notification for a missed call. J.J. A second later, she texts.

I’m sure you’ve seen the article by now. It’s so stupid but I thought you should be prepared. Fucking Dana. I know it was her. Please call and let me know you’re okay and that none of this b.s. is ruining your time in Alaska.

I stare at the text. What’s ruining my time is me.

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