Falling Like Stars

Chapter Twenty-Three

THE PRIVATE JET touches down at Spirit of St. Louis airport around noon. Rowan, sitting across from me in the posh leather seats, peers out the window at the small airfield. She’s wearing jeans rolled up at the shin, a gray shirt, white sneakers, and a black jacket, the sleeves also rolled up. My Tom Ford. Her Tom Ford, since the moment I put it round her shoulders at her birthday party.

“I’m not seeing much city,” Rowan says, and shoots me a smile. “I was expecting buildings, cars…possibly even a really big arch.”

“My family lives in Kirkwood,” I say. “It’s about twelve miles southwest of St. Louis. We had a little place in the city, but my parents prefer peace and quiet. When I had the means, I moved them.” I cock my head. “Disappointed?”

“I’ve lived in LA all my life,” she says. “I like peace and quiet. Hence, the cabin.”

“This isn’t going to be as quiet as your cabin,” I say, although that’s kind of the point. Rowan’s been without anything like a real family for so long, I think maybe a dose of mine couldn’t hurt.

“I think I wouldn’t mind that,” she says, answering my words and thoughts, both.

“You might change your mind when you meet my brother.”

The car service is waiting when the jet finishes taxiing on the airfield. We exchange the posh interior of the jet for the posh interior of a Cadillac sedan for the ten-minute ride to the Kirkwood house. A neighborhood of huge homes spread far apart, interspersed with large swaths of forest, passes outside the window until the car takes us down a lone road. At the end is a cul-de-sac with the big house. It’s a newer-build, about eight years old—a French provincial style single story, with stone and plaster fa?ade and high triangular arches over the doors and windows.

The driver takes our two rolling luggage bags from the trunk. I sign off and then he drives away.

Rowan stares up at the house. “You bought this for them?”

“It was the first thing I did when the Godsent money started rolling in.”

“It’s a big one.”

“I know it. Probably a lot bigger than two retired people need, but I got carried away, being able to take care of them like that.”

“You did good, Butler.” Rowan slips her hand in mine. “I’m glad I’m here.”

“Me too,” I say, and move in to kiss her when the front door bangs open and Jeremy saunters out in a T-shirt, jeans, no shoes. My twin brother leans against the front porch railing, a shit-eating grin on his face, his hands tucked into the front pockets of his jeans. His hair’s longer than mine and messy, and there’s stubble on his cheeks.

“Brace yourself,” I tell Rowan as we head to the porch, dragging our luggage behind. “He’s a lot.”

“‘A lot’ meaning he’s obnoxious and overbearing…?”

“Nah, he’s a good guy but with an excessive amount of energy. Kind of like a St. Bernard puppy.”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t Zachary Ryan Butler in the flesh.” Jeremy hops down the three steps to engulf me in a hug. My eyes fall shut as I realize how much I’ve missed my brother and just being in Missouri. Home. My brother’s hug feels like being home before I even step in the house.

“Missed you, bro.”

“Missed you, too,” I reply.

He gives me a final squeeze and lets me go. “You must be Rowan,” he says, hand outstretched. “I’m Jeremy. Good to meet you.”

Rowan’s small hand is engulfed in his as her gaze goes between us.

“It’s weird, right?” Jeremy says with a laugh. “Same-same, but different.”

“Yeah,” Rowan says. “Like looking at a deep fake of Zach.”

I chuck my brother on the arm. “Hear that, Jer? You’re the AI version of me.”

“Where have I heard that before?”

Rowan waves her hands. “Oh my God, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s all good.” Jeremy slings his arm around my shoulders and grips my chin. He gives my face an affectionate shake. “We all know who’s got the moneymaker in the family.”

“When did you get in?” I say, disentangling myself from my brother and making him take Rowan’s luggage.

“Last night. From Dubai. And let me tell you, that is a flight and a half.”

“What do you do?” Rowan asks as we make our way into the foyer.

“Oh, little bit of this, little bit of that. I’m a jack-of-all-trades, you could say,” Jeremy says, and somehow manages to not sound completely douchey.

Rowan nods. “So…drug dealer.”

I burst out laughing while Jeremy gives me a nudge.

“Oh, I like her.”

Yeah, me too, I think. Love. I love her.

“I’m a photojournalist, actually,” Jeremy says as we move through the first sitting room, the one that’s only used for parties, so almost never.

