Forever Yours

Fifty-Two

Juan's POV

I don't call or text Adrianna for a few days after the entire paparazzi incident simply because I didn't want to deal with any of her questions regarding it. Or dealing with her scolding me.

Half of the media and fans are the side of non-violence, saying I shouldn't have broke out a fight with that asshole paparazzi. The other half agree that what he said was wrong, calling Adrianna what he called her and accusing her of things he had no idea about.

My family has split their opinions in the same way too. My mom disagrees with any form of violence, period. The scolding I got from her over this was no fun. My father, of course, agrees that I did what I had to do in order to protect the image of the mother of my son. I agree with him. Regardless of what Adrianna and I are going through, she's the mother of my child and I couldn't stand to hear a complete stranger degrade her like that in a matter of seconds. I lost my mind over it, I saw was red.

Anyway, it's been about a week since this paparazzi incident, and I've had one more show in London since it. The buzz around my fight has seemed to die down a bit, thankfully, but I'm still getting news outlets wanting to contact me to get an official statement over the situation. Fuck that though, the most they're getting from me is an Instagram story post addressing the situation. At most. And it won't even be an apology, because that fucker doesn't deserve one.

"See you in a week, bro." Miguel hugs me. "Rest up." he pats my back.

I've just landed in LA with Miguel, we'll both go our own seperate ways from here for the week.

"I'll try. You know this isn't where my body does it's healing." I sigh.

Since the separation, it's been almost impossible for me to make a visit back home to Colombia and I'm honestly starting to miss home like crazy too. Before, Adrianna would be more than willing to make the trip to Colombia to spend time at our house over there, but now she obviously wouldn't be up for the idea, so if I'm not touring, I'm back in LA with Santos. The guilt of not being with Santos at every available moment is too much for me to be willing to go back to Colombia for a couple days to fully rest my mind and body.

"Talk to her about that idea your mom had." he says with a shurg.

I shake my head. "She'll never go for it."

"You never know."

I guess. My car pulls up next to the jet, and that's my cue to get going. "Alright, see you later." I tell him, waving goodbye.

"See ya."

***

"Wanna talk about it yet?" Adrianna sets my plate of parmesan chicken in front of me, taking her seat in front of me at our smaller, breakfast table.

I've been at home for a few hours, having spent majority of my time with Santos either in the living room or his nursery while Adrianna has been around the house 'tidying up', even though I think the house looks tidy enough, and I told her that. She told me to shut up and let her get the little things done around the house that she never can while I was hanging out with Santos, so I shut up and let her have free range.

Now, it's about 8pm and she offered to cook us dinner while I put Santos to bed.

I cut into the chicken, clearing my throat. "Talk about what?" I look up to her, seeing the unamused look on her face.

"The stupidity that came over you when you lunged yourself at that paparazzi."

"Ohh, that." I joke, trying to get a laugh out of her. Nope. Not even a smile. Nice.