Page 80 of When Stars Fall

I ignore his comment and try to keep focused on why I’m here. “I wanted to talk to him for a minute. I’m guessing he’s home?” He was never a morning person, and I doubt that’s changed in the last year. More of a mid- to late-afternoon kind of guy.

“Yeah.” Kyle’s enthusiasm fades. “Are you okay? You look tired. Don’t seem like yourself.”

“I’m fine.” I give a slight laugh. “Long flight.”

“Uh.” Kyle sucks in a breath as we walk to the main door. He scratches the back of his head. “Wyatt’s been having some parties and . . .”

“I got it.” His warning could mean so many things. But I don’t want to discuss Wyatt with Kyle. Seeing Wyatt, talking to him, that’s my priority.

“Okay, I didn’t want you going in there unaware.”

I don’t want to ask, to speak her name, but if he’s still living with someone else, I need to brace myself. “Katrina . . .”

“Is gone. She moved out a few months ago.”

“Oh.” Some of my anxiety eases.

“It was never what people thought anyway.” Kyle glances at me before we part ways. “My gut tells me it’ll always be you, Ellie. I probably shouldn’t say that. I don’t know what happened between you two.”

I wish I didn’t know either. Talking to Kyle again, thinking about Wyatt, makes me want a different outcome. “It’s okay,” I say to Kyle. “I’ll come say goodbye whenever I leave.” Maybe I won’t leave. Maybe I’ll stay.

He nods and wanders to the security hut at the main entrance where he often goes when Wyatt needs or wants more privacy in the house.

At the door, I contemplate walking in unannounced. If I got this far, it’ll be unlocked. But I don’t live here anymore. I ring the doorbell.

When the door swings back, I’m surprised. The willowy, dark-haired Italian beauty I once despised in the back of a limo stands poised in the entrance. She’s wearing a shirt I bought Wyatt.

“Blanca.” The name drips from me.

“Ellie Cooper.” She takes me in. “What brings the fallen star back to her former home?”

“I’m here to see Wyatt.”

“Hmm . . .” She puts a manicured finger to her lips. “I suppose he isn’t busy anymore.”

I move past her into the house. “Where is he?”

“His room.” She eyes me slyly. “Rough night.”

I hate her. Part of me hates myself for coming. My life is coming apart at the seams, and he’s whoring around.

“Put on a few pounds, huh?” Blanca calls out.

The living room is riddled with empty pill containers and alcohol bottles from beer to wine to spirits, at varying levels of fullness. A white powder is smeared across the coffee table. I hope Wyatt is alive.

With my fingertips, I push open the door to Wyatt’s room. The stench of stale alcohol hits me in the face. His sleeping form is sprawled on the bed. His steady breathing brings on a rush of relief, and I release the breath I was holding. So many times I crawled into and out of this very spot. So many memories. Deep within me, sadness stirs.

“Wyatt.” I perch on the edge of the bed, and I rock his shoulder.

“Go away.” Wyatt groans and turns away from me.

“Wyatt.” My voice is even. “It’s Ellie.”

“Ellie’s gone,” he says. “There is no Ellie.”

“Wyatt,” I try again. “It’s me. Look at me.” I want to grab his face and force him to see me.

He rolls onto his back and squints. He laughs, but the sound isn’t normal. “You look like Ellie.” When he sits up, he pushes my hair away from my face to examine me. “But you’re not her. She’s gone.”

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