When Stars Fall by Wendy Million

Chapter Thirteen

Ellie

Eleven years ago

My favorite time with Wyatt is any day when we’re not rushing out of the house to meet a manager, to take a meeting about an upcoming production, to discuss clothing for scheduled appearances, or to catch a flight to our next movie set.

Tomorrow I leave for a gymnastics movie I’m starring in that’s shooting in Vancouver, Canada, and Wyatt begins production mid-week on a thriller filming at Alcatraz. But today we get to pretend we’re normal people. A lazy morning in bed, followed by a trip to the gym, a table read for Wyatt at the studio, and then Sunday dinner. A rarity, lately.

Wyatt’s phone vibrates on the bedside table, and he rolls over to grab it. He squints at the screen before writing back.

“Who’s that?” I ask.

“Tommy. Reminding me I have an interview with Faces magazine tomorrow in Malibu for Right of Passage.”

“What do you think they’re going to ask you about?” Sometimes we play a game where we list the most ridiculous interview questions we’ve ever received.

He sets down his phone and stretches his arm across my middle, tugging me close to him. “Probably bring up my relationship with my parents. Ties into the movie, and everyone’s always looking for the emancipation details.”

His emancipation and his family dynamics are murky waters to wade into when he hasn’t self-medicated. Any time I try to gently prod, he usually shuts me down. Tells me they aren’t memories worth reliving.

“Are you going to discuss it?”

“It’s not a great story.” He traces the curve of my hip. “My hairdresser-to-the-stars mother and my boom-operator father had kids as a way to stop working and get high all the time. From the time I was a baby, I was in commercials. Same with Anna. We were a means to an end. Not kids to raise.”

My upbringing is on the opposite end of the spectrum. My parents doted on me and my sister, and we’re all very close. Wyatt’s already told me that I’ll never meet his parents, and he’s not even sure they’re still alive. He says he doesn’t care, but I find that incomprehensible.

“At six, I was pouring Baileys over my ice cream. At nine, my sister and I were being dragged into nightclubs with my parents. They were always after the next high—whatever that might be. By sixteen, I’d had enough. Isaac’s family was proof my parents were no good. They’re probably the only reason I’m not dead. Hired a lawyer, and I got the hell out of there.”

“No one tried to help you?”

“Child services came once in a while, but our parents convinced us we’d be worse off with a stranger in foster care. So we lied. Maybe we would have been treated worse in care. No way to be sure.”

“Why didn’t Anna leave too?” We’ve never delved so deeply into his family history before. A comment here or there, but an entire conversation has been impossible.

“She wouldn’t leave.” He strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. “I think they guilt-tripped her into staying. Either way, she feels I abandoned her. Left her to fend for herself in that house.”

“Sometimes the best thing you can do is save yourself.” I run my fingers along his cheek. Lately, I’ve been worried about Anna. Wyatt doesn’t see it, but she’s become more erratic. Can’t keep any of her modeling jobs. The last time she came to our house high, she flew into a rage at Wyatt and left scratches on his face. Isaac had to pull her off and then he held her as she cried.

We lie in silence, and Wyatt buries his face in my neck. “I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you.”

I squeeze him tight, and I hope my next comment lands in the spirit I intend. “You and Anna went through a lot as kids. It seems like she’s been struggling lately. Maybe she should talk to someone?”

He releases a deep sigh and flips off the covers. “I’m grabbing a Perc. You want anything?”

“No.” The days we see Tanvi and Kabir, I don’t indulge. I’m not as good at managing my ups and downs, and I hate feeling out of control.

Wyatt leans against the doorway to the en suite, a glass of water in his hand. “When I left, I let her down. I’m not doing that again.”

I sit up in bed to face him and hug my knees to my chest. The distance he’s kept is deliberate, and I realize I need to tread carefully. We’ll never see eye to eye on his sister, but I don’t know how to watch her get worse and say nothing.

“You and Anna are just really different people,” he says. “We should get to the gym.”

His misjudgment where she’s concerned isn’t new, but his version of protecting her is more like coddling. I throw back the blankets, and I pad after him into the walk-in closet.

Isaac and I take the Rolls-Royce to Tanvi and Kabir’s house in West Hollywood, while Wyatt jets off on the motorcycle to pick up Anna from her latest crisis at a photoshoot.

Since the night I met Anna at the club, she’s been trying to poke holes in my relationship with Wyatt. From snide comments to introducing him to a bevy of models to inventing any kind of predicament that needs his immediate attention, she’s happy to drive a wedge between us however she can. She hates how much he dotes on me, and I hate how much he indulges her bad behavior.

