The sky was dark, lit by yellow streetlights, and the neighborhood was quiet. Victor sat beside Carmen on the stoop of her parents’ home, close enough for their shoulders to brush. They had just returned from a whirlwind day of Victor spilling his guts on one talk show after another. He’d admitted to struggling with depression and anxiety, and self-medicating with alcohol, all of which had led to pushing people away, the downfall of his marriage, and canceling a tour.
“You did great today.” Carmen’s voice vibrated with genuine pride, and her lips curved in a small, private smile. Just for him.
“Thanks.” Victor exhaled and leaned his elbows on his knees. “Do you think anyone is going to want to buy my new album after all that?”
Carmen placed a hand on his back and rubbed it in soothing circles, her touch gentle but firm. “I would. Vulnerability is sexy.”
“Vulnerability is exhausting.”
After a pause, she said in a quiet voice, “I never knew.”
She was referring to all the things he’d confessed. He closed his eyes. “I didn’t want you to know.”
“But I should have known something was going on. I should have tried to help—”
“There wasn’t anything you could do.”
“I still could have tried.”
Victor lifted his head and gave her a rueful grin. “I didn’t make it easy.”
The corner of her mouth tipped up in response. “No. But neither did I.”
Since the moment seemed right, he took her hand in his, lacing their fingers together and resting their joined hands on her thigh. “We both made mistakes, Carmencita.”
She leaned into him, placing her head on his shoulder. “We did.”
He swallowed hard and looked up to the sky for guidance, then back down at her. And took the leap. “So what do we do now?”
She lifted her chin and gazed into his eyes. Then, with her free hand, she cupped his face and kissed him.
This kiss was slow, languid. As if they had all the time in the world. As if they weren’t sitting on the stoop of her parents’ home, where anyone could see them. As if they were just two normal people . . .
As if his own family weren’t on their way to New York that very minute, as if they were in charge of their own lives, as if they weren’t surrounded by crew members, as if this kiss hadn’t been choreographed down to each touch and sigh . . .
When they slowed to catch their breath, Victor looked at her with a question in his eyes.
“I don’t know what we do,” Carmen said in response, her voice husky. “But this—opening up, letting people in, even if it’s just to carry the burden of the knowledge—it’s a start. You’re not alone, mi amor.”
The tension in him eased. He wanted to kiss her again, but it wasn’t in the script. So he just nodded, and got to his feet. He helped her up and together, they ascended the steps, hand in hand.
“Cut! Go again!”
Chapter 30
Jasmine locked the trailer door behind her and let her shoulders droop with exhaustion. Keeping her distance from Ashton was killing her.
She’d given him the out and he’d taken it, like she’d known he would. Old Jasmine would have called him multiple times during the last few days, but New Jasmine was sticking to the Leading Lady Plan.
And if she’d had to enlist the Primas of Power to help her hold strong, well, sometimes change took time.
She moved to the mirror and started to remove her makeup with wipes, taking extra care around her eyes. Esperanza had sent her an article about how makeup wipes were terrible, and while Jasmine wanted to sneer at it, the information had stuck in her mind.
When she got to her lipstick, she paused. Part of her didn’t want to wipe away the feel of Ashton’s mouth on hers. What if this was the only way she’d get to be close to him? They only had one episode left, and a second season wasn’t assured.
Sangana. She was acting like a teenager with a crush vowing never to brush her teeth again after being kissed for the first time, not a Leading Lady who was whole and happy on her motherfucking own.
Screw it. She scrubbed at her mouth with one of the wipes, harder than strictly necessary.
When she was done, she stared at her reflection. Her lips were slightly swollen and dark pink from the friction. She could just imagine what her grandmother would say, and pictured Esperanza slipping a tub