The Actor's contract

Cold colder distance

Date = 1 April

The worst birthday ever.

Place = San Francisco (UCSF Medical Center)

Funny how most of our birthdays end up in the ER.

POV Enrique

“They both have hypothermia,” Ilkay starts, his voice somewhere far away. I only catch fragments through the static in my head. “… bradycardia … small body mass … Aria stabilized, Luke still critical … moved to PICU … on hemodialysis to warm his blood … had to cut her hand free from his PFD … tendon damage … lucky to be alive … brave girl …”

The medical jargon washes over me. I don’t care about numbers, machines, or terms I can’t spell. All I care about is that she’s here. Breathing. Her cold, limp hand rests in mine, pale and weightless, like it belongs to someone else.

They’re slowly raising her core temperature, inch by inch, but I can’t stop staring at the bandage on her hand — proof that she never let go of him. Proof that she fought the ocean itself to keep them together.

I rake a hand through my hair, stiff with salt from the Bay, then let my forehead rest against the mattress beside her. My eyes burn.

They’re heavy.

Then her fingers twitch.

My head snaps up.

“Sport?” Her voice is barely a breath. For a second, I think I’m hallucinating. But then muddy-green eyes open and find mine. A faint smile ghosts across her lips.

I want to scoop her up, crush her to my chest, and never let go — but something holds me back. I need to untangle the storm in my head first. Until then, I need to keep my distance. So I keep my hands where they are.

“Hey. How do you feel?” My knuckles dig into the blanket, the fabric bunching under my grip.

She blinks, then jerks upright, panic igniting in her eyes.

“Luke?” Her voice trembles, her teeth chattering. She’s still not warm. “Where’s Luke?” She’s scanning the room, desperate.

“He’s in ICU,” I say quickly, pressing her gently back against the pillows. I tug the blankets up, tucking them around her like I can seal the heat in.

“You saved him. Even hurt your hand to do it.”

She looks down at the white bandage with a frown, as if it doesn’t belong to her.

“I … I can’t remember much,” she whispers. “I just knew I had to hold on. Not let go.” A sharp, wet sound bursts from her — half sob, half gasp. Her whole body shivers.

“It’s freezing.” She burrows deeper into the covers, her shoulders shaking.

Screw the distance.

I climb onto the bed, wrapping her into my arms. My body against hers, my warmth against her cold. She melts into me like it’s the only safe place left in the world.

“I was so scared …” A single tear slides down her cheek, slow and deliberate, cutting through the salt on her skin.

I pull back just enough to cup her face, brushing the tear away with my thumb. My chest feels like it’s caving in.

“Sport …”

Her voice cracks, and whatever wall she’s been holding up crumbles completely. She launches herself against me, arms locking around my neck, her fingers knotting into my shirt like she’ll drown if she lets go. I hold her tighter.

“Amanda …” she sobs into my collar.

“I know,” I murmur. “She tried to save you.”

“No!” The word rips from her like it burns. “She pushed me —” a violent sob cuts her off “— and I pulled Luke in —” another sob, harder “— I pulled him in with me.”

I drag a hand up and down her back, trying to calm her tremors, even as my own rage coils tighter inside me. My face buries into her hair, breathing her in like I need proof she’s here.

That f*****g b***h is going to pay.

“Aria!” Leyla bursts into the room, Noah and Jesse right behind her.

I loosen my arms so she can fold herself into her family. She swipes her face with the back of her uninjured hand, leaving a faint smear of tears and snot across her skin.

Heaven help me, it’s … cute. Sweet. And — what the actual f**k — borderline seductive?

I’m broken. There’s no other explanation. I’ve officially reached the level of brain damage where nasal mucus triggers warm fuzzy feelings and hardens my d**k. Fantastic.

I need out.

“I’ll… uh… grab some coffee,” I mutter, backing out of the room like a man retreating from a live grenade.

The hallway air is cooler, less saturated with her scent, but not enough. I’m still buzzing under my skin. My brain starts chewing on itself.

What am I doing? This isn’t real. None of it. It’s just an act — her act. She’s playing the role.

And me? I’m the i***t who’s forgetting his lines and ad-libbing like it’s some unscripted romance.

She’ll never fall for me. Not for the real me. And she shouldn’t.

I pass two nurses who give me side-eyes, and it hits me — I’m talking to myself. Out loud. Excellent. Just one step away from feeding pigeons on a park bench and calling them by name.

At the coffee nook, I fill a cup, drop into the nearest chair, and try to keep the arguments in my skull where they belong — inside.

Why does she short-circuit my brain every time she walks into a room? Why does my chest tighten, my palms sweat, my breathing hitch like I’ve run a marathon in a sauna?

