2. Ashlyn
CHAPTER 2
Ashlyn
The studio is loud with the hum of voices, the clatter of equipment, the buzz of a hundred moving parts. Shelley’s practically bouncing in place beside me, her energy a stark contrast to the cold knot in my stomach. I’m here, standing on the edge of something I can’t undo.
“You ready for this?” Shelley asks, her eyes shining with excitement.
I force a smile, trying to match her enthusiasm, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah,” I say, keeping it short. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. And a ‘Yeah’ is better than a ‘Hell no.’
I glance around, grounding myself in my surroundings. Framed pictures line the short hallway, a visual timeline of past guests and captured moments. The hallway opens into a spacious main area, where two sound studios sit on opposite sides of the room, their doors marked with glowing On Air signs. Through a large window into one of the studios, I catch a glimpse of a sleek console, its surface dotted with glowing buttons and sliders, microphones suspended from adjustable arms.
The main area itself is open and uncluttered, designed for movement and conversation, with a few scattered chairs and a couch pushed against the far wall. At the end of the hallway, another door leads to a separate lounging area—likely a quiet space for guests to retreat before or after recording. The air carries a quiet hum of energy, as if the walls have absorbed every voice that has passed through, leaving behind an unseen charge.
It seeps into me. The expectation, the feeling, the energy. Then Shelley strides into the second hallway and straight to the lounging room at the end, pushing the door wide open, and there they are. Primal Pulse.
I’ve seen them in tabloids, online, in interviews, but nothing prepares me for their presence in the same room. They look… different, and yet, exactly the same.
Thank God I wore my scent blockers today. The almost forgotten, yet familiar pull of their presence hits me harder in person than I ever imagined. I might be able to mask my face, but my perfume would betray me in an instant—exposing every hidden emotion, and I can’t afford that.
Todd stands near the center, radiating that same confident, cocky energy I both loved and hated. He still commands the room, a gravitational force pulling everyone into his orbit. His style is more polished now—tailored leather, designer jackets—but I can still see the boy I once knew in the sharpness of his jaw, the fire of his violet eyes.
West leans against the wall, arms folded over his chest. His gaze is cool, intense, unreadable, like it always was—but now there’s something colder about him, like he’s hiding more than he used to. He hasn’t changed much, though. Ripped jeans, old band tees—his wardrobe still echoes late nights and quiet, soulful conversations, the kind that linger long after they’re over.
I drag my eyes away from him, swallowing hard.
Jake’s sitting off to the side, feet propped casually on the table. He looks more grounded now, more like the man he’s become, but when his eyes flicker up to meet mine, I catch a flash of something deeper—surprise, maybe? Or a tinge of regret? It’s hard to tell. He feels like a stranger.
The most noticeable change in him, though, is his confidence. His shirt hangs open, revealing a deeply tanned and toned chest and the faint trail of hair that leads from just below his belly button to where it disappears under the waistband of his jeans. He shifts slightly, completely at ease, and I can see why the crowds scream and cry for them when they’re on stage.
Would it be weird to do that now? I hold in my snort. Yes, yes it would.
And then there’s Xayden. He’s standing at the back, arms crossed, leaning against a table with that familiar grin plastered on his face. But it’s not real. I know that smile, the one he wore when everything was falling apart but he pretended it was fine. When his dad would get drunk and break things and he'd seek us out for a calm in the tornado his life was. His dark eyes are unreadable, but I can still feel him, feel everything that’s unspoken between us.
His hair falls over his forehead, untamed curls tumbling like a wild, unkempt storm. His sleeves are rolled up, showcasing tattoos, and his clothes are flashy—like he’s daring everyone to notice him. Not that he’d have to try that hard. He’s a masterpiece, impossible to ignore.
I don’t let myself look at them too long. I can’t. I don’t want them to see how much this is still affecting me. But no matter how hard I try to pull my eyes away, I can’t stop glancing between them.
They’re still beautiful—too beautiful. Like a force of nature you can’t look away from, no matter how many years pass.
I hear Shelley talking, saying something about scheduling, but her voice is muffled in my ears. All I can focus on is the way the guys are looking at me, like I’m something they’ve both wanted and resented. They all hide it behind masks, but I can read it. It’s like I stepped into the past and I can still read them.
I keep my face neutral, unwilling to show anything.
They’ve all changed. They’ve all moved on. And I’m still the same girl, pretending I’m not affected.
The past slams into me, the last time I saw them ringing in my ears.
What should've been a night of celebrations was anything but…it was a disaster, destroying my world in one fell swoop.
The memory tightens its grip on me, and I can almost feel the ache of that final goodbye, the way their voices tangled together, pleading and breaking as I chose my career over them. They didn’t think that was the way I would go. It had been a surprise to all of us. I’d convinced myself it was the right thing to do—hadn’t I? I’d told myself they’d understand one day. That I couldn’t throw away everything I’d worked for, not even for love. I wouldn't have made them make the same choice.
But the second I walk into the house, I know something’s wrong.
They’re all there—Todd, West, Xayden, and Jake—spread out across the living room like they’ve been waiting for me. Jake’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. West sits on the edge of the couch, hands clasped like he’s holding something together. Xayden doesn’t even look up. And Todd…Todd is standing in the middle of the room, back straight, gaze locked on mine.
Still in my audition clothes, I’m practically vibrating with excitement. The call sheet is crumpled in my hand—I must’ve looked at it a dozen times since they told me. I walk in with a breathless smile, heart racing. “I got it,” I say, barely able to keep the joy out of my voice. “They want me in L.A. next week. Six months on location. It’s real, you guys. I got the part.”
