10. Xayden
CHAPTER 10
Xayden
I’m not sure what I was expecting when we agreed to make-overs for Omegas Top Model , but it wasn’t this.
The stylist has me in a death grip, pulling at my hair, which I swear she’s trying to turn into a helmet. She’s got some vision of what I’m supposed to look like, but I’m not sure I’m buying into it.
I’ve built my entire persona on being different —flashy, unpredictable, the kind of guy who’s all about making people look twice. But now? Now, I look like I just stepped out of a glam-rock fever dream.
I can’t even look at myself in the mirror yet to see the full transformation. But the guys? They’re already laughing.
“Xayden, you’re looking very pretty, ” Todd says from across the room, his eyes flicking over me, “I didn’t know we were doing a vintage glam shoot.”
I shoot him a wink. “You’ll shut up when you see me strut this down the runway.”
West grins, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “You might not be able to strut with all that gel in your hair. You sure you can move?”
I’m about to come up with a snarky retort when I feel a presence behind me— Ashlyn . I don’t know why, but I suddenly want to look more than pretty in front of her. I can’t have her looking at me like I’m a joke.
When I glance over my shoulder, she’s standing by the door, her usual cold demeanor in place. But her eyes… they keep flicking over me.
I hate that I notice. I hate that it makes my stomach flip with nerves.
“So, uh,” I say, rolling my shoulders like I’m stretching, “what do you think, Ash? Ready to make me one of your models?”
Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to laugh. “You’re definitely something, Xayden,” she says, answering my flirtation with a sentence that should shut me down, but it doesn’t.
I throw a grin over my shoulder, hoping it masks whatever I’m feeling. “Hey, I’m not just a pretty face, sweetheart.”
“Clearly,” she mutters, her cheeks going pink before she turns away.
I’m caught by her reaction for a minute, struck silent. Attempting to pull myself out of whatever weird headspace I’m in, I pull at the collar of my jacket, smoothing it down dramatically. “It’s not bad,” I say, grinning, “I might add this to my on stage style. The fans will love it.”
Jake rolls his eyes but grins over at me; we’re no strangers to catering to what the fans want. “You’re one of a kind, Xayden.”
“Damn right I am,” I reply, tossing him a wink. But then, just as quickly, my smile slips. What I really want is something I know I can’t have. And really, do I even want it? My thoughts spin like a merry-go-round.
They take me back to a different time. Back to when the girl I’ve been in love with forever finally noticed me.
Ashlyn. She’s always been my escape from home. I can only take so much of my dad yelling and hurling insults—even with my humor to deflect, it just drains me. Watching my mom become a shell of herself while my father’s rage grows… it’s too much.
Rain pelts my face as I slip out into the night, the echoes of angry voices still ringing in my ears. The argument at home was unbearable—sharp words and heated accusations that leave my heart pounding and my throat tight. I know I shouldn’t run, but every step away from that chaos pulls me closer to the one place where I feel safe: Ashlyn’s house.
It takes me less than five minutes to get there. I tap on her window and climb into her bedroom while her parents and sister sleep somewhere in the house. I drop down onto her bed, sprawling out like it’s the most normal thing in the world—because this is my normal: running from home to her. My safe space. My girl. And maybe someday, something more…
She pushes the window shut and turns toward me as I pick up her stuffed animal—the one I think West gave her a few weeks ago. He does sweet shit like that. I would, too, if I had the money.
“What’s wrong?” she asks as she settles on the bed next to me, drawing her knees up and propping her arms on top of them. She watches me with those blue eyes of hers, and something inside me loosens.
“My dad’s being a jerk again,” I say, focusing on her teddy bear as I make it dance across my lap.
She sighs, her legs dropping as she reaches for my thigh. Her touch is electric, zipping straight through me. My musk reacts immediately, much to my embarrassment—pouring out like a dam has broken. Her chest moves as she inhales, and I know she smells me: old leather and citrus that makes my own mouth water, mixed with a spice I can’t quite place.
I shift away, or at least I try to, but her hand tightens ever so slightly on my leg. “What did he say this time?”
“Basically that I’m not funny,” I mutter.
What he really said was, “Xayden, your stupid jokes aren’t clever—they’re just your way of hiding your weakness! You’ll never be anything. You’re nothing but a burden, a constant reminder of everything I regret!” But I can’t say that out loud. I can’t repeat it. It hurts—and what if it’s true?
“You are funny,” she says, cutting into my thoughts again.
I force a half-smile as I bring my gaze back to hers. “You don’t have to say that. I know you think my jokes suck.”
