Page 35 of When Stars Fall

She raises an eyebrow.

I’m not the only one doing devious things on purpose.

I take off my shirt, slow stripper fashion, and she laughs. With a flick of my wrist, I toss my shirt right at her.

She catches it and pretends to be overwhelmed. “Oh, my gosh, Wyatt Burgess threw his shirt at me.” She fans herself and tugs the shirt over her own head. “I’mnevertaking it off.”

“Oh, I can think of a few ways I could get that off you.” I close the distance between us, and my smile is wicked. “Looks good on you, but it’d be even better laid out on the sand.”

She tries to run from me, but I grab her around the waist. Her back connects with my chest. I turn her around, keeping her as close as possible. She meets my eyes in challenge. NowthisEllie, I recognize. Never one to back down. I grip the bottom of my shirt and slide my hands up her body, taking the shirt with me. As the fabric comes over her head, her hair cascades around her shoulders and down her back. The things I want to do to her right now are limitless.

She gives me the once-over, and a hint of a smirk crosses her face. “Last one to the mermaids has to buy lunch.” Shoving me, she sprints for the water.

I kick up the sand as I chase her. In the shallow water, I catch her. As soon as we’re at swimming depth, she overtakes me. She grew up around the ocean, and she’s an excellent swimmer. I survive. Barely.

We swim around the cement pool instead of through it. My eyes are open, even though the salt stings them. The fish dart underneath me as I thrash around. Ellie videotaped me swimming once. I was convinced I couldn’t be that bad. At the time, I thought I did everything well. My swimming was not a pretty sight.

When I get to the closest mermaid, Ellie is already sitting on the edge of the pool. Her feet dangle in the water. I hoist myself out to sit next to her. Water streams down my chest back into the ocean, and its sticky remains coat my body. I’m more of a lounge-by-the-pool swimmer.

“Never thought to take any swimming lessons?”

“Too busy learning other skills,” I say. “Unless I’m being paid to learn it, it doesn’t happen.”

“Favorite skill you’ve picked up over the years?”

We’re shoulder to shoulder, and for the first time since I showed up on her doorstep a couple days ago, the rapport between us is easy. Almost like old times.

“Playing Gordon Lampton. The cooking and the accent were definitely highlights. Recently? I finished a superhero movie.”

“Yeah, I knew about that.” She gives me a sideways glance.

“You heard?” Did she keep tabs on me?

“I took a few calls about the love interest, but it was too high profile. Then as soon as you were locked in, that cemented my choice.” She splashes the water with her fingers.

“You stopped doing big budget films. How come?”

She leans back, her palms resting on the edge of the pool. “I like my quiet life here.”

I let the crush of the press get too extreme when we were younger. I lived for the attention, and the intense need to be wanted didn’t fade. There was no threshold that was high enough for me. Camila has helped me delve into why I sought acceptance and love in public opinion instead of finding it in myself or in my personal relationships. No surprise to find those negatives are rooted in my parental issues.

The media machine could treat me any way they wanted as long as they fed my need to be seen, but I hated how our fame impacted Ellie. The crotch shots. The insults hurled at her. How insecure she sometimes felt. Got in more than one fight with aggressive cameramen. I was fair game, but they weren’t supposed to touch her. Never quite worked like that.

“You didn’t even come to the Oscars the year we were both nominated,” I say.

“You mean the year you won?”

“Oh, is that what happened?”

Ellie bumps my shoulder. The waves hit the reef further out and settle as they come closer to shore. We sink into a comfortable silence. There’s peace in sitting beside someone and not having to say anything.

“I watched the show on television. Not my year to win. Jen had the award locked in—her performance was head and shoulders above the rest of us.” She stares at the breaking waves and then continues, “I sobbed my heart out during your speech when you raised your Oscar and said you hoped that wherever Isaac had gone, he was proud of you.” She rubs a hand along my back, the way she once did years ago. “You taking Tanvi as your date slayed me. Heartbreakingly perfect.” Her head falls on my shoulder.

With my arm around her, I kiss the top of her head. “Wish I’d known you were watching. I was so sure you’d be there—I got so lit up that night because I was frustrated and angry. And disappointed. Won an Oscar and didn’t care. Didn’t care at all. I would have given back the golden man for five minutes in a room with you.”

A heavy silence rests between us. The number of times I braced myself for an encounter with her that never happened were too numerous to count. The Oscars stung more than the others. She’d been so driven to succeed when we were together, seeking out character-driven pieces and directors who would hone her skills. That nomination would have meant something to her, but not as much as avoiding me.

She eases away, but I sense her reluctance. “Ready to head back to shore? It’s probably almost lunch. What do you fancy?” She slips into a British accent.

---