Page 81 of When Stars Fall

“Wyatt. It’s me. Really, it’s me. I need to talk to you. There’s something I need to tell you.”

He stares at me like he’s never seen me before. He reaches for the pills beside his bed and pops another one. “I like this combination.” He tries to read the label and shrugs. “If I get to see you, even a fake you, that’s pretty fucking good.”

The reality of who he is hits me in the chest. My racing heart slows to a sluggish pace. He can’t save me. He can’t even save himself.

He brushes the tears off my cheeks and brings his thumb to his face. He chuckles. “Real tears. This shit is amazing.”

Anger rises in me so swiftly I almost slap his hand. He needs to be better. We can’t be the people we were before, and he’s never going to change.

With renewed determination, I yank open drawers, and I search for things to take. If I can’t have him, I want anything that’ll remind me of him—tokens to give our daughter someday that might mean something.

“Oh, this shit is good. If Ellie was here, she’d take one too.” Wyatt collapses back on the bed with a sigh.

“No, she wouldn’t,” I mumble under my breath. “That Ellie loved you too damned much for her own good. But not anymore. Not anymore.” Tears clog my throat, and I have to stop speaking.

I stuff my purse with photos, trinkets, things I left behind. Knowing him, he’ll think he threw them out or burned them. His impulse control is terrible when he’s wasted.

When I have everything I want, I stand in the doorway of the bedroom. My chest is caving in on itself. Even though I understand he’s no good for me, the urge to crawl into the bed with him, let myself drown the same way he’s drowning, is so tempting. For the first time, his claim of not wanting to feel whatever emotions drove him to addiction makes sense to me. I don’t want to feel this way anymore either.

But I won’t lose myself in the bottom of a pill bottle, in a glass of lean, or in a fingertip of coke. We’d never forgive each other if I slid into this world with him and sacrificed our child. She’d be the victim of our reckless love.

“Wyatt,” I call out into the room. Silence greets me. Maybe Calshae is right. He has a right to know, but he doesn’t deserve a place in her life. Not like this. “We had a baby. I named her Haven. I hope you’re well enough to meet her someday.” I turn my back on him and walk past Blanca doing cocaine in the living room and straight out the door. A shudder threatens to blow me apart.

Home.Hold it together until you get home.

I stop at the hut to ask Kyle to keep my visit a secret, even from Wyatt, and then I take the next plane back to the island.

Instead of going to my house, I go to my mom’s office at the medical clinic. With a deep breath, I knock on her door.

“Come in.” She glances up from her desk when I enter. “Ellie! What a nice surprise. Did you bring Haven?”

At the sight of her, I press a hand to my chest, a sob lodged in my throat. Wyatt, lying in bed, too out of it to realize I was there, flashes in my mind. He’ll never get help. But I have to.

“What’s happened? What’s wrong?” She circles her desk and envelops me in a hug.

“Help me.” I force the words out with a sob. “There’s something wrong with me. I need help.”

Chapter Thirty

Ellie

Present Day

I tuck my breasts into my teeny-tiny bikini and hope that nipple-gate doesn’t happen on top of baby-gate. Or, I guess, child-gate? Although my breasts might take the focus off Haven. My brain is fried, and I haven’t even stepped into the glare of the sun, the glare of the cameras. Wyatt’s right. They’ll be there whether I see them or not. We’d better be good enough actors to make our relationship seem authentic.

I make my way to the water, where Wyatt and Haven are laughing and screaming. Listening to her high-pitched voice paired with his deeper tone is like hearing music for the first time. I want to stand and soak in the sound, imagine every note. For a moment, concealed by the trees, I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and allow myself to pretend this life is normal.

Wyatt’s baritone laugh reverberates around the cove below. My heart swells. His laugh, his genuine one, wakes up my body. I press my palm to my chest and rub, like the memories are a spot I can scrub out, as if the ache will disappear with enough effort. Ten years of repressed feelings. They won’t go away—nothing and no one makes me feel this way except the man himself.

When I step onto the rocky shore, he spots me and swims over. He rises out of the water, ripe for the cameras to catch every ripple of muscle, every rivulet down his chest. He scoops me up, and I laugh as he tosses me into the deeper water. I emerge to Haven’s giggles.

“He’s been doing that to me too, Mom. It’s so fun. He can throw me so far.”

I stroke my way to the shallows. Wyatt takes Haven, counts her off, and throws her out again. He does make it look easy. He wades to me while she plays in the water, a school of fish looping around her ankles. With his arm around my waist, he guides me to his side. Bending his head, he whispers, “Relax. You’re better than this.”

Under my lashes, I glance up at him, and he sucks in a sharp breath. Rising on my toes, I brush my lips against his cheek. “Better?” I let our bodies slide together.

“Almost.” He tugs me flush against him. His blue-green eyes darken, and he places his hands on either side of my face. He kisses my forehead and then my cheek. His attention lingers on my face, the way it once did when we were telling each other secrets in bed. The moment sings with a new kind of tension, and it’s got nothing to do with anger.

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