Focus, Jasmine.
“Cut!”
Oh, thank god.
Chapter 8
Despite his bone-deep exhaustion, Ashton caught a late flight to San Juan after the second episode wrapped. The final scenes had called not just for physicality, thanks to Victor’s drunken outburst and shoving match with a rival singer, but emotion, as the complications of Victor and Carmen’s relationship reached a new low.
The fight had required multiple takes to film, to the point where Ashton regretted insisting that sure, he could absolutely do his own stunts. Not that the actual stunt guy he acted opposite had hurt him, but stage combat could be grueling work. Another concern had been Jasmine’s presence in the scene, since Carmen’s character was called upon to break up the fight. The last thing he’d wanted to do was accidentally hurt her, so Ashton had been aware of her every second, from the moments she was glued to his side on the red carpet, to the way she banded her arms around his torso to pull him out of the fight, to the way she tenderly cupped his cheek to check for bruises.
Acting was reacting, and they’d taken their cues from each other, even as Ashton had dug deeper and deeper into himself to pull out Victor’s pain. Jasmine matched him beat for emotional beat as Victor had raged himself into exhaustion. The quiet moments between them after the fight were probably some of the best acting he’d ever done.
But by the end of the week, he was ready to drop, and homesickness was like a lead weight in his gut. On Friday night, he went straight from the studio to the airport, and from the airport to the apartment he kept in San Juan, where he caught a few hours of sleep. In the morning, he drove to Humacao, to the condo where his son, father, and grandparents lived full time in a secure gated community.
Keeping an eye out for any suspicious figures, Ashton parked in the driveway, then let himself into the blocky peach and terra-cotta house. Even though his family had moved after the Incident, his sense of safety had never fully recovered. Inside, Ignacio approached him with una taza de café con leche while Ashton reset the security system. Ashton greeted his father and gratefully took a sip of the coffee.
“¿Yadiel está durmiendo?” Ashton asked, following Ignacio into the kitchen.
“Sí.” Ignacio sat at the table and put his reading glasses on to resume his perusal of the newspaper. “He’ll be happy to see you when he wakes up.”
Ashton took a seat, but he felt jumpy. “Everything’s okay? Nothing weird?”
Ignacio put down the paper and sent Ashton a bland look over the top of his glasses.
“If there were something weird, don’t you think I’d tell you?”
“Of course.” Ashton didn’t fully believe that, but no point upsetting his father this early in the morning.
“When did you arrive?”
“Late last night.”
“Ah. You stayed in the apartment?”
“Yeah.”
Ignacio just raised his eyebrows and kept reading about the latest political protests. He didn’t have to say anything, because they’d already had this conversation multiple times. He thought it was silly for Ashton to pay for two homes in Puerto Rico and an apartment in Miami, but he knew why Ashton didn’t feel comfortable sleeping in the house.
“And how long are we supposed to have Yadi’s teachers and friends sign NDAs?” Ignacio asked pointedly.
Ashton just sighed. “Stop exaggerating.”
“You’ve kept him secret this long,” his father went on, his tone mild. “But you can’t do it forever.”
Ashton knew that, but he’d convinced himself it was possible. He was saved from having to come up with an answer by the sound of feet on the stairs. Setting his cup down, he stood as Yadi entered the room in his Spider-Man pajamas.
“Papi!” the boy screeched, then launched himself into Ashton’s arms.
Ashton picked him up and held him close. Yadi was small for his age, and Ashton wouldn’t be able to do this for much longer. He wished, not for the first time, that he could be here every day when his son woke up.
Yadiel clambered down and greeted his grandfather, then went to pour himself a glass of juice.
“Well, since you’re here, I’ll go get an early start at the restaurant,” Ignacio told Ashton. He set down the newspaper, open to the entertainment page. “Looks like your friend Fernando Vargas is doing well.”
Ashton glanced at the paper and groaned. His “rival” from El fuego de amor had booked a big role in a movie Ashton hadn’t even been called to audition for.
Yadiel drained his juice and grabbed Ashton’s hand with sticky fingers. “¡Ven, Papi! Come look at the castle I built in Minecraft!”
Ashton let his son consume his thoughts that weekend. They spent every waking minute together while Ignacio and Abuelita Bibi and Abuelito Gus were at the restaurant. Ashton even kept Yadiel home from Sunday mass, which did not thrill Abuelita Bibi.
Ashton set up a badminton net in the backyard, and they played for hours until they were both sweaty and hot. They swam in the pool, with Yadiel showing off how he could pick up brightly colored rings from the bottom. And they watched countless animated superhero movies, with Yadiel helpfully filling in any character backstory Ashton might be unaware of.
On Sunday night, after Ashton put Yadiel to bed, Ignacio pulled him aside before he left for the airport.
“The show is going well?” Ignacio asked.
Ashton shrugged. “Well enough.” He’d spent the whole weekend trying not to think about it.
“Ah. Does that mean you’re pulling your usual disappearing act behind the scenes?”
“Pa, enough.”
“You never used to be that way, is all I’m saying.”
Ashton lowered his voice. “That was before.”
“It was years ago.”
Ashton shook his head and reached for the door. “I have to go.”
Ignacio caught his arm and looked him dead in the eyes. “This is what you wanted, mijo. Don’t screw it up.”
In the car, Ashton reflected on his father’s words. Why had he even come here this weekend? Yes, he’d loved spending time with his son, but he would have been better served resting and memorizing his lines for the third episode.
Part of him had wanted to get away from the stress of it all. Another part had wanted to see for himself that Yadi was safe and happy. But even though he’d confirmed that everything was okay, he still felt unsettled.
Well enough, he’d told his father. Deep down, he knew he could be doing better as Victor. Ashton was too much of a perfectionist to ever feel like he’d done a great job, but he knew when he was holding back. If this show was going to catapult his career, he needed to give it his all.
It was with this thought in mind that he ran into Jasmine entering the Hutton Court late that night.
She did a double take when he approached her at the elevator bank, where she’d just pressed the up button.
“You’re out late,” she remarked, giving him a once-over while he did the same. She looked tired, but gorgeous in a floaty purple dress that showed off her shoulders and arms.
“I could say the same to you,” he quipped, exhaustion loosening his tongue.
“Just getting back from the Bronx. My cousin Ronnie’s daughter turned one.” She rolled her eyes. “Nothing says ‘baby’s first birthday’ like an open bar.”