Is this … that thing? That cursed four-letter word people write bad songs about?

Shit.

I’ve fallen — yeah, no denying that. But how far is still up for debate. And if I’ve got any sense left, I’ll dig my claws into the wall and stop the free-fall.

Because being with me? It’s like gift-wrapping a live bomb and handing it to her with a smile. She almost died because she stepped into my world. That’s on me.

She deserves more. Better. Safer.

I tell myself that over and over. It doesn’t stick.

Because the second I imagine her gone, the air in my lungs turns to acid, and I’m choking on it. The idea of losing her feels worse than anything else — worse than the curse Jackson swears follows us, worse than the enemies I’ve made, worse than hell itself.

So what’s the answer? Walk away for her sake? Or hold on and risk her life?

Neither choice works. Both feel like losing.

Maybe the only option is to honor the contract. Keep it fake. Pretend she’s just a scene partner, a co-star, nothing more. I can fake distance. I can fake detachment.

… Right?

I slam back the cold coffee. It tastes like burnt regret.

Okay. Keep it fake. Lock it down. Harden the heart.

But first — Brian and Amanda. They’re going to disappear from our lives. Permanently.

“Enrique!”

Speak of the f*****g devil. His voice yanks on my already frayed nerves like a live wire. I paste on a smile so fake it should be framed and hung in a wax museum.

“How’s Aria?” he asks, all concern and furrowed brows, and for some reason, that makes my stomach twist harder. What if she chooses him instead?

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I tried to pull her back, but I just wasn’t strong enough.” Amanda’s voice slithers in from my side as she slides her hand onto my arm and rests her head on my shoulder. The lying, conniving, Oscar-worthy little snake.

I inhale slowly, push her away with the gentleness I don’t feel. No — she can’t know I’m onto her. Not yet. I need proof.

“You look rather sexy in those sweats, babe,” she purrs.

I glance down at the gray tracksuit Garcia had given us all after we got soaked during the search. Dry clothes. Hot food. Comforts meant for people who actually deserve them.

I crush the empty coffee cup in my hand, drop it into the bin, and turn back to them, my voice frostbitten.

“She’ll be fine. Excuse me, I need to get back to my girl.”

I don’t wait for an answer — just pivot and walk. My jaw aches from clenching. My hands curl into fists without permission. I try a deep breath, but it bounces right off the wall of anger inside me. Aria doesn’t need to see me like this, so I detour toward the PICU.

On a bench outside, Haley’s head rests on Alejandro’s shoulder. She’s slumped, her posture betraying the fatigue that has settled deep in her bones. Her eyes are open, but staring through the wall, tear tracks dried stiff on her cheeks. A mother who has lost enough and can’t lose anything more.

Alejandro doesn’t look any better — his movements lack their usual precision and grace, replaced by a clumsy and uncoordinated demeanor.

Garcia leans against the wall, expression carved from stone, but his eyes betray it — clearly displaying the infuriated anguish milling inside.

“How is he?” I ask.

Haley exhales like it hurts, lifts her head as if it weighs double. “He’s gonna pull through,” she says, voice paper-thin. “Deimos is with him. They won’t let us in yet.” Then her gaze slides away, back to the wall.

“Why does this always happen to us? I almost lost another kid.” It’s unclear if she’s speaking to me or the doctor poster beside her.

“Jackson thinks we’re cursed,” I offer quietly. Her eyes find mine — sad, distant. “I’m starting to think he’s right.”

They all just stare at me. No one says a word. A vein pulses hard on Alberto’s neck.

“Eh … Mel,” Haley says, and when I glance at Alejandro, he answers without words — just a steady hand on her shoulder as he stands.

“We didn’t want to tell you,” he says, low enough for only me to hear, “but Mel started having cramps. They took her to the ER. Damion and Ilkay are with her.”

“Fuck.” The word feels like someone’s punched it out of me. Not again. I move to leave, but Alejandro catches my arm.

“One more thing,” he murmurs. “The police were here. Amanda told them Luke pushed Aria and fell in with her.”

My eyes dart to Haley, but she’s got them closed now, leaning back against the wall.

“s**t,” I growl. That b***h is turning into a full-time problem.

“I sent them away,” Garcia says, stepping in. “It’s a f*****g lie. It won’t lead anywhere. They won’t touch my boy.” His voice is arctic — enough to raise goosebumps.

“Don’t worry. Aria’s awake. Amanda’s the one who pushed her.” Garcia’s eyes go black with something I’ve only ever seen in my brother, and without another word, he walks off. Alejandro releases my arm and sinks back down beside Haley.

