Page 57 of When Stars Fall

He shrugs and stands. With his beer in one hand, he links our fingers together. Before we leave the table, he takes out a Vicodin for each of us and passes one to me. He leads me through the crowd. We wander for a few minutes without any luck. I squeeze his hand a little tighter. Unease dogs me, but I don’t know if it’s the drugs or something else. As we take the stairs to the second floor two at a time, Wyatt practically carries me. We go around the corner at the top, and there’s a small room to the right I’d forgotten about. Wyatt and Isaac disappeared in there the very first time we came here, but I never saw either of them go back. “What’s in here?” I ask as we walk through the door.

He hesitates, and then says, “Highly addictive and lethal shit. Heroin, shooting coke directly into the vein, morphine, fentanyl . . . We agreed not to go in here anymore when you were with us.” This room isn’t any better lit, and Wyatt narrows his eyes, searching the darkness. Tension radiates off him as he spots two people in the far corner. We’re almost upon them when I realize it’s Aman and Isaac, fighting in hushed voices.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?” Wyatt asks as we approach.

Isaac shoots Aman a warning glare and turns to Wyatt with a wide smile. “Taking in the view.” Even in the darkness, there’s something wild in Isaac’s glittering eyes.

“That’s bullshit. There’s no fucking view here,” Wyatt says. “What’s up with you lately?”

My hand clutches his, but I’m focused on Aman, who is staring at Isaac. “Is something going on between you two?” The fuzziness clears as my brain ticks through their body language. Close talking, Isaac’s fingers brushing Aman’s hand, the way they sat next to each other in the booth earlier, sparks jumping in the dark.

Aman stiffens and shakes his head. “I’m out, man.”

“Two brown brothers can’t hang out without you thinking it’s something shady?” Isaac directs his question at me, but he’s still watching Aman leave the room.

“Not shady.” I search for the right word, and I settle on one. “Intimate. You—you looked couple-ish.”

When I glance at Wyatt, he doesn’t seem surprised.

“It’s nothing. Nothing.” Isaac takes out his pills and pops two benzos into his mouth.

Isaac has dated women, at least publicly—at nightclubs and other events, when the paparazzi were present. None of them have stayed at our house.

“Brown brother’s got a thing for brown brothers.” Isaac pops another pill, but I can’t tell what it is. He mixes all the time, but this is a lot, even for him. “A brown gay guy? One more reason for people in this business to shun me.”

“I never told Ellie,” Wyatt says. “Wasn’t my place.”

His sexual orientation is a deeply personal thing, but I’ve been around him for three years now. I’m not sure why Isaac would think I’d care about his sexuality or that I wouldn’t keep it a secret if that’s what he needed. The point of these mythical relationships when Wyatt knew the truth is beyond me.

“Ellie was never one of the people I was hiding from,” Isaac says. “ThepersonI was hiding from.”

Then it clicks and I press a hand to my forehead. “Your dad.” Kabir made many veiled comments about gay people in Los Angeles and in the film industry. His homophobia surprised me.

“Ding, ding, ding.” Isaac points at me. “Ellie Cooper for the win. You’ve got a winner there, Wyatt. You’re gonna need to hold on tight. She sees through our bullshit.”

“That’s what this shit’s been about the last couple of weeks?” Wyatt gathers me closer to his side. “You’re with Aman, and you’ll never get to tell your dad the truth?”

Isaac stares at his feet and then takes his pill bottle out of his pocket again. He toys with the container, moving it from hand to hand. He narrows his eyes at Wyatt, calculating, and then he turns to me and says, “I should have gone after Phil Leeman when he tried to assault you. I’m sorry I only picked you up and didn’t do anything about it.”

“Oh, Isaac.” Such a long time ago now, and Wyatt’s split knuckles made sure no one ever tried anything again.

“No, I should have, Ellie.” He holds up his hand. “I should have. That’s always been my problem. I don’t understand how to speak up for myself.”

Wyatt glances at me, and my own confusion is mirrored in his face.

Isaac pops open his bottle and shoves another pill in his mouth. An oxy, maybe. I step forward. He’s taking too many. I can’t count, but that has to be too many. My brain isn’t working right.

“All those years we were kids. I never stood up for myself,” Isaac says.

“What are you talking about? With who?” Wyatt’s grip on my hip tightens.

Isaac paces at the back of the small room. There are other people sprawled around, but they’re half asleep or too busy shooting up to notice we’re here.

“I bet it never happened to you. I’ve wondered so many times. But you’re Wyatt Burgess, right? Someone hits you, you hit back twice as hard.” Isaac releases an unsteady chuckle.

“Someone hit you?” Wyatt’s confusion deepens.

“I don’t—I don’t think he meanshit.” Through the haze, ideas form in my head. I rub my forehead, trying to find clarity.

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