You Had Me at Hola(72)

If she were being honest with herself, that was the part that hurt the most. She’d shared so much of herself with him, and he hadn’t trusted her enough to do the same.

And after the way they’d left things, she didn’t think he’d want to hear from her right now anyway.

According to the Buzz Weekly exposé, his son—Yadiel, that was his name—lived in Puerto Rico, which explained why Ashton had flown down there a few times during production on Carmen. But one of the photos revealed that Ashton’s son had been in New York City that very weekend, at a Yankees game in the Bronx.

Ashton had slept in her suite the night before, which meant he had left her bed and gone to the game. Which meant his family had been, and maybe still was, in New York City.

And he hadn’t told her. Angry tears burned her eyes but Jasmine refused to let them fall. Instead, she turned her phone off and finally fell asleep.





Chapter 32


ScreenFlix security was pretty good about keeping photographers away from the gates of the studio, but being located in Queens, with one-way streets, there were only so many routes off the lot.

The crowd down the street from ScreenFlix Studios had grown. There’d always been a small but loyal group of guys sitting on camp chairs inside a pen of metal police barricades, but after the Latinx in the Arts Summit, their crew had tripled in size. Now, in the wake of Ashton’s “scandal,” that number had doubled over the course of the day.

The paparazzi yelled and jeered, their gigantic cameras snapping and flashing as Ashton’s car rolled through the gates. They shouted questions at him about Yadiel, about Yadiel’s mother, about Jasmine, about the ridiculous rumor of a love triangle, even about Puerto Rican politics. That last one he did have a lot of thoughts on, but he wasn’t falling for the bait.

Inside the SUV, Ashton slumped in the back seat and attempted to ignore them, immeasurably grateful for the vehicle’s dark windows. He’d tried to close his eyes to block them out, but that only made it worse. He felt more in control with his eyes open. If something was going to get him, at least he’d see it coming.

Rationally, he knew they couldn’t hurt him. Probably. Most likely. Okay, he didn’t really believe that. All the media attention had ratcheted up the paranoia he kept tamped down, and every time he tried to talk himself out of it, his brain reminded him that someone had already tried. So no, he couldn’t convince himself he was safe, because when the police had finally found the would-be intruder, the man had a hunting knife in his possession.

Aside from the police, Ignacio was the only other person who knew this detail. Ashton prayed it remained that way.

He finally closed his eyes when they got on the highway. And didn’t open them again until the SUV rolled up in front of the apartment where Ashton’s family was staying.

Ashton waited inside the vehicle while Drew—his new bodyguard friend, courtesy of Tanya—checked the sidewalk and vestibule. Ashton guessed the coast was clear, because Drew headed back over to the car. Ashton climbed out and they went inside. And although he felt weird about the whole thing, he asked Drew to wait in the lobby and make sure no one snuck up on the building.

Drew didn’t seem to think any of this was weird, because he just said, “Sure thing,” and took up a post by the door.

In his line of work, Drew had probably seen some shit Ashton didn’t even want to know about—his nightmares were bad enough already.

Upstairs, Ashton assembled his father and grandparents for a family meeting while Yadiel, up past his bedtime and riding high on his second wind, climbed on every piece of furniture in the living room.

“No veo cuál es la gran cosa,” his father said for at least the tenth time.

Ashton gritted his teeth and tried, once again, to explain why the entertainment news media dragging his name through the mud was a very big deal.

“I want Yadiel to have a normal life,” he began in Spanish, but Abuelito Gus cut him off.

“What’s normal, anyway?” The older man shrugged and gestured at the energetic boy. “He’s fine. Kids are growing up with all sorts of new concerns that we didn’t have. This is just one more.”

The memory of glass breaking echoed in Ashton’s ears. “I’m not talking about something like too much screen time. Most children don’t have photographers stalking them and printing pictures of them in magazines.”

“I don’t get enough screen time,” Yadiel muttered under his breath, and Ashton regretted bringing up what was already a sore topic in their household.

“How do you know?” Abuelito Gus held up his smartphone, challenging Ashton’s assertion. “Everyone has one of these now. Anyone could be taking pictures of him at any time.”

That argument did not make Ashton feel better. “That’s my point—”

“Verdad.” Abuelita Bibi nodded and cast on a new color of yarn to her needles. She was taking advantage of the “cooler temperatures” of New York City to get some knitting done.

It was eighty-five degrees outside.

Then Abuelita Bibi turned on Ashton with that eagle-eyed dime el bochinche expression she wore when she sniffed out gossip. “?Y la mujer?”

“?Qué mujer?” Did she mean Yadiel’s birth mom? The only people who knew her identity were sitting in this room. Ashton had given Yadi a choice, and the boy had decided he would wait until he was ten to be told. He viewed ten as some magical age where all sorts of information and skills—mostly regarding video games and skateboarding—would be unlocked for him.