I look dubious. “Since when?”

“Since three months ago, brother mine,” he says, and stops at the junction of the hallway and the sitting room. “At this outfit called Planet X . Big time magazine. They send me all over the world to take pictures and jump off cliffs and such.”

“I’m sure Mom loves that,” I say.

“No, she does not,” he agrees. “But it’s only temporary. Until I find something I like better.” He hefts both pieces of our luggage. “I’ll take these to your room. Or…rooms? Don’t want to presume what level of premarital shenanigans you’re up to.”

Come to think of it, I’m not sure what level of physical Rowan wants to be after the emotional fallout the other day either, but she doesn’t hesitate.

“One room,” Rowan says. “If your parents are okay with that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jeremy says. “They know the score. We’re all adults here.”

“Are we though, Jeremiah?”

“Oh, has shit-talking commenced, Zachariah?” Jeremy bellows and hefts our bags. “The parentals are in the main living room and very eager to meet you, Rowan.”

He takes the luggage down the hall as Rowan and I continue through the house that is all dark exposed beams in high ceilings and iron chandeliers.

Rowan arches a brow. “Zachariah?”

“It’s the most pointless of in-jokes,” I say. “I don’t even remember when it started. Like I said, he’s kind of a lot.”

“I like him,” Rowan says. “If I were casting him in a movie, he’d be the head of the frat house with a heart of gold.”

“I like that,” I say, relieved that she can see through his bluster.

“Zachary?” my mother calls from deeper in the house. “We’re in here.”

In the living room, my parents are sitting on the couch. Mom’s got a jigsaw puzzle going on the table in front of them, as usual. Dad has his crossword in his lap. They both set aside what they’re doing and stand up to greet us.

“Oh honey,” Mom says, pulling me into a hug. “I’ve missed you so much. So, so much.”

Her hair is more silver now than brown, and Dad’s sporting a beard that is nearly all white, his dark hair salt and pepper. He takes his turn giving me a hug and a pat on the back.

“Congrats on your win, son,” he says. “So proud of you.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

Rowan watches the scene, looking uncertain. Almost shy. Mom and Dad turn to her, their smiles welcoming but cautious. Echoes of those rough last few years with Eva are written all over their faces.

“Mom and Dad, this is Rowan Walsh. Rowan is a costume designer currently working on a big production.”

“Zach is being way too generous,” she says, extending her hand to shake theirs. “I am working as a costumer but not… Yeah, so anyway, thank you so much for having me.”

I’ve never seen her stumble over her words , I muse as a redness creeps over her cheeks.

“Wonderful to meet you, darling,” Mom says warmly, to help put her at ease. “Please, sit.”

“How did you two meet?” Dad asks after we take seats across from them on the second couch. “Wait, would you like something to drink? Jeremy! Bring us some lemonade.”

Jeremy, having just returned from our room, is about to sit on a side chair but jumps back up. “As you wish.”

He vanishes into the kitchen, and my dad faces us again. “You were saying?”

“Zach and I met when I was a production assistant on Covet .”

“Oh, isn’t that the really horrible role you did recently for HBO?” Mom frowns at me. “So violent, from what you’ve described.”

“Yep, that’s the one,” I say, while Rowan grins behind her hand.

“How was he in that?” Dad asks Rowan. “Not sure that’s the kind of thing I want to watch my boy in.”

“You’d be so proud,” Rowan says. “He was exceptionally convincing as a serial killer.”

Everybody laughs, and it’s like the room breathes a sigh of relief. My parents warm to her, and she relaxes into their warmth. I hate comparing everything she does to Eva, but Eva was the only other girl I ever brought home. My parents loved her at first, but it only took a year or two before the worried glances and nervous questions about where the relationship was going began. When I asked my mother for the heirloom engagement ring, she gave it to me, but I think it hurt her to do it. Now, watching her watch Rowan, she seems at ease.

“Come, Rowan,” Mom says, standing up. “We shouldn’t be sitting in this stuffy living room when we have a beautiful porch and a beautiful spring afternoon.”

She takes Rowan by the hand as we move through the house, past walls covered in pictures—endless photos of the family but mostly of Jeremy and me: in our little league uniforms, backstage after a play of mine, at the state fair, at a Cardinals game.

“Oh wow,” Rowan says, stopping to peruse. “Twice the cuteness.”

“Twice the headache,” Dad says, chuckling.

