13. Ashlyn
CHAPTER 13
Ashlyn
“It’s all set up,” Shelley says, tapping away on her laptop as she speaks, her tone brisk. “That idea about the music video with the models that you came up with—it’s a go. We’ll start practice tonight at Forest Hills Stadium. The contestants will learn the choreography and style themselves after one of the band members.”
She barely glances up as she continues. “The music video will kick off during their Friday night show and wrap after their Sunday show. We might need some studio time to finish it up, but the guys are onboard.”
I nod, trying to keep up as she lays out the plan, my fingers tightening on the edges of the chair.
“So, be there by four,” she finishes, her focus still fixed on her screen.
“Okay,” I say, though my brain is still piecing together the logistics of her plan.
A knock at Shelley’s office door interrupts us. Her secretary, Lacey, peeks her head in, her expression apologetic but urgent. “Sorry to break in, but that phone call you were waiting for is on the line.”
Shelley sighs and shuts her laptop. “Great, send them through,” she says before turning her attention back to me. “Do you need anything else, Ash?”
“No,” I reply as I stand, shifting my weight to the other foot. “See you at four.”
Shelley leans back in her chair, already reaching for her desk phone, but then she pauses, her eyes locking on mine. “Oh, no. You’ll be running it tonight. I have to be on set with Omega in Paradise .”
I freeze for half a second. “Me? Running it?”
“Of course,” she says with a wave of her hand, as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You came up with the idea, Ash. You’re the perfect person to oversee it. Besides, the models respond well to you, and the guys...” She hesitates, but her gaze flickers knowingly. “They’ll behave.”
I force a smile, though my stomach twists into a knot. I wanted more responsibility. I had been asking for it for months. But this isn’t how I expected to get it. “Right. Got it.”
“Good,” she says, already turning her attention to the phone as it rings. “Go knock it out of the park.”
I step out of her office, the pressure of the task settling on my shoulders. The hallway feels quieter than it should, my thoughts too loud in my head.
Running the rehearsal tonight. With the guys.
The air feels heavier as I head toward my car, a mix of anticipation and dread tightening my chest.
The drive to Forest Hills Stadium is uneventful, the city blurring past me as I try to focus on the checklist Shelley emailed over. But the words feel like static compared to the thoughts swirling in my head. By the time I pull into the staff parking lot and step out of my car, I’ve run through every possible scenario of tonight a dozen times.
The stadium is alive with activity, crew members weaving through the maze of equipment and cables as they prepare for the rehearsal. The faint hum of guitars tuning carries from the stage, and my pulse quickens.
As I step inside, tablet in hand, I spot the guys near the stage. They’re scattered in their usual way—Jake and Xayden chatting animatedly, West off to the side with his guitar, and Todd leaning against one of the amps.
Todd sees me first. His expression softens, and to my surprise, he pushes off the amp and strides toward me.
“Hey, Ash,” he greets me, his tone light and easy. Different .
I blink, caught off guard by his unusually warm demeanor. “Hey, Todd. Everything running smoothly?”
“Yeah, no hiccups so far,” he says with a small smile. “Crew’s got everything under control.”
His response is so… polite. Friendly, even. It throws me.
“Good to hear,” I reply cautiously, glancing down at my tablet.
“Need any help?” he asks, and his offer is so casual, so uncharacteristic of the guarded attitude he’s had since we reconnected, that I can’t help but look up at him again.
“I think I’ve got it covered,” I say slowly.
“Still, let me know if you need anything,” he adds, and for a moment, his gaze lingers, almost like he’s trying to convey something unsaid.
Before I can dwell on it, Xayden’s voice breaks the moment. “Ashlyn! Don’t tell me you’re here to make us look bad again.”
I turn to see him grinning. His shirt hangs open to reveal his toned chest. I’m starting to think it’s his signature look, and he looks good.
“Not my fault you set the bar so low,” I shoot back, the quip earning a laugh from him.
Jake joins in, flashing a smile as he slings an arm around Xayden’s shoulders. “Careful, Ash, Xayden’s ego is fragile. You wouldn’t want to shatter it.”
Xayden rolls his eyes. “Please, my ego is unbreakable.”
“Right,” Jake drawls, his gaze sliding to me. “But seriously, Ash, you sticking around for soundcheck?”
“I’ll be here,” I reply, keeping my tone professional even as his eyes linger a little too long.
“Good,” Jake says, his grin widening. “Always nice to have an audience.”
Todd clears his throat, and the lighthearted teasing fades just slightly.
“You guys ready to get started?” Todd asks, his tone more commanding than a moment ago.
Jake and Xayden exchange a glance before shrugging, their focus shifting back to their instruments.
As they head toward the stage, Todd looks back at me, his smile softer than I’m used to. “Let us know when you need us.”
“Will do,” I say, still trying to piece together this new version of him.
West remains silent through it all, his focus entirely on his guitar. He doesn’t acknowledge me as he tunes, his fingers moving methodically over the strings.
The guys take their places on the stage, falling into their rhythm with an ease that makes me ache for the simplicity of how we used to be. I position myself off to the side, tablet held tightly in my hands as I watch them.
“Let’s run through something slower before we amp it up,” Todd says into the mic, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of something I can’t quite place.
West starts strumming his guitar, a soft, melancholic melody filling the space. The other instruments join in gradually—Jake’s bass a deep hum, Xayden’s drums a subtle heartbeat. Then Todd steps up to the mic.
The first notes of the song hit me like a sucker punch. The lyrics aren’t familiar—not from one of their recorded albums. They’re raw, new, and painfully specific.
“We were too young to know,
Chasing dreams, we let love go.
Now all that’s left is a shadow,
A ghost of what we used to hold.”
My heart twists in my chest. The words are a mirror to the ache I’ve carried all these years, the guilt and regret tangled with memories I’ve tried so hard to bury.
Todd’s voice carries a weight I’ve never heard before, and the others harmonize softly, their voices weaving together in a way that feels both beautiful and devastating.
“I see you in the silence,
In the echoes of the past.
The choices we made, the love we betrayed,
Still burns like it was our last.”
I freeze, unable to tear my eyes away from them. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in as the lyrics dig deeper. Todd’s gaze shifts, his eyes landing on me.
For a moment, the music seems to falter, his voice cracking slightly on the next line.
“I thought I’d move on, but I ? —”
He stops abruptly, his hands gripping the mic stand as if it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. The instruments trail off, the melody unraveling into silence.
The other guys exchange uneasy glances, but no one says anything. Todd’s eyes are locked on mine, an apology written in the lines of his face, in the words he can’t bring himself to finish.
I feel exposed, like every defense I’ve built has been stripped away in front of them. My chest tightens, and I force myself to look down at the tablet, pretending to make notes.
“I—uh—sorry,” Todd mutters into the mic, his voice low and rough. He steps back, running a hand through his hair.
“It’s fine,” West says quietly, his tone neutral but his fingers tense on his guitar.
“Let’s move on,” Jake says, his voice light, as if trying to lift the weight that’s settled over the venue. “Something with a bit more kick, yeah?”
Xayden nods, twirling one of his drumsticks between his fingers. “Yeah, let’s not turn this into an emo fest.”
The guys ease back into their banter, but it feels forced, their usual rhythm slightly off.
I turn away, heading toward the edge of the stage where Shelley’s assistant, Grace, is standing with a headset.
“Everything okay?” she asks softly.
“Fine,” I lie, my voice steady even though my insides are anything but.
Because no matter how far I run, how much I tell myself I’ve moved on, their words—his words—keep pulling me back to what we lost.