Page 37 of When Stars Fall

“That the abuse didn’t happen to me. Stupid, I guess. I don’t know. Or that I didn’t somehow protect him. But he never told me. All those times we were getting wasted together and heneversaid a word.”

“You were both kids.” Some secrets are impossible to reveal. Haven’s face flashes before me. The waves roll onto shore. “You can only ever know what people are willing to tell you. Isaac didn’t want any of us to recognize his pain. I’m not sure why he told us that night, but it must have been such a heavy weight.” The club was chaos. A blur. Tears prick at the back of my eyes.

“I sometimes wonder if his drug use didn’t spiral even more out of control once his dad died. He got so reckless after that—mixing shit that shouldn’t be mixed, hanging around people who were even worse than me,” Wyatt says.

They both got deeper into prescription drugs, their Jim Beam, and their lean concoctions after Kabir died. Maybe we all did. They led and I followed. “I think about it too. If there was something I could have said that might have turned things around. But we were out of our heads. I’m not sure if I remember what happened correctly. His death doesn’t feel real when I think about it too much.”

“I know exactly what you mean.”

Reluctantly, I check my watch again. “We should go. I have to zip home to get the car before going to Haven’s school.” Before she sees him, I need to lay the ground rules. “Do you mind waiting at the house while I get her?”

“You’re letting me spend more time with you. I get to know your niece. I’d stand on my head if you asked me to.”

“Maybe later—I’d kinda like to see that.”

Wyatt’s eyes darken as they meet mine. While we dated, I played a gymnast in a movie. The costume came home a few times.

“Wyatt.” A glance from him can dredge up so many memories.

“I can’t help where my mind goes. It was three years, Ellie. But sometimes the memories are infinite.” Wyatt hops off the picnic table and throws out our garbage.

My time with him wasn’t sustainable, but it sure was fun. Three of the best years of my life. The backbone of who I’ve become, but I won’t say that out loud. Instead, I lead us to the bike.

From the back seat, Haven shifts to stare out the windshield. “He’s at the house?” Her voice is an octave higher than usual.

“Yes,” I say, again.

“We’re eating dinner as a family?” She squeals.

“I’m still not sure if I’m going to tell him.” I sigh. “It’s complicated. I need you to be on your best behavior. Movie set behavior. Do you understand?”

“Sure, Ellie. Whatever you say.”

I let out a frustrated groan. Sometimes her ability to flip from a nine-year-old to a teenage brat is astounding. The stakes are too high to correct her. If she wanted to, she could blow the secret up, tell Wyatt the truth. We drive the rest of the way in silence, both of us staring out windows.

The gates to the property open as we approach, and I wave to Jerome in the small security hut. Sometimes having him and Freddie, my other full-time security guard, seems excessive, but then I remember the few times someone unwanted or unexpected has turned up, and I’m grateful to have them as the first line of defense.

“Can I show Wyatt my room?” Haven asks as we enter the garage.

“No.”

“Why not?” She crosses her arms and gives me a defiant pout.

“It’s too risky.” I put the vehicle in park. “And you’re eight, if he asks your age.” Guilt eats holes clean through me. I’m a bad mother. Who asks their kid to lie for them? Ugh.

She has a framed photo of me and Wyatt on her nightstand. When she was old enough to understand what happened, she insisted on a photo of both her parents. The picture of us is one Isaac took at the MTV awards, at the podium—the night of that kiss. I’m focused on Wyatt, love oozing out of me. He’s looking at the crowd with his arm draped around me. We’re happy and natural, unlike in the posed photos Haven finds on the internet. The moment is all us—we’re not movie stars, we’re two people in love.

Haven grabs her backpack from the seat beside her and follows me into the house. The most delicious smell greets me. It’s like we’ve walked into an Italian restaurant. Wyatt isn’t in the kitchen, but the oven is on with something cooking inside. A frisson of fear snakes through me. Would he have snooped around the house? I wasn’t gone that long, and he’s prepared dinner.

Haven takes a few deep breaths. “He can cook? Like, more than ‘heat, stir, serve’?”

The panic in my chest is threatening to take over my common sense. Wyatt wouldn’t snoop. No reason to. I laugh a little while taking her backpack to try to ease the tension in me. “Yes. Remember that chef movie you asked to watch, and I said you couldn’t because it had too many adult words?”

“Oh, wow.” She takes another deep breath. “I don’t know what he’s cooking, but I’ll eat it even if I don’t like it.”

I shake my head in amusement, following her into the living room. Wyatt is sprawled out on one of the couches, the TV remote in his hand. When he sees us come in, he sits up and gives Haven a little wave.

“What’s up, Short Stuff?” Wyatt grins at Haven and pats the seat beside him.

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