When Stars Fall Page 7

  The nurse comes back with the bed and rolls it in. She clicks the wheels into place. “Evelyn is on rounds tonight. Hospital is buzzing that Wyatt Burgess visited.” She grimaces. “You’re going to tell your mother that he was here, right?”

  “Yeah, I’ll speak to my mom before she hears it from someone else.” Since she’s the doctor on call tonight, I might even get a chance to speak to her in person. Best to warn her before the hospital gossip mill gets to her. I take my phone out of my pocket and notice Wyatt’s already sent me his grocery list. I type out a message to my mom and then open Wyatt’s. A long list of ingredients, some I have, others I’ll have to buy. As I’m reading the list, another message from him appears.

  Did you watch the whole interview the other night?

  “If I turned off the interview the other night, the one Wyatt gave, would I have missed anything important?” I stare at the text. Doom drops like a stone into my stomach.

  Nikki’s complexion loses its color. “You didn’t watch the entire thing? I thought you watched all of it.”

  “No.” I flush and glance at Haven, who is following this conversation. “When he started talking about certain people and things, I switched it off.”

  “Before you see him tomorrow, you should watch it. I’m not sure how you’ll react.” She picks at the blanket on Haven’s bed.

  “Was it—did he talk more about Isaac?” My sister will understand that’s not something I can watch.

  “No. It was about you and him. Mostly about him. But you should watch it. Really. People will assume you know.”

  “Can I watch it?” Haven asks when the room grows quiet.

  “No,” Nikki and I say in unison.

  Her YouTube searches will need some heavy restrictions with the two of us thrown into the public eye again.

  “Tomorrow,” I say. “I’ll watch it tomorrow before I pick him up.”

  I don’t answer Wyatt’s question. We’re spending time together so I can determine if he is capable of being involved with his daughter. We aren’t getting back together. To encourage any more closeness would be wrong.

  Chapter Ten

  Wyatt

  Thirteen Years Ago

  From the set of Love Letters from Spain, I flew to England to prep for my chef biopic about Gordon Lampton. He’s a cool guy, but learning to cook and mastering a British accent was time-consuming. After arriving from London last night, I’m enjoying some time with two of my favorite people. Anna is coming for dinner later, assuming Isaac and Ellie have found me a suitable cooking challenge to show off my abilities. They’ve been scheming at the computer for a while now, and I have no idea what they’ve picked.

  Isaac snatches the paper off the printer and brings it to me at the island, where I’m working on my knife skills with a slew of vegetables strewn around me.

  “I’m not even sure I like haggis,” he says.

  “Not exactly your mom’s curry.” I scan the ingredients over his shoulder.

  As first-generation immigrants, Isaac’s parents moved to America as kids. Other than passing on their love of Indian cuisine, speaking Hindi at extended family gatherings, and sharing with him their incomprehensible obsession with cricket, they haven’t encouraged their son to delve too deeply into his Indian heritage. A strange dichotomy for him, to be American and to have other people often treat him as other. Bugs the shit out of me to see it, and I’m not the one it’s happening to.

  “The day you can cook better than my mom is the day I marry you,” Isaac says.

  “Generally, I don’t swing that way. Unless you’re paying me. Then I can swing any way you want.” I grab my phone and text my driver, Kyle, the shopping list. Then I message Gordon a plea for discreet help. Haggis can’t be that hard. Ellie and Isaac won’t get the best of me with their menu request.

  “Beer?” I get one out of the fridge and tilt the bottle toward him. Sober cooking isn’t much fun.

  “Nah, I took an oxy. It’ll kick in soon.”

  “Ellie!” I yell. Sometimes my huge house isn’t so great. She peers at me over the couch. “Beer?”

  “Yes, please!” she calls.

  “Did she just say please?” Isaac slides his phone onto the island.

  “She did indeed.” I grab her a beer, pop off the top, and walk it over. When I pass it to her, I kiss her forehead. A swell of protectiveness rushes over me. Nothing I wouldn’t do for her.

  When I return to the kitchen, Isaac says, “I can’t believe she thanked you for getting her drunk.”