I take off toward the ER and find Thalia ambling up and down the hallway, but she freezes when she spots me.

“Is she —” The words choke off. Feels like an invisible hand has clamped my throat, crushing it.

“They’re monitoring the baby,” Thalia says quickly. “Damion’s not doing well … first his brother, now this.” She gulps a breath. “And the cops were here asking questions.”

Fucking Amanda.

“Ilkay told them she fainted from shock. No one knows about the baby except her doctor.”

“How are you holding up?” she asks.

I just shrug. Can’t answer. The invisible grip is still there, on my throat, crushing my trachea, squeezing tighter. Because I am affected. More than I can admit.

And just when I think the day can’t get any heavier, my phone rings. It’s Logan. He called earlier this morning to wish me a happy birthday, but it’s not unusual for him to ring twice in one day.

I answer, unsure if I should unload everything or keep it light. Logan’s got a big day tomorrow — the Washington Commanders are trying to recruit him — and I know he can get swallowed up by his emotions.

“Hey, little bro,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady even though it’s rough around the edges. “How’s DC treating you? Seen the president yet?” I smirk, knowing full well it’s a joke. Last time we were in Washington, he and Jackson lost a stupid bet — and the penalty was a midnight swim in the reflecting fountain. Jackson punched out a guard and got caught by security, landing himself in some serious hot water right in front of the Man himself.

“Hey, Sportie,” he laughs, using Aria’s nickname like it’s a secret code he knows the meaning of. Which he doesn’t. “Nah, that bastard’s dodging me … ha. You know how it is.” He chuckles, clearly enjoying the memory.

He goes on about the cherry blossoms around the Tidal Basin and some girl who gave him a massage and somehow ended up in his jacuzzi. How Dean sorted out the Valerie case by proving that she’s a lying b***h. And that he’s not even considering moving to the Commanders, but he will hear them out.

Typical Logan — always trying to live life to the fullest. Then he gets to the real reason he’s calling.

“Bro, I can’t get hold of Damion … is he with you? Are you guys having a blast without me? You don’t sound wasted …”

“Um, Logan, we’re in the hospital —” I start, but he cuts me off.

“f**k. Again. What happened this time?” Yeah, ending up in the hospital is a rather normal occurrence, especially on our birthdays, usually from doing something drunk or stupid or both.

I take a breath and keep it simple. “The girls threw a surprise party on a boat. Long story short — Aria and Luke fell into the bay.”

I hear him suck in air. I rush to add, “Mel got a little shaken up, so they’re keeping an eye on her and the baby.”

“Holy s**t. Should I fly back?” A wild note of hysteria fills his voice.

“No, man. They’re all okay. Seriously. You don’t need to worry.”

“Can I talk to Damion? Or Mel?”

I peek into my sister’s room. She’s curled up around Damion like some kind of human pretzel. Both of them are out cold on that tiny bed, with machines buzzing softly around her belly. I listen to the baby’s heartbeat for a moment, then quietly close the door.

“They’re asleep,” I tell Logan. I start walking back to Aria’s room.

“How’s the bean doing?” he asks. From the corner of my eye, I catch Amanda at the coffee machine, staring at me like a viper. That little itch in my chest flares up. I don’t want her near Aria. Not again. Ever.

I turn away from Amanda without a word.

“Don’t worry, bro. The doctor said the baby’s fine — a Blackburn kid is as tough as nails.”

“What about Luke and Aria?”

“They’ll be fine. Just need to warm up.” I stop outside Aria’s door, my heart sinking.

“I gotta go. I’ll keep you updated, alright?”

After his goodbye, I hang up and swallow hard.

Then Aria’s voice rattles from the room.

“She pushed me!” I freeze.

Brian’s voice follows, low and chilling. “Maybe it felt like that, but she said she tried to grab you.” He pauses, then adds, “She saw Luke push you.”

“And you believe that b***h?” Aria sneers. A beat of silence.

“I’m not stupid. I know what happened,” Aria continues with a voice like ice. “Amanda pushed me, Luke grabbed me, and I pulled him with me.”

“Amanda won’t do that.”

“You were not even there!” She snaps, voice high-pitched.

Brian’s tone hardens. “I believe Amanda. Yeah, she can be a little bitchy, but she’s not a killer. She’s really upset.”

I don’t buy it — she doesn’t look remotely upset. Aria’s voice rings out, sharp and steady. “Bullshit.”

The room falls silent again, and I’m about to step inside when she speaks again. This time, she sounds tired. Voice low and hollow. Grim even.

“What do you want from me, Brian?”

I hold my breath, the tension thick enough to suffocate, and then — like a slap of cold water— his answer hits me.

“I want you.”