“Double trouble, for sure,” Mom puts in, “though Zach was mostly a little angel.” She looks at me fondly. “Mostly.”

Rowan gives my arm a nudge. “ Mostly .”

“Zach did his fair share of troublemaking,” Mom continues. “He and Jeremy were all but identical until they were about nine years old, and they made the most of it, let me tell you. Pulling pranks as often as possible. Except on me. To this day, I’m the only one who could tell them apart.”

Rowan squints at a picture of Jeremy and me in our baseball uniforms, aged five. “That’s Zach,” she says, pointing at the little boy on the right.

“Very good!” Mom says with a smile. “Lucky guess.”

“That’s him,” Rowan says pointing at another picture of us at Six Flags amusement park. She looks at another. “And that’s him on the left. And that’s Zach, standing behind Jeremy at the zoo.”

“She’s four for four!” Mom’s eyes are wide with surprise, almost giddy. “How are you doing that?”

I look to Rowan, my voice soft. “Yeah, how are you doing that?”

She gives me a small smile and shrugs one shoulder. “I can just tell. Something in your eyes.”

There’s a quiet moment between the four of us, and then Jeremy breaks it like the proverbial bull in a China shop, bursting around the corner with a tray full of glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

“What’d I miss?”

Mom loops her arm in Rowan’s and smiles affectionately at her. “Nothing. We’re taking care of our guest. She’s a keeper.”

Rowan smiles, but I notice her hands twisting. As Mom and Dad are fussing over who will sit where on the patio, I pull her aside.

“You okay?”

“Your mom is so nice to me.”

“That’s bad?”

“She reminds me of Josh’s mom. So kind. When my own mom…” Rowan’s eyes shine for a moment then she blinks hard and thrusts her chin. “Nope, I’m not going there. It’s not then. It’s now, right?”

“That’s right, but Rowan, if it’s too much...”

She shakes her head, resolute. “I am not going to mess this up for you. Or for me.”

“Rowan, Zach.” Mom waves us over. “Come sit.”

We sit with drinks outside on the back porch that overlooks an expansive yard ringed by trees. The edges of the property meld into the forest. The large pond in the center—almost a mini lake—was the selling point for my parents. A small canoe is hitched to an even smaller dock and makes a pleasant creaking sound, while a pair of ducks zigzag across the brown-green water. A lone egret stands guard.

“Well,” Jeremy says, lounging back in his chair. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?”

“Your little gold friend. Don’t tell me you didn’t bring your Oscar.”

“I did not bring the Oscar,” I say. “I’m not a complete asshole.”

Jeremy sighs. “Why am I not surprised. You’ve probably shoved it in a closet somewhere.”

“It’s got a shelf.”

“On the back of the toilet,” Rowan puts in.

Jeremy laughs. “Figures. Of all the places in that huge house of yours…”

I shift and shoot Rowan a glance. She reads my silent plea to not tell them I’ve been living in a hotel for the past six weeks and nods.

“I’m not in the house anymore,” I say. “I’ve sold it and…I’m renting a place.”

“Really?” Mom says and exchanges glances with Dad. They both look relieved; the big glass house had been Eva’s idea. “Well, we’re all just so proud of you.”

The topic moves on, but I feel Jeremy watching me. He shoots me a look.

I have questions…

I give him one back.

Later.

The five of us sit and chat, and then chatting becomes talking as the conversation deepens. Jeremy regales us with his exploits and has us all crying laughter. By the time the sun has set, and twilight turns the sky a deep blue, Rowan seems at ease, and my mother acts as if she’s not going to give her up for anything. Dad eventually cooks us his trademark meal: pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, salad—nothing fancy but everything I love about being home.

At the dinner table, I watch Rowan eat, surrounded by my laughing, warm family. More than once, I catch her looking around as if it were hard to believe a scene like this could exist outside of TV or movies. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to believe too. How lucky I am and how I want to re-create it someday for kids of my own. The world is brutal enough; I want to build a place that’s stable and safe, like my parents did for me and for Jeremy.

After dinner, Jeremy insists that we all go out for ice cream.

“Yes, let’s,” Mom says. “There’s a small shopping area nearby with a cute Main Street full of shops and restaurants. Rowan, you’ll love it.”