At the house, I help Tanvi set the table while Isaac and his dad sit in the living room discussing the latest cricket scores.

“I’m so glad we could all have dinner together tonight,” Tanvi says. “It’s been months since everyone was in LA. You and Wyatt have been out of the country, and Anna has been modeling. Isaac has been so busy too.”

Isaac has been in the city the whole time auditioning, but he avoids Sunday dinners unless the rest of us can come too. I’m pretty sure he lies to his parents about his availability. He drops in on them, but he never stays for long. As soon as he turned eighteen, he moved into Wyatt’s mansion, and he’s never looked back.

Lately, Isaac’s work situation has been dicey. Endorsements and commercials are his bread and butter, along with some tech investments. Sometimes I think he’d be happier if he got out of the Hollywood scene. Whenever I try to discuss his employment situation, he shoves a Xanax in his mouth and tells me I don’t need to worry about him.

Wyatt and Anna burst through the door. Anna is laughing with a lit cigarette in her hand. When she waves it around, Wyatt snatches it from her fingers, steals a drag, and then takes it to the sink to stub it out. As the smoke drifts toward us in the dining room, I realize it wasn’t tobacco they were smoking.

Kabir and Isaac emerge from the living room, and Kabir envelops Wyatt in a hug, then Anna. “So nice to see my Burgess children,” he says with a wink.

As soon as we’re seated and passing the dishes Tanvi would have spent all day making, Kabir begins his familiar round of questioning.

“Isaac, when are you going to bring a girlfriend to dinner?” At the head of the table, he heaps his plate with more rice.

Isaac rubs the back of his neck, and Wyatt jumps in. “Didn’t you say she was in Shanghai filming a movie?”

“Yeah,” Isaac says. “She’s out of the country. Next time.”

“It’s always next time. I’m starting to think you’re ashamed of your family,” Kabir says.

The only times I’ve met her have been in big groups at clubs or places where paparazzi lurk. None of the women he dates last very long, and his parents aren’t the only ones who never get to know them.

“I just want grandbabies,” Tanvi says with a wide smile. “If Isaac is not going to give them to me, I’ll have to count on Wyatt and Ellie.”

Wyatt chokes on his sip of his water.

“Kids?” Anna scoffs. “Yeah, right.” Her eyes are glassy and bloodshot. She gives me a wicked grin. “No one at this table will be having kids. Recipe for dysfunction.”

Wyatt squeezes my knee under the table. “Kids aren’t really in the cards for us.”

We’ve never talked about it, but his answer doesn’t surprise me. Family, in any capacity, is a tender spot. Doesn’t stop my heart from sinking a notch. While I might not want them soon, I can’t imagine never having them. The life we live right now isn’t child-friendly. Anna isn’t wrong in that regard.

Tanvi taps her spoon on her plate to dislodge a piece of chicken. “You’ll change your mind. Children are a gift. You are all my gifts.” She takes Anna’s hand and squeezes it.

Tears spring to Anna’s eyes, and she covers her face for a beat. Whatever has caused her glassy eyes has also put a chink in her tough exterior. She’s more prone to rages, and tears are often from regret.

“No crying at the dinner table,” Isaac says, but he’s on the other side of Anna, and he throws his arm around her in a consoling gesture. He whispers something in her ear, and it makes her laugh. She bumps his shoulder and picks up her fork.

“When do you start shooting the TV show?” Kabir asks Isaac.

“That was a bust.” Isaac releases Anna. “Didn’t test well with audiences, so they recast me. But Wyatt got me an audition for the villain in his new thriller, and I nailed it.”

That’s not quite what happened. Wyatt tied Isaac to him when the studio came calling. If they wanted Wyatt, they had to find a part for Isaac.

“You get to work with Wyatt again?” Kabir grabs a piece of naan from the center of the table. “Should be a good movie. Lots of promotion behind it. Very bankable. Maybe you can ride this opportunity to some success.”

“Maybe.” Isaac’s tone is tinged with annoyance.

Later when we go to leave, Kabir draws Wyatt into another hug and whispers something in his ear. At the Rolls-Royce, after some cajoling from Isaac, Anna agrees to ride with him so I can go on the motorcycle with Wyatt. When they leave the house with Kyle driving, I can’t contain my curiosity.

“What did Kabir say to you?” I ask.

A hint of a grin tugs at the corners of Wyatt’s mouth. “Told me he was proud of me, and he thanked me for watching out for Isaac.” He passes me a helmet. “About the kids thing—”

“It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t need to explain. I understand.”

He kisses my temple before putting on his helmet. “You always do.”