Page 56 of Falling Like Stars

He moves his arm to look at me, and I’m hit again by the beauty of his hazel eyes, which are glassy and heavy. “Hey,” he says with a faint smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“Likewise.”

God, I’m such an idiot. Because I want to say the exact opposite of what I’m going to say, which is goodbye.

I glance at the bottle of twenty-five-year-old whiskey and the glass in Zach’s hand. “Macallan,” I begin hesitantly. “Pretty strong stuff.”

Zach wears a bitter expression, his words slurring slightly. “I’m celebrating my win, can’t you tell? You want some?”

“No, thanks. I seem to remember you telling me that you weren’t a big drinker.”

“I’m not,” he says. “My manager sent it to me. So I figure, what the hell? It’s just tonight. To take a step back a little. Get my shit together tomorrow.”

It’s on my lips to ask what he’s taking a step back from, when Zach turns his head. The light shows three red scratches along his jaw.

“What is that?” I demand, all hesitancy vanishing as I move to kneel beside him on the floor. I gently turn his head to get a better look and see two more scratches—redder and angrier than the first—on his neck.

Zachary tilts away from my touch. “Shit. Forgot about those. Parting gifts from Eva.”

Anger floods me in a red-hot haze. “Is that a common occurrence?”

“Not really. She’s more a fan of the open-handed slap.” He glances at me. “I don’t fight fire with fire, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t,” I say, because although I don’t know everything about Zachary Butler, I know with my entire being that there’s not one violent bone in his body. Can’t say the same about me if Eva Dean was in the room just now.

“Damn her to hell,” I mutter under my breath as I get up and grab my bag and pull the tall, standing lamp closer.

Zachary flinches from the light. “It’s just a couple of scratches. Not a big deal.”

“It is to me,” I say, and shove the coffee table aside. I kneel in front of him again and rummage through my bag until I find the little tube of antiseptic gel. “They could get bad if you don’t take care of them. The two on your neck, especially.”

“You always carry around a first aid kit?” he asks, watching me with an amused smile.

“Lots of equipment on set,” I say, and squeeze gel on my finger. “Lots of opportunities for nicks and cuts. Hold still. This might sting.”

“Just leave it, Rowan,” he says wearily.

“Nope. Can’t.”

I gently hold Zach’s chin in one hand and apply the gel with the other. His skin is warm and soft over his hard jawline. My fingers are inches from his broad mouth and full lips that I kissed and want to kiss again. I feel him watching me as I work; he winces a little when I touch his neck. Then I’m done and have no more reason to be touching him.

I sit back on my heels and meet his eyes. “What happened?”

“I trusted someone who used to love me.” He smiles sadly, then frowns in drunk consternation. “You’re on the floor. You shouldn’t be on the floor. Here. Sit.”

Zachary hauls himself up and I sit beside him, tucking one foot under me. “Do you want to talk about it? About…her?”

“Not much to say,” he says, looking into the depths of his whiskey. “Same ole, same ole. I keep trying to put back together something that shattered into a million pieces a long time ago. Because I don’t know anything else.”

“You still love her?”

“Not a chance. Not after…” He shakes his head. “Anyway. I finally get it. I haven’t been in love with her for a long time. I was in love with all those pieces. Trying to make them into a future that doesn’t exist. There’s no fixing what’s broken that badly, and I’ve finally stopped wanting to try. And then I met you and…”

He stops, shakes his head. I’m dying to ask what he was about to say, but I don’t have the right to hear the answer.

Zach looks at me with bleary eyes. “I shouldn’t have taken her to the awards.”

“You don’t have to explain—”

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