  “I kinda like it.” One of the best things about Ellie is her easygoing nature. She’s the opposite of my sister, who blows into the house like a thundercloud. Not that I blame her. She was stuck with my parents longer than me. Thinking of her reminds me of the low-level tension vibrating off Isaac since he arrived this afternoon. “What’s up, man? You’ve been kinda weird today. How’d the pilot go the other week? You never texted me back.”

  “It was whatever. My agent said they’re not sure how well I’ll test with audiences.”

  “Say the word, and I’ll make some calls. If we form our own production company, we can do whatever the fuck we want. I’m starting to think that’s the way to go if these fuckwits won’t let you in the door anymore.”

  “We’re twenty-five, and we’re both disorganized as shit. Who’s going to run it? My parents?”

  We’d pay people to do the parts we didn’t want to do, which would be almost everything. I’ve been making money hand over fist the last few years, but Isaac has struggled to land bigger projects since we branched out into more adult content. Casting agents still throw him into the mix as the dopey sidekick teenager, but he’s never the lead. Even TV has been proving harder to penetrate than either of us expected. Isaac believes his skin color is the barrier, and I’m starting to think he’s right. We left the Daisy Network with the same level of fame and ability, but I eclipsed him within a year.

  He’s not in the mood to hear my production company idea right now. The TV pilot must have been a disaster for him to be in such a foul mood. His problem is one I’m convinced we could fix if I threw enough money at it. Prove he’s bankable. Not sure how much I’d make in return at first, but that’s an accounting issue.

  Isaac works his jaw. “Did Ellie tell you she had an audition yesterday?”

  Last night is a blur. We didn’t talk much. Too busy making up for lost time. She goes to auditions all the time without telling me. Despite Love Letters from Spain being set to blow up her career, and our frequent tabloid appearances together, she wants to make a name for herself without my being involved.

  “Her manager arranged for her to take a meeting with Phil Leeman at his house.” Isaac removes a bottle from his pocket. He pries it open and takes two pills. I hold out my hand, and he drops a Percocet into it.

  “No woman takes a meeting with Phil Leeman at his house. He’s a class-A perv.” My heart does funny things in my chest. If he hurt her, he’ll find out there is nowhere in Hollywood he can hide from me. I’ll ruin him.

  “Ellie called me in a flood of tears yesterday afternoon after Leeman tried to force himself on her. She wasn’t sure who else to call. You weren’t home yet. She didn’t have a ride, and she’d run out of his house.” Isaac keeps his voice lowered as he speaks.

  Rage rises in me, unchecked. I shouldn’t have taken the Perc because a plan is forming, and I’m already not sober enough to figure out if it’s a good one. No one touches Ellie without her consent and gets away with it.

  “I thought about going in and kicking his ass. But Phil’s got clout.”

  I grab my phone and call my manager to get Leeman’s contact information. Phil has substantial influence, even if he shouldn’t. With the trajectory my career is on, I’m not worried. He’ll be a small fish in my big pond.

  Ellie wanders over from the living room. She wraps her arms around me from the side, squeezing me. “Everything okay?”


  Her sweet, open face resting against my chest undoes me. I’ll rip Leeman to shreds. Her crying and afraid is enough to make me contemplate murder.

  “Yeah, fine,” I say.

  She glares at Isaac, but he won’t make eye contact.

  My phone rings, and I pick it up. I extract myself from Ellie to grab a pen and a piece of paper from the kitchen counter. I jot down Leeman’s location at the Los Angeles Country Club and hang up before my manager can ask any other questions. He wouldn’t be happy with what I’m about to do. But he’s well paid. He can deal with the PR and legal fallout. Ellie peers around my shoulder to see what I’ve written.

  “You don’t play golf. Why are you going there?” When I don’t answer, she glances at Isaac again. His expression must give him away because she says, “Wyatt, it’s fine. Really. I’m fine. Nothing really bad happened, he just—I just . . . I left. It’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine, Ellie. It’s the opposite of fine,” I say through gritted teeth. “You’re getting a new manager. That’s bullshit they set that up.” I grab the piece of paper off the counter and head for the door.