We all pile into Dad’s Suburban, and head out. I’ve put on a hoodie and baseball cap, although with Jeremy around, it’s basically useless to try to go incognito. We look enough alike that he’s stopped on the street almost daily by people thinking he’s me. That night, as we walk down the quaint little street, there’re the usual stares and murmurs, but thankfully, no one approaches for selfies or autographs.

The ice cream shop is a family-owned business called Terri’s. We each order cones and when it comes time to pay, Jeremy pounds my back.

“This one’s on you, Mr. Hollywood.”

“Behave yourself, Jeremy,” Dad says, pulling out his wallet.

“Yes, behave yourself, Jeremy,” I say.

He gives me a dirty look that instantly breaks down into a laugh. Then he turns serious, taking me by the shoulders and staring at me intently. “God, it’s almost like looking into a mirror.”

A smartass remark comes to my lips, but I’m too happy; I missed him too much. All of them. And now Rowan is here, and it feels kind of perfect.

We head outside to find seats; the evening is warm but not yet humid. The only tables that line the front of the shop are built for two. With a lot of loud clanging, Jeremy drags a wrought iron chair to the wrought iron table where our parents are sitting. The last open table is grabbed by a mom and her toddler, so Rowan and I stand against the wall instead with our ice cream cones. Mine, Rocky Road. Hers, mint chocolate chip.

“What’s the verdict?” I ask. “Do you think you can handle a few more days with these people?”

“They’re wonderful,” Rowan says without a trace of her usual edge. “Your dad reminds me of my dad.”

“I feel like that’s a huge compliment.”

“It is. I just… Makes it hard for me to talk to him.” She sighs and shakes her head. “Never mind. I’m fine.”

I didn’t ask if she was fine; she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

“Jeremy is a riot,” she says, clearly changing the subject.

“He’s a knucklehead, but we love him,” I say, watching my parents bicker with my brother, who has them laughing—against their wills—in an instant. I pull my gaze back to Rowan. “But tell me. Are you okay?”

“I’m good.” She leans in. “And also…”

The rest of her sentence is to kiss me, and I taste the cold sweet mint on her lips. Instantly, I want more of her, more of everything that is her. I deepen the kiss, holding her face with one hand, the other holding a melting cone I want to get rid of so I can touch her all over.

I feel eyes watching. I break the kiss to see my family staring, then quickly averting their gazes when I catch them.

“Subtle,” I say.

“Everyone is watching,” Rowan says, glancing around. “You make it so easy for me to forget you’re famous.”

“Good. Let me know when I don’t.” Rowan gives me another soft kiss that journeys southward along currents of heated blood. “I’d really like to be alone with you somewhere.”

She smiles against my lips. “Yes, please.”

It feels like an eternity before we’re back at the house, but finally, we say our goodnights. Our room is one of six bedrooms in the house. I overdid it on the real estate front when I bought such a large place, but now I’m glad. We’re miles from anyone else, and I need to touch her. I feel like an exposed wire whenever Rowan’s within an inch of me. A heat that needs release.

Inside the spacious room, we’re kissing before I can shut the door. I have her up against the wall, taking her mouth in deep sweeps of my tongue, drinking down her moans of want that make me so fucking hard.

“God, Zach,” Rowan breathes as I move to her neck, biting, licking, sucking. Her fingers are in my hair, holding me close. “What are you doing to me?”

Not enough. Not yet. There are still too many clothes between me and her skin. I strip Rowan out of her jacket just as she’s trying to pull my hoodie off me. For half a minute, we’re a disorganized tangle of grasping hands and reaching fingers. I move away just enough to yank the hoodie off and then go back to her. I kiss her hard while I get her jeans open.

“Oh God,” she breathes as I touch her over her underwear while she’s working to get me out of my shirt.

Finally, she pushes me away enough to get my black Henley off. Then she’s drinking me in, her gaze trailing over me with unabashed want. She moves in and presses a kiss to the center of my chest, before gazing up at me.

“You’re beautiful,” she says.

The naked emotion in her voice enflames me as much as anything else. I kiss her deeply, reverently, before the need in us both flares up again, and soon we’re kissing as if we’re the other’s air.

I take off her top in one movement; her blonde hair falls around her bare shoulders. Her bra comes off next, and I immediately put my mouth to one of her small nipples, biting and sucking. My hand palms her other breast, squeezing and gripping as hard as I dare without hurting her.

