Page 17 of When Stars Fall

“You’re fine. Why would we talk about them?” Other than his oscillating moods toward me, he’s professional and focused on set. He’s a phenomenal kisser, and a lot of fun on nights out. “What if I did bring it up, so what?”

“I’d pick the drugs.” He doesn’t hesitate, and a shiver cascades down my body. “Now you know the answer, so you never have to ask the question.” The limo arrives, and Wyatt examines me for a long beat. “Still time to back out. Things will stay as they are. I won’t treat you any differently on set if you say no.”

I drag him to me for another kiss. Change my mind? Not likely. He occupies all my thoughts. Whatever happens after tonight I can’t control. But for now he’s mine, just mine. My hand is linked with his as we climb into the limo.

In the back seat, I straddle him and frame his face with my hands. Confidence oozes out of me. He stares at me with such contentment that my heart swells. I can’t imagine ever asking him to be anything other than who he is right now.

Chapter Eight

Wyatt

Present Day

An hour after Ellie drops me off at the hotel, I’m in my room, pacing. I called my addiction coach, and we had a long chat about Ellie as a trigger for my addictions. Camila doesn’t think I should be here. Some bullshit about not being able to recapture the past.

Camila wasn’t there to see the way Ellie looked at me today. The connection between us isn’t dead, it’s just buried under years of neglect.

I take out my phone and search the location of the hospital. My suitcase is open on the bed, and I rifle through the items I brought. Baseball cap and sunglasses. Lamest disguise ever. Best I can do.

I tug the Yankees cap low on my forehead and grab my sunglasses. At four inches over six feet, I draw people’s attention due to my height, disguised or not. Normally, I don’t mind. If I’m spotted at the hospital, Ellie will murder me. At least I’ll be in the right place for resuscitation.

In the doorway of my hotel room, I second-guess my lack of a plan. Impulsiveness and my addiction go hand in hand. Some knee-jerk reactions I need to curb. Nikki will be there, even if she’s sick. When I was using, I’d needed someone to blame for Ellie’s abandonment. She spent a week at home with her family and decided my addictions weren’t acceptable anymore. That notion had to come from someone, because Ellie was fine with my behavior until then. Nikki and her mother bore the brunt of my anger, but I don’t know if that was justified. I’d hoped sobriety might bring clarity around how or why we broke up, but it hasn’t. We were good . . . and then we weren’t. Snap of the fingers. Blink of an eye. In my bed. Out of my life.

I take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. At the concierge desk, I join the line. The high, open ceilings lead out to the beach, and the paintings on the wall depict scenes from the island. Even the tiles on the ground are vibrant blues and greens. I’ve missed Bermuda with its bright buildings. LA has always been my home, but there’s something to be said for the tight-knit community that exists here. I take a deep, cleansing breath. Ten years was too long.

As soon as the concierge sees me, he motions me to the side. “Mr. Burgess, what can we help you with?”

“I need to get to the hospital.”

“Are you ill?” The concierge’s expression turns concerned, and he keeps his voice low.

“No.” I hesitate. “A friend is there.”

“Is it an emergency, sir? We can have a staff member drive you there themselves. Very discreet.”

“Yeah, that would be excellent.” A sigh of relief escapes me. The fewer people who are aware, the better. I squeeze my phone in my pocket. The itch is back, my constant companion, a restlessness that plagues me.

Christ, maybe my sponsor is right. Maybe Ellie is a trigger. At this point, life in general might be a trigger. If she was the reason I used, I’d have quit the bullshit the minute she packed up and moved out. I wouldn’t have been so into it when she met me. She put up with my nonsense during the three years we were together, every bit of it, and she never complained. In the end, she just left.

“Do you happen to have any stress balls?” My coping mechanisms to handle the itch are varied. When one doesn’t work, I try another, and another, and so on until the itch stops. Anything to keep me from reaching for a bottle of pills or contacting an old friend for one hit.

The concierge passes me one from behind his desk. The hotel name is emblazoned on it. “You get a lot of stressed people?” I ask, amused.

“Just me, sir.” He grins.

Calshae approaches with a set of keys dangling from her hand. “I hear you need a ride.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask.

She nods at the concierge and leads me toward the exit. “My family bought this hotel a few years ago. I run it.”

The humid air hits me in the chest the minute we step out of the main building and coats me in a thin mist. Calshae takes me to a tiny car, and I stare at it before I open the door to wedge myself into the passenger seat like a human pretzel. Maybe I should have risked a cab. My knees are glued to my chest.

“Sorry. The hospital’s not too far.” She scans my cramped position. The car chugs to life, and I pray I’ll make it there in one piece before Ellie leaves.

While we drive, Calshae taps her fingers on the steering wheel. The tension in the car swells. Small talk. I need small talk before she starts asking questions I don’t want to answer. Engage first. Control the conversation. Basic strategy, but I’m not in the mood to charm Ellie’s friend, to convince her I should be here.

“Your family own many hotels on the island now?” I clutch onto the holy-shit handle each time she takes a corner. She’s mistaken this car for a Formula 1 masterpiece. Impressive this death trap can take a corner at full speed.

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