  She begs Isaac to intervene. Good luck, Ellie.

  When I open the front door, she rushes to my side and tugs on my arm, trying to drag me back. “Wyatt, I don’t want you to go to jail or get sued or anything. Don’t do something stupid.”

  I wrap my arm around her waist and gently back her up against the wall at the front entrance. I smooth the hair that’s fallen into her eyes. “Did he scare you, Ellie?”

  She searches my face, looking torn. “Yes, but—”

  I kiss her to stop her from rationalizing Leeman’s behavior or her reaction. She bends into me, tugging me closer, moaning into my mouth. Taking her back to my room is so tempting. But the idea of that smug asshole seeing her at a party later, thinking he almost took something from her she didn’t want to give, fuels my rage. Her body isn’t his to take. It isn’t anyone’s.

  I pull back, give her a quick peck on the forehead, and disappear out the door before she can convince me to stay. Kyle arrives through the gates right on time. What I’m about to do requires a getaway driver. My hands shake, and my head is cloudy with rage. I pass Kyle the address and climb into the back.

  During the ride to the country club, I drum my fingers on the armrest. Every time I think about what could have happened to Ellie—how her day might have gone yesterday—I want to beat something bloody. If anyone put my younger sister, Anna, in a similar situation, I’d go for the jugular. When I left home, I couldn’t protect her, but I do everything I can to watch out for her now that she’s out of my parents’ house. The predators in the industry hide in corners, but if I have to drag every one of them into the light to shield the people I love, I’ll do it.

  At the country club, I signal for Kyle to get out of the Rolls-Royce and follow me. He does so without question. “If I get out of hand, pull me off him, okay?” Someone needs to have a level head ’cause it sure as hell won’t be me.

  I storm into the dining area at the club, and a few staff try to waylay me until they recognize who I am. At the other end of the restaurant are huge bay windows. The warm California sun streams in with a view of the greens. The gold-and-brown decor is not to my taste, but I’m not in the market for a country club. Most of the patrons are wealthy, stuck-up assholes. I spot the biggest one in the far corner, talking to a woman. I hope it’s his wife. “Phil Leeman!”

  He turns in his seat, surprise rising to the surface. My interest in him won’t make his life better, though he probably got a hard-on at the sight of me. We’ve never had a reason to speak before. He rises and leaves his table with his hand extended. Fat fucking chance I’ll take it. I flex my fingers, draw back, and land a right hook to his face. His head jerks, and he lands on his ass. Satisfaction floods through me. Man, that felt good.

  “Sir.” Kyle reminds me before I can climb on top of Phil and finish the job.

  “I got it, Kyle.” Not dead, just warned. I shake out my hand. Been a year since that boxing movie, and I’m a little rusty.

  “What the hell!” Phil rubs his cheek. A giant bruise blooms under his eye.

  “Yesterday you met with Ellie Cooper at your house,” I say. “You so much as look at her and I will get you blackballed. Do you understand me? Tell your pervy friends that Ellie Cooper is off limits.”

  He climbs to his feet awkwardly as I start to stride out. “I’m going to sue your ass, Wyatt!” he calls.

  I turn and throw out my hands. “Do your worst, Phil. I have more money than God.” I storm back, fist cocked. “You know what? If you’re going to sue me, I might as well make the court case worth it.” This time, I hit him with my left. He lands on the ground with an oof. Much better technique. I don’t have to shake my hand at all. Or maybe the Percocet kicked in.

  “Ah, sir?” Kyle strides along beside me.

  I glance at him, too caught up in my own thoughts. Leeman’s not gonna sue me. His dirty laundry would get aired.

  “You split your knuckles.” Kyle points to my hands.

  Shit. Gratification swells in me. He hit the ground so hard, so shocked, each time. I flex my hands in wonder. That Percocet came in handy after all. Just the way I like it; I didn’t feel a thing.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wyatt

  Present Day

  I’m at the front entrance of the hotel waiting for Ellie. Sweat trickles down my back. The humidity is brutal.

