12. Todd
CHAPTER 12
Todd
I’m still not sure what we agreed to. Being around Ashlyn this much is messing with my head. And I know it’s not just me. I see it in the way Jake and Xayden gravitate toward her, the way West has closed himself off. He barely speaks unless it’s necessary, but his lyrics have been flowing since that first night. His feelings, raw and unfiltered, have become the backbone of every song we’ve worked on since. It’s all there—grief, regret, longing—on full display as we create music to go with them.
I know that things got heavy with her at the club, and every word he’s written has screamed out every detail. But even with his new lyrics, I know he’s holding more back, it’s not all out there..
We arrive at Forest Hills Stadium, the venue that will kick off our touring season, the guys following behind me in silence. Everything that’s unsaid hangs heavy in the air, but we don’t acknowledge it. Not now.
Stepping onto the stage feels like slipping into a familiar skin, one that doesn’t itch with old wounds or unresolved tension. Xayden heads straight for the drums, twirling a stick in his hand as if to remind himself—and us—that he’s still the same showman he’s always been. Jake picks up his bass, fingers sliding over the strings in idle patterns while he adjusts the strap on his shoulder. West stands at the edge of the stage with his guitar, already lost in some melody that only he can hear.
And me? I step to the mic. This, at least, we know how to do.
The seats in the stadium stretch out before us, row after row of emptiness. It’s a reminder of how far we’ve come. This place seats over 13,000 people. It’s more than we dreamed of back when it was just us and Ashlyn against the world. Back when we were kids with big plans and no clue how much we’d screw it all up.
Hindsight really is 20/20. We were so scared of failure, so jealous of losing her to the spotlight when she got her first acting deal, that we let it tear us apart. We didn’t celebrate her success. We didn’t tell her we were proud of her. No, we did the opposite. We pushed her away.
Worse, I’m pretty sure the guys did it because of me. My fucked up trauma caused us all trauma, like a viscous cycle. My mom abandoning dad and I when I was a kid—it fucked me up. It ruined my life back then, and then I let it ruin my life again when Ash told us the news.
The thought settles like a lead weight in my chest as I grab the mic. Xayden starts a beat, sharp and driving, and the rest of us fall in line. The sound fills the empty space, the kind of raw energy that always brings us back to center. But today, it doesn’t feel the same.
The words come automatically, the lyrics etched into my mind like a scar. But halfway through the verse, my voice cracks, betraying me. I trail off, the sound swallowed by the vast, empty stadium.
I take a step back, my breath coming faster than it should. My grip tightens on the mic stand, the metal cool beneath my fingers.
“You good?” Jake’s voice breaks through, his bass still humming softly. He glances over, brow furrowed.
“Fine,” I manage, though it’s a lie, and I know he knows it.
Xayden doesn’t miss a beat, keeping the rhythm going, but his eyes dart toward me. “You sure? Because that didn’t sound fine.”
West doesn’t say anything, his gaze fixed on his guitar, but I catch the slightest hitch in his strumming.
“I said I’m fine,” I snap. The silence that follows feels louder than the music.
Jake shrugs, stepping back toward his amp. “Alright. Just checking.”
I close my eyes, inhaling deeply as I try to steady myself. But it’s too much. The empty seats feel like a judgment, a reminder of what we’ve gained and what we lost to get here.
To get her back.
The thought echoes in my mind, and I can’t stop it. She’s not back—not really. She’s here, but it’s not the same. And it might never be, because I’m the one who ruined it.
“I need a minute,” I mutter, stepping away from the mic. I don’t wait for their responses, just head backstage, my footsteps echoing in the quiet emptiness of the stadium.
But even as I put distance between myself and the stage, the ache doesn’t fade. Because no matter how far I run, I can’t escape the truth.
I’m the reason we lost her. I’m the one who fucked it all up. And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for that.
The thought claws at me as I push my fingers through my hair, the styling product clinging to my fingers like an accusation. Everything feels tainted—every moment, every decision. Just another reminder of her.
A shuffle of movement catches my attention, and I glance up to see Jake stepping into the shadows with me. He doesn’t say anything at first, just leans against the wall, arms crossed, his bass strap slung over his shoulder.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” he finally asks, his tone low but not accusing.
I glance at him and then away, letting my head drop to my chest. It’s not really a secret, not between us. “It’s hard to face her every day after everything.”
He nods, lips pressing into a thin line, unspoken guilt settling between us. “Yeah, we all fucked up pretty badly. Crazy how seeing her again brought all of that to light. We really thought we were in the right all those years ago.”
“We really screwed that up.” The words are bitter on my tongue, heavier now with the truth staring me in the face.
Jake lets out a breath, running his hand through his hair. “No kidding. I mean, we didn’t just screw it up—we obliterated it. The way we handled things... I don’t think I even realized how wrong we were—until now.”
I glance at him, his usually steady expression cracking just enough for me to see the regret he’s been hiding. It’s not like Jake to get this serious, not unless he’s at his breaking point too.
“She was everything,” I admit quietly, the words falling from my lips before I can stop them. “Not just to me—to all of us. And we let our insecurities, our fear, tear her down instead of lifting her up.”
Jake nods, his gaze fixed on the ground. “We thought we were protecting ourselves, our future, by pushing her away. But all we did was destroy what we had. And now?” He shakes his head. “Now, I don’t even know how to be around her without feeling like I’m walking on shards of glass.”
“Same,” I admit, my voice hoarse. The silence between us feels heavy, weighted with years of mistakes and the realization of what we’ve lost.
Jake shifts, pushing off the wall. “The question is, what do we do about it? Keep hiding behind the past? Or try to fix it, even if it’s too late?”
I look at him, the answer twisting in my chest. “I don’t even know where to start.”
“Maybe we don’t start,” he says with a faint, humorless chuckle. “Maybe we just... show her that we’re different now. That we’ve changed. Actions, not words.”
The thought lingers as he gives me a pat on the shoulder and walks back toward the stage. But I stay where I am, staring into the shadows, wondering if anything we do now could ever be enough.