Page 75 of When Stars Fall

I turn and consider Haven’s question. Rage at Ellie simmers inside me, but underneath my anger is an emotion that’s been my constant companion for years. Dulled by the drugs for too long, but always present nonetheless. “I will love your mother until the day I die. I’ll probably love her even after that, wherever that is.”

“I’m not sure you can love someone after you die?”

“Someday I’ll explain that idea better.”

Haven grabs artwork and a few of her other treasures to show me. I sit on her bed, clutching the newest piece she’s shoved into my hands.

“You like art?” That doesn’t come from me or anyone in my family.

“No, I like sports better. They’re all pretty easy for me. Mom says I’m like you that way.”

“Did your mom talk about me a lot?” I don’t know my daughter, but she believes she knows me. Such a strange imbalance to grapple with on top of everything else.

“If I asked, yeah. Oh!” She goes to her bookshelf and removes a thick scrapbook. “We used to go through this when I was younger and I asked about you. Do you want to see?”

“Sure.” I set the book on my lap. On the cover is the same photo of me and Ellie from the MTV awards.

Haven perches on the bed beside me and helps me keep the large pages open. My heart pounds when I realize what Ellie has done. The scrapbook starts with snapshots fromLove Letters from Spain, and then each page progresses from there. She mapped our relationship.

Haven is talking, but I’m having a hard time concentrating. She’s retelling the story of me and Ellie. She’s animated, completely into the tale, knows that period of my life almost better than me.

My heart cracks into a million pieces. What has Ellie done? Why would she do this? Her telling me earlier this week I was everywhere and nowhere makes a new kind of sense. Snippets of Haven’s stories penetrate my brain. The memories. So many recollections she saved for our daughter.

“Dad?” She stops mid-sentence. “Why are you crying?”

I touch my face and realize she’s right. I brush the tears away self-consciously. Not that I don’t cry. Hell, I can cry on cue. But this is different. I’ve never cried and not known I was crying. The piercing pain in my chest needs to go away. This ache needs to be softened. A little something to dull the pain. So many options. My tongue remembers the sensation of a Percocet rolling around, being flipped to the back of my throat. One pill would make this ache go away.

Get a grip, Wyatt. I amnotgoing there.

“Happy tears.” Not sure I sound convincing. Not much of an actor at the moment. Out of the corner of my eye, I realize Ellie is standing in the doorway. I stiffen at her scrutiny. “We’re fine, Ellie. You don’t need to watch over us.”

She runs her hands down her face and brushes a few tears away, but she doesn’t say anything.

“Why is everyone crying? We get to be a family now, right?” Haven looks between me and Ellie.

“That’s a complicated question,” Ellie whispers.

“Why?” Haven asks.

“There are grown-up things your dad and I have to sort out.” Ellie’s shoulders rise and fall almost imperceptibly.

Dad. So weird. I pat Haven’s leg. “No matter what goes on between your mom and me, I’m in your life forever. You’re not getting rid of me.”

She flings herself at me, hugging me tightly. I stare at Ellie over Haven’s shoulder, and I set my jaw. She’s not locking me out of any more moments with my daughter.

Ellie vanishes from the doorway. The urge to follow her is instinctual. I release Haven and half rise from the edge of the bed, but Haven drags me back. “You didn’t finish looking at the book.” She flips through the pages in rapid succession.

“Sorry.” I examine her as she sorts through the story of my life. At her hairline is the tiniest scar. Hesitantly, I brush her hair aside. She freezes and her expression turns quizzical. “What happened here?” I ask.

Haven runs her index finger over the mark. She looks thoughtful for a moment and then grins. “Australia. I banged my head on a reef when Mom and I tried to learn to surf.”

“When was that?” She hurt herself enough to leave a scar, and I wasn’t there.

“Last year. I kept begging Mom to let me try. We don’t get waves like that here. She finally let me and then I hurt myself. She was pretty upset.”

“I bet.” I can’t imagine how I’d react to seeing my daughter with a head injury. It’s been bad enough watching my nephew hurt himself. The instinct I’ve always had with Ellie—to protect, to save—is already magnified when I look at Haven. “You were okay, though? Just this tiny scar?”

“Yeah, just that.” She flips another page in the book.

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