Page 71 of When Stars Fall

“See? Grumpy.”

Despite my sour mood, I chuckle and shake my head. “A half hour? Also, what’s with the women on this island not knowing how to cook?”

“If a man can cook, he shouldn’t complain. It makes him look more attractive to those of us that can’t.”

Ellie used to get so turned on every time I cooked. Never complained about that outcome. “Can you make sure no one cleans my room?” She gives me a quizzical look. “When the press swarm, people will take and sell anything that’s been in the room as a trophy.”

“Yeah. Of course,” she says. “I’ll make sure no one goes in.”

Seeing Haven again is going to be weird. I can’t quite process that she’s known the truth for years, and I’ve only just found out. My chest tightens at the reality of becoming an instant parent. I don’t have a fucking clue how to be a father, and I’ve got no idea where to start when I see her again.

My daughter.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Wyatt

Ten Years Ago

My head throbs. I open one eye, wondering where I’ve ended up this time. In the semidarkness, I make out an alarm clock and a framed photo. Careful not to move anything else, I drag the frame toward me. Isaac and I are at a club, laughing, and someone—was it Ellie?—snapped a picture. I’ve looked at this photo a thousand times in the last few months. If I return home, I often end up in Isaac’s room to sleep off my hangover. With a groan, I ease myself to a sitting position, rubbing my forehead. My clothes are missing. I must have shed them as I came in here. My legs are wobbly when I stand, and I fumble my way out the door.

In the living room, my pants are in the middle of the floor. I check the pockets for my phone. Did I call Ellie last night like I promised? Squinting at the screen, I try three times to punch in my passcode before being locked out. I hurl the phone across the room, satisfaction piercing my gut as it smashes on the tile and skids to a stop, pieces scattering everywhere.

From my other pocket, I take out my pills and shake the bottle.Empty. Can’t stay that way. I turn toward my room to go refill it, and my foot catches on the Persian rug Ellie and I bought in Turkey. The snag tips me forward, but I catch myself just before my face connects with the hard ground. My skull barely contains my bouncing brain, and my eyeballs throb with each beat of my heart. I close my eyes to block out the pain, and Isaac is there, collapsed on the ground, thrashing on the dirty sidewalk.

Rage at my incompetence floods me, drowning out everything else. When I rise, I grab a fistful of the carpet, yanking it over and over until the furniture releases the fabric.

A fire. I want to burn it all down.

Striding to the massive fireplace, I shove the grate out of the way. I’m about to find out whether this fireplace even works. There’s lighter fluid in the kitchen, and I grab that before returning.

I stare at the black pit for a minute in indecision.Fuck it. If I have a fireplace, I should use it. I douse the ornamental logs in fluid and remove a box of matches out of my discarded pants’ pocket. When the match is lit, I toss it into the pit. The logs and fluid catch with a whoosh. Quick and ferocious. I step backward, laughing. Something else has to go in there. I stare at the carpet. Too big.

With the flames roaring, I enter Isaac’s room and gather anything I can carry. I rip the sheets off the bed; I grab the photo from the bedside table and any other photos I can find. Back in the living room, I toss them into the fire. The sheet trails along the ground, and I grab the last corner, stuffing it into the fireplace. When flames lick at my hand, I shake it, chuckling.Fuckin’ hot.

“Wyatt?”

My heart races at the sound of her voice. Ellie’s by the kitchen island, a bag at her feet. The exact day and time is fuzzy, but I think she’s home early. There’s no way to be sure. I’ve gotten terrible at keeping track of anything.

“You’re here.” My back is to the flames.

“What are you doing?”

I hate when she treats me like a delinquent child. “I’m cleaning up.” We don’t need any of this stuff. He’s gone.

“You’re burning sheets?”

If my heartbeat wasn’t so fierce and irregular, my head might not pound in sync to it anymore.

“Is there someone else here?” she whispers.

“No.” I glance around the room, and my voice echoes in the emptiness. “Should there be?”

“Why are you burning sheets?” When she gets closer, her expression changes from uncertainty to one of realization. She sighs, and her shoulders drop. “They’re Isaac’s.”

“Yeah.” I scrunch up my face. “Why would I burn our sheets?”

She’s wearing the silver bracelet I gave her for our first Christmas together. She rotates it, and stays focused there instead of on me. “Do you remember calling me last night? I took a red-eye to get here. I’m supposed to be on set today.”

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