“ You are so fucking beautiful,” I manage, and move to kiss and suck her other breast. Rowan’s hands are tangled in my hair, a touch that somehow makes me feel valued. I drag my lips back up her skin, her throat, her chin, and take her mouth in a searing kiss.

“Zach,” she moans. “Want you so bad.”

I lift her and carry her to the foot of the king-sized bed, then stand her on her feet. We’re both still in our jeans and kiss frantically while helping the other to undo buttons and pull zippers. Finally, she’s naked in front of me but for her barely-there thong, cut high on her hip. I haul her close, tangle my fingers in her hair, and kiss her hard while my right hand slides down her body, along her stomach to the silky material that is all that separates me from what I want.

Rowan’s moan tapers to a sigh as I tease her over her underwear, my fingertips grazing her most sensitive flesh. Her own hands slide my back to tug at my boxer briefs. But I’m too greedy for her.

I wrap my arm around her waist, lift her up, and then lay her down on the bed. I lie over her, and my mouth moves to her small breasts, then her stomach. Then I rise up on my knees and gaze down at this woman with possessive need. Rowan’s eyes flare as she watches me trail my fingers up her thighs, taking my time, drawing it out.

“Zach…”

“Shhh.”

I reach her thong and slowly pull it off, an inch at a time, making her more and more naked until she’s bared beneath me. When it’s at her ankles, I toss it away. She arches her back, lifts her hips.

“Please…”

I strip off my boxers and lie over her again. She clenches her legs around my waist, her hands grasping at my back before moving down to my ass where she grazes my skin with her nails out of want, not rage. Her entire body is vibrating with desire, and I want so badly to slide inside her and take her.

“Wait,” Rowan whispers hotly in my ear, breathing hard.

“I’m good…” I begin, but she shakes her head.

“I know,” she says. “I want to ride you.”

Oh, fuck.

With effort, I haul myself off of her and sit back against the headboard. Rowan straddles me, one silky thigh on either side of my hips.

“You like it like this,” I breathe, my hands sliding down her body to her hips, gripping them and wanting to impale her on me but drawing it out.

She nods, pressing her forehead to mine and inciting a round of heated, biting kisses, until she pulls back.

“When we’re like this,” she says, holding my face in her hands, her entrance sliding against my length, tormenting me, “I feel closer to you. I’m yours and you’re mine, and all I want is for you to feel that. To feel how badly I want you.”

Rowan reaches between us, and her head falls back, her mouth open as she takes me inside the tight heat of her. My eyes fall shut at the intensity of our connection, and we linger in the moment. The world dissolves until there is nothing but our sweat-slicked bodies, our rasping breaths, and this woman who is everything I want from now until the day I die.

“I love you, Rowan.”

Her breath is tremulous against my lips as I hold her in place, my hands on her hips, hers in my hair.

“I love you, Zach,” she whispers back. “With all that I am.”

“With all that I am,” I repeat, and then grit my teeth to hold back a sound of pure need as I move her on me. She moves too, riding me with pure abandon while keeping us close, kissing me when she’s able, our tongues and teeth taking what they can between thrusts. But it’s not enough.

I grip Rowan around the waist and take her down so that her head is at the foot of the bed, and then I’m driving into her.

“Yes,” she hisses. “Yes, Zach…oh God…”

She’s close. I feel the tension coil in her body and see it in the pained expression on her face. I’m close too, but driving her to the edge is all I care about. I want to see and feel and hear her come apart under me, to give her everything.

She pulls me to her, my face in her hands again. Always holding me like that as if I were valuable to her. I kiss her hard as her orgasm rips through her, tensing her body. Pain finds my lower lip as she bites me; unintentionally, but I taste the tang of my blood.

“Oh no,” she whispers. “No, I…”

I shake my head, my own orgasm cresting and then crashing. I hold myself over her, my body shuddering as I empty myself into her, and then she’s pulling me tight, wrapping arms and legs around me. Skin to skin. There are no parts of us that aren’t touching, aren’t joined.

“I’m sorry,” she says, touching my bloodied lip. “The last thing I want is to hurt you—”

“You’re not,” I say, cutting her off. “You’re not hurting me. Okay?”

She nods, understanding, her blue eyes electric and sad and full of love. For me. She holds me tight as if she’ll never let go. And I lie over Rowan, a shield between her and the world that’s been so cruel. I’ll take the pain, hers and mine, both. I can take it. I will take it if it means having her like this. Always.