  Earlier, I saw Haven. I took her a small tub of ice cream and stayed for a chat. She reminds me of Ellie, or maybe I want to see Ellie in her. My heart squeezed in my chest over and over again as Haven and I talked. They must spend a lot of time together. Nikki was the only one there, and I dusted off my most charming material. Ellie’s sister barely cracked a smile.

  Just before I left, the doctor came around and confirmed Haven’s fever was gone, and the virus had likely run its course. Hearing the news was a load off my mind, and Nikki breathed an audible sigh of relief.

  Ellie approaches the circular entrance of the hotel on her bike and when she stops in front of me, she takes off her helmet. Her posture is stiff, and her eyes are blazing. Something’s changed, and not in the good way I expected with Haven’s release from the hospital.

  She throws her second helmet at me but doesn’t say a word. I examine her with the helmet in my hands. This is how I expected her to react when she found out about my suicide attempt.

  “Well,” I say. “Are you going to tell me what I did, or should I guess?” That’d be a short game.

  “I am unbelievably angry with you.” Her hands shake as they rest on the handlebars.

  “You didn’t watch the whole interview the other night?” I climb on behind her.

  She shifts forward so we aren’t touching. At least this reaction makes more sense. She roars out of the hotel lot, and we make it back to her house in record time. The gates are already open when we arrive. One of her security guards must listen for her coming. She drives into the garage, takes off her helmet, and drops it on a rack. She doesn’t wait for me.

  I place my helmet beside hers and trail behind her with my hands in the pockets of my shorts. My approach to this conversation might set the tone for where we go from here, but I’m not sure what to say.

  In the living room, she’s pacing, and there’s a wildness to the movement I’ve never seen from Ellie before. “When?” She stares at me with pained eyes. “I watched that interview a million times today, trying to put it together. When did you do it?”

  “Right after you left. Within a week of you being gone.” No point in lying. Most of it is common knowledge if you call the right people. Now that it’s out, the tabloids have been trying to reach every person in my circle, if my social media notifications are to be believed.

  “When you were admitted to the hospital for exhaustion? It wasn’t exhaustion? Your stay was because of attempted suicide?” She perch
es on the edge of the couch and then stands again. She vibrates with restless energy, like me when I’m itching.

  “Come on, Ellie. We played those games before. How many people are actually admitted for exhaustion?” I give her a wry smile. “It’s rarely just that.”

  In many ways, we’re discussing a different person. Sometimes I pretend I can’t remember why I took way too many pills. Better if I don’t think about my reasoning too hard. Even after years and a lot of therapy, I’m not sure if I overdosed on purpose or if I just let it happen. The result would have been the same. So I’ve worked to own that episode, privately until recently, and very publicly now.

  “I just—I imagined you went on a bender, maybe weren’t sleeping.” She keeps pacing and takes a deep breath while running her hands through her hair. “Katrina Wexler. That woman who moved into our house within a month of us breaking up . . . She was some sort of suicide counselor?” Her voice brims with confusion.

  “Yeah.” I spread my hands wide. “The media storm about us was all bullshit.”

  “Those shirts,” she says in disbelief. “All the team stuff. Team Ellie, Team Katrina. People were sure you cheated on me.”

  “What did you think?” I paid a lot of money to keep my suicide attempt quiet, and my lawyer had everyone and their uncle sign an ironclad NDA.

  “That you were an asshole.” She collapses onto the couch, and agony coats her face. “But I never believed you cheated on me.” She shakes her head. “I would have . . . if I’d known, I . . .” She trails off, closing her eyes and swallowing. “Who found you?”

  “Isaac’s mom stopped by to bring me soup.” That admission will make this much worse for Ellie. She loved Isaac’s mom. Tanvi treated us like her kids. “She understood how torn up I was about you leaving, and coming on the heels of Isaac’s death, she was worried about me. Had a right to be worried about me. I was . . .” Part of me thought I was beyond saving, not worth her time. Tanvi saw those feelings, even if she couldn’t convince me to do anything productive about them. “I was out of control.”