Page 54 of Falling Like Stars

THE CLOCK READS five p.m. when a knock comes at the door, followed by J.J.’s voice. “You gave me a key for party planning, so I’m coming in.”

From my vantage—wrapped in a blanket on the couch—I watch J.J. let herself in the door, shut it, then stand in front of me, arms crossed.

“Well, you’re alive, anyway,” she states.

“Good evening to you too,” I reply, though my heart feels lighter now that she’s here.

My best friend—my only friend, if I’m being honest—plops herself on the couch beside me.

“If my dissertation wasn’t a hot mess, I would’ve come sooner. Looks like I should’ve anyway. Because you told me you were okay, but you are clearly not okay.”

“You’re only saying that because I haven’t gone outside in three days.”

“Girl.” She touches her forehead for a moment, then squares herself to me. “What happened in Alaska? And don’t say ‘nothing.’ Zach took Eva to the Oscars, and you’ve been holed up here. Something went down.”

I pluck at a loose thread on the blanket. “It’s too embarrassing, Jess.”

“Try me.” She frowns. “Did he get spooked by that stupid Scandal Sheet?”

“No, but I sure as hell did,” I say. “Even if I hadn’t screwed up royally with Zach, that article was very insightful about what his fans think of me.”

“Fuck them,” J.J. says. “And since when do you care what people think of you?”

I shoot her a look. “People? How about all of social media? It’s a lot. It’s Zach-Butler-levels of a lot. But that’s not what went wrong.”

“I’m listening.”

I avert my gaze from my best friend’s compassionate expression. But I have to tell her. I’d come to the end of whatever resilience or strength or bandwidth I had. Being in Mountain Man’s hotel room was the last straw.

I can’t do this anymore. It’s killing me.

I tell J.J. everything, about my date with Zach, our kiss, and how it all crashed and burned.

“Being in that hotel room with Riggs wasn’t rock bottom, but I could see it from there,” I tell her, tears threatening. “Things could have gone epically bad. Dangerously bad. But it was like I couldn’t help myself. Because Zach kissed me and…”

“You really like him,” J.J. finishes softly. “And you’re scared.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“You need help,” she says gently. “You’ve been white knuckling through your grief for ten years. And doing a really good job, all things considered. But there’s something deeper to it, right? Something that’s preventing you from living your life.” She cocks her head. “Are you still in love with Josh?”

“No. Yes. I mean, part of me will always love him. But…” I heave a breath. “But mostly I just feel responsible. I am responsible.”

“Responsible…how?”

I can’t say any more. I’ve said enough already. The shame of it wants to eat me alive.

J.J. reads my silence and sits back. “Oh, hon. No. It wasn’t your fault. Is that what you’ve been fighting this whole time? Thinking you had something to do with it? Babe, no…”

“I did have something to do with it,” I tell her, then wave my hands when she wants to protest. “You can’t talk me out of it, J.J. You weren’t there. You didn’t see…” I swallow hard and take a breath. “It is what it is. I can’t change what happened. I have to live with that.”

She looks at me with pained compassion. “Okay, well, someone else—a professional—can show you how to do that. So that you can actually live. You deserve that.” She rummages for her phone. “A friend’s mom is a fantastic therapist. I know I’ve mentioned her a million times. She isn’t cheap but that’s because she’s the best. Can I give you her number?”

Normally, I’d resist, but Zach’s perfect kiss has burrowed deep into me. I’d messed us up, but his touch illuminated the part of me that wanted to heal. I don’t know how to do that without relinquishing accountability for Josh. It feels cowardly and impossible. But maybe there’s a middle ground. Anything is better than winding up in another grungy hotel room. Next time, I might not be as fast to the door.

“Okay.”

J.J. wastes no time and texts me the number. Then she throws her phone aside and wraps her arms around me.

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