Silence.
Not the kind that comes from shock or awe. No one leaps to their feet. No one says congratulations. Just a long, heavy pause that stretches until it strangles me.
Todd’s the one who finally speaks. “What about us?”
I blink. “What…what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” he says, voice steady but strained. “What happens to us while you’re gone?”
“I—I don’t know. We’ll figure it out. I didn’t come here to ? —”
“You didn’t come here to say goodbye?” Jake cuts in. His voice is flat, too calm. “Because that’s what it sounds like.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I argue, stepping further into the room. “I’m chasing the thing I’ve worked my whole life for. This doesn’t have to be a goodbye.”
“You’re going to be gone for half a year,” Xayden mutters, still not looking at me. “And it won’t stop there. It never does.”
“I’m not asking you to wait forever,” I say, even though I’m not sure I believe it myself. “I’m asking you to understand. I love you all. You know I do.”
“Then show us,” Todd says, taking a step forward. “Ash, we’ve been standing still, waiting for you to catch up. Always patient. Always hoping. But if you love us like you say you do, you wouldn’t just walk away the second Hollywood calls.”
“That’s not fair ? —”
“No, what’s not fair is you expecting us to keep holding on while you chase something that doesn’t leave room for us.”
I freeze. My fingers twitch around the paper in my hand.
“You have to choose,” Todd says, voice barely more than a whisper now. “Them or us.”
The room spins. My ears ring.
“I can’t believe you’re asking me that,” I say. My throat burns. “You wouldn’t ask each other to choose.”
“We already did,” he says, and this time there’s no softness in his voice. “We chose you. Every time.”
I look around the room, desperate for someone—anyone—to stop this. To step in. But no one moves. West won’t look at me. Jake doesn’t flinch. Xayden just stares at the floor.
And Todd…his eyes beg me to say something different.
But I can’t lie. Not to them. Not to myself.
“I choose me,” I whisper.
Todd’s face shatters. A breath catches in his throat, and he nods once. Slow. Final.
No one says a word as I turn around and walk back out the door.
The slam echoes behind me like a gunshot.
And just like that, the girl I was with them is gone.
The memory fades, but the ache it leaves behind doesn’t. It clings to me like smoke—burnt edges and everything I never got to say. I blink, forcing myself back into the now, even as my chest tightens, breath caught somewhere between then and now.
Shelley’s already in full swing, talking about creative ideas and timelines, but I don’t hear her anymore. I’m too busy trying to breathe, trying to steady myself in a room full of ghosts.
Their presence presses in around me—too close, too familiar. I can feel the weight of Todd’s stare, even before I let myself look at him. The air feels thinner. My skin prickles.
When Shelley finally winds down—introducing me with an unnecessary flourish—I step forward. On autopilot, my hand extends toward Todd while a polite smile stretches across my face like a mask, as if I don’t really know him. The brief touch of his palm sends a jolt through me; my heart races before I can pull away. My fingers tingle, and I tell myself it’s nothing.
Just nerves.
Just history.
Just everything I’ve spent years pretending doesn’t still live inside me.
He doesn’t hold my hand the way he used to—no warmth, no lingering softness. Just cold, impersonal contact. Business.
“Good to see you, Ashlyn,” Todd says flatly, his voice stripped of the heat and affection it once carried.
“Good to see you, too,” I manage, my voice tight and carefully controlled. The words taste strange, hollow, yet they’re all I can get out.
Good to see you? Inside, I’m screaming. How can those be the first words I offer to my rejected scent match? It feels like breaking all over again. My heart aches, but I cling to that polite smile.
Shelley’s gaze narrows, swinging between us like she’s caught a scent of something intriguing. “Wait, you two know each other?”
We nod in unison. Todd’s jaw tightens, that telltale muscle jumping as he answers first. “Yeah.”
“Well, that’ll make this collaboration so much easier!” Shelley chirps, clapping her hands like she’s solved world peace.
She launches into more details, oblivious to the tension thickening around us, the way the air feels heavier with each passing second. She doesn’t notice the way the guys shut down, their walls slamming into place, or the way I feel rooted to the spot, my breath uneven.
Jake shifts, dropping his feet from the coffee table and leaning forward. The motion is casual, but the way his shirt falls open is anything but accidental, revealing more of his toned chest and the cutting definition of his abs. His eyes drag over me, slow and deliberate, taking me in from head to toe like he’s sizing me up—or trying to make me squirm.
He grabs a pack of cigarettes from the table, sliding one out with deliberate ease. The metallic click of his lighter echoes in the room as he lights it, the tip glowing. He inhales deeply, holding my gaze the entire time.
Then, with maddening slowness, he exhales, the smoke curling lazily from his lips and nose. It’s practiced, deliberate—crafted to provoke a reaction.
And damn it, it works.
I hate that it’s attractive. Hate that he looks like temptation personified, sin in a lazy sprawl.
A low throat-clearing sound snaps me out of it. West shifts against the wall, kicking one booted foot up behind him, his expression smug. An insolent smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, and I know what’s coming before he even speaks.
“You want us to work with her?” he asks, his voice soft and taunting, cutting through Shelley’s excited rambling like a knife.
My back stiffens, heat rising in my chest. The urge to snap at him, to demand exactly what his problem is with me, claws at my throat. But I swallow it down, clamping my teeth together before I say something I’ll regret.
Shelley glances at West, a smile playing on her lips. “Of course, she is the brains of the show. You did say you wanted exposure, right?”