Page 58 of Falling Like Stars

“We’ll always have the moth,” he says, trying for a smile and then failing. “That was a moment.”

I manage a smile too. “Yeah, it was.”

He returns my hand to me. “I’m tired.”

“I know. I’ll let you sleep.” I stand up from the couch, but he stays put. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?”

“Nope.” Zach teeters over and stretches back out on the sofa. “I’m aiming for waking up in the same place I fell asleep for a change.”

“What does that mean?”

He doesn’t reply to that, and I don’t push it, even though I have a suspicion there’s more that he’s not telling me. But I’m not a person he tells things to anymore. I take the blanket from the back of the couch and lay it over him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, eyes already closed. “Stay with me a little while. Please.”

I sit on the floor beside his head. A lock of dark hair has fallen over his brow, and I want to brush it away. I want to curl up next to him and hold him and be held, but I can’t. I might be okay tonight, tucked away from the world with Zach, but the harsh light of day is going to come and bring all my psychological baggage with it. Even just sitting here, holding his hand, I hear whispers that speak of betrayal and the goodness of Zach that I don’t deserve.

He opens his eyes, struggles to keep them open.

“You should sleep,” I tell him.

“Not yet,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”

Warmth and sadness flood me at the same time. “No…”

“You are, Rowan. You’re beautiful and honest and I haven’t stopped thinking about you for longer than ten seconds since we met.”

Me too, I want to say but don’t.

“I want to kiss you goodnight,” Zach says. “Or goodbye, I guess. Problem is, I can’t move. Also…barely conscious.”

I sniff a little laugh, but it fades quickly. I shouldn’t kiss him, but I will.

One more moment.

Gently, I lay my hand to his cheek and touch my lips to his. My eyes fall shut at the fierce ache in my heart. He tastes of whiskey, but the warm scent that is just him fills my nose. His mouth parts slightly, and he takes my lower lip in his, deepening the kiss. I want nothing more than to fall into everything that is him, but I pull back. He’s too drunk. Even if I weren’t a total mess, it’s not right to go further.

But I don’t have to rush out the door, either. I sit with him while he sinks into sleep. It doesn’t take long. Within moments, Zach’s breathing is deep and even. From my own occasional benders, I know his rest is temporary. He’ll wake with a dry mouth and raging headache, and I can’t be here when he does.

I go to the kitchen and fill a glass with water and set it on the table. From my bag, I find my Advil and set two pills beside the water. I leave the Neosporin too. Then I turn out the light and shut the curtains, so the morning sun doesn’t blast him first thing.

I linger at the front door for a long moment, drinking him in. “Goodbye, Zach,” I whisper, and close the door behind me.

Chapter Sixteen

I WAKE UP with a vague sense that it’s morning, as a hundred hammers pound the inside of my skull. The room is dark—the curtains mercifully closed—and it takes a few moments for the bungalow’s living room to take shape, like a scene fading in. Unlike the last time I woke up after too much booze, I remember all of last night. Also, unlike last time, I’m still fully clothed, wrapped in a blanket, and on the couch where I started. Rowan has left me water, Advil, medicine, and no facial wounds to speak of.

“Let’s compare and contrast the women in my life,” I mutter to no one, and my heart aches nearly as much as my head. Rowan isn’t going to be in my life. She entrusted me with some pretty heavy stuff. I have to honor her wishes and give her the space she needs to heal.

You’re not in the greatest shape yourself, chief.

I ignore that and fish around for my phone that’s on the floor next to the couch. I have a dozen texts and missed calls this morning from my team, but Eva is locked out. To be a fly on the wall when she realized she was blocked… They could probably hear the screeching as far away as Anaheim. As I’m scrolling, I find a text from late last night. From Rowan.

You don’t have to answer when you see this. Probably best if you didn’t. But I forgot to congratulate you on your win. It seems like your Oscar night wasn’t everything it should have been. I’m sorry about that, but you should be really proud, Zach. You’ve earned it. Take care of yourself. Please.

I smile, because I heard the text more than read it. Rowan’s voice—strong but soft around the edges, just like her. And the please at the end.

“Damn.”

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