She laughs. “I do not.”
I hum a non-response—I don’t want to talk about my dad anymore.
“But my tickling, on the other hand,” I say, holding up my hands in a mock threat of tickling her.
Her eyes go wide, and she immediately shifts away. I follow through with my tickle threat, capturing her beneath me as I mercilessly force laughter from her.
“Shh, you’re going to wake your parents,” I scold, my tickling slowing. My body suddenly becomes hyper-aware of her soft curves beneath me. She falls silent too, her eyes drifting down to my lips, and her sweet strawberries-and-cream perfume calls to me like it always has since she presented as an omega. I don’t stop myself—I kiss her.
“You good?” Todd asks, his voice a little quieter now, dragging me out of the sweet memory.
I blink, startled. “What?”
Todd’s eyes narrow, as if he can see right through me. “You seem… off. Not in your usual element, man.”
The truth is, Todd’s right. Being around Ashlyn brings up so many memories I’ve shoved down deep. She’s too close , but not close enough. I want to make her laugh, or smile, or… something. Anything that would make her look at me like she used to. But every time I try, she just gets harder to read.
“I’m fine,” I say, flashing another grin. “Just thinking about how I’m going to rock this runway.”
“Yeah, well, you better do it quick,” West chimes in, “I’m getting impatient.” He looks over at the makeup artist. “Can we get him out of that chair? He looks like he’s been dipped in product.”
I roll my eyes but stand up, cracking my neck as I look around for some kind of mirror. “If I can pull this off,” I mutter, “I’m the best thing to happen to the fashion world in years.”
“Sure,” Jake says, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his voice. “Don’t forget to walk like you own the place.”
“Don’t worry I’ll show you how it’s done,” I tease back.
I adjust my jacket one more time, smoothing down the fabric. Todd slaps me on the back. “You’re killing it, man. But seriously, try not to look like a deer in headlights when you hit the runway.”
I chuckle, but it’s hollow. “Don’t worry, I got this.”
Still, I glance around, the edge of unease curling in my gut. I find a mirror propped against the wall near the lights, half-blocked by garment bags and a rack of shoes. I step around it, ready to check that everything’s in place—and freeze.
My hair.
Holy hell.
It’s like someone took a time machine to a Bon Jovi concert and brought back a can of maximum-hold hairspray. My curls have been teased, fluffed, and sculpted into a dramatic swoop that defies both gravity and dignity. There’s shine. So much shine. I touch it carefully, half-expecting it to crunch under my fingers.
“What the—” I whisper, stunned. “I look like I lost a fight with a wind tunnel.”
Behind me, West snorts. “You look like the poster boy for a hair metal revival tour.”
I sigh, straightening up. “Well… if I’m going down, at least I’m going down legendary.”
It’s simple. Walk the runway, let the models see the change and the film crews pick up my new look. I don’t even have to say anything. It shouldn’t feel like I’m about to climb Mount Everest instead. This is nothing like playing the drums in front of millions. Yet, knowing that Ashlyn’s watching me, judging me…it makes it hard. I still want to impress her.
I step out in front of the camera, trying to channel the confidence I used to feel. The lights hit me, and I walk down the makeshift runway. The blunt heels of my boots click on the floor, and I push my shoulders back. But it doesn’t feel as smooth as it should.
It doesn’t feel like me .
As I approach the end of the runway and turn back the way I came, I glance up at Ashlyn. She’s staring at me, no expression on her face. But there’s something in her gaze—something that makes me stop mid-step, a strange pull in my chest.
I keep my face neutral, but my pulse is pounding in my ears.
The smile that slips onto my face doesn’t feel like it’s mine. It’s too forced, too practiced.
When I get back to the others, I’m trying to act like I’ve nailed it, like I don’t care.
When Ashlyn appears backstage, I swagger toward her, feeling her eyes on me.
“Not bad, right?” I ask, doing my best to sound casual.
She doesn’t immediately respond, and it makes my stomach drop. When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet. “You look different.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Different? You mean better ?”
She’s still watching me, her lips curling into something that might be a smile. “I said different , Xayden. Not better .”
I can’t tell if it’s a compliment or a dig, but I don’t want to find out. Not yet.
“So what’s the verdict?” I ask, forcing my voice light. “Do I have your approval?”
Her gaze flickers for a moment. “You never needed my approval.”
For some reason, those words hit me harder than anything else she’s said all day.
I step back, smiling despite the sinking feeling in my chest. “True. Who needs approval when I’m already this damn good?”
But as I head back to my seat, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe I do need her to approve.