31. West
CHAPTER 31
West
The studio buzzes with chaos—models strutting through rehearsals, assistants rushing with tablets, and Shelley barking orders like her life depends on it. The energy is electric, but I barely register any of it. My focus is locked on her. It has been since we walked in.
Ashlyn sits at the judges’ table, her expression calm, professional. Too professional. I know her tells—know how the tension in her shoulders and the tightness in her jaw means she’s barely holding it together.
But damn if she doesn’t look perfect trying.
I adjust my guitar strap, my fingers brushing over the strings as I try to stay grounded. It’s no use. My thoughts are a mess. With the urge to storm over there and demand to know why Jake isn’t helping. It keeps pushing to the surface, edging me on to do something— say something—but I shove it back down.
Not here. Not now.
The memory of Jake strolling into the studio yesterday with that stupid grin on his face hits me again, and my jaw tightens. He didn’t say a word, but his scent—warm, satisfied—said everything. Something happened between them, and I can’t get it out of my head.
Jealousy churns low in my gut, a dark, simmering heat I can’t shake. I shouldn’t feel this way—she’s not mine. Not anymore. But the knot in my chest doesn’t care about logic, and neither does the part of me that still sees her as mine.
My fingers tighten on the neck of the guitar, and I think of the lyrics I scribbled down last night, words that spilled out before I could stop them:
You let him in, but I won’t fade,
A shadow lingering, bound by the ache.
You don’t see the storm inside my chest,
But I’ve been screaming, “She’s not his yet.”
Dark, raw, and maybe too honest. But that’s the thing about songwriting—it’s the only way I’ve ever been able to say what I feel without choking on the words. And right now, those lyrics feel like the only way I can hold myself together.
“West.”
Xayden’s voice cuts through my thoughts, abrupt and impatient. He’s leaning on his drumsticks, his brow arched. “You good?”
“Yeah,” I mutter, shaking myself out of it. “Just ready to get this over with.”
Xayden nods, tilting his head toward the section Shelley set up for us—the stage where we’ll play live while the models walk the runway in outfits inspired by Primal Pulse. I follow him over, hooking my guitar into the amp. For the first time since we arrived, my attention shifts away from Ash.
Not that it lasts.
Because the second I straighten, it’s automatic—my gaze finds her again.
“Do you think Ash looks tense?” I ask Xayden, keeping my voice low enough not to draw attention.
He flicks his eyes toward her, studying her for a beat before glancing back at me. “Yeah. Probably regretting whatever happened with Jake, if I were to guess.”
“She wearing the blockers,” I say, the words leaving me before I can stop them.
A half-smile pulls at the corner of Xayden’s mouth as he nods. “I noticed.”
The knot in my chest tightens. Does that mean she’s done with the whole fake dating thing? Done before the rest of us even get a chance to win her over? I don’t ask the question out loud, but I feel it in every fiber of my being.
“Alright, places, everybody!” Shelley’s voice cuts through the hum of activity.
I run my fingers over the strings, flipping on my guitar and stepping into position. The faster we get through this, the faster I can figure out if my date with Ashlyn is still happening tonight.
The first notes of the song echo through the studio, and the models start their walk. Rehearsal was all about getting them comfortable with their marks, but now they’ve disappeared into dressing rooms to put on their chosen outfits.
The first model steps out, working the runway in ripped jeans that sit low on her hips and a shirt I’d probably pick out for myself. It’s a safe choice, clean and understated. Even I can see that from here.
She finishes her walk, and the next model steps onto the runway, wearing a piece that immediately grabs everyone’s attention. Black leather pants with chain accents, a torn red shirt beneath a fitted leather jacket that glitters faintly under the lights. It’s bold, rebellious, and unmistakably inspired by us—by her time with us.
Ashlyn freezes.
Her pen stills in her hand, her gaze locking onto the model like she’s seeing something else entirely. Her shoulders lift slightly, bracing against whatever memory the outfit dragged to the surface.
I know exactly what it is.
The memory slams into me, as vivid as if I were living it again, like it’s been waiting just below the surface to take me out.
We were sixteen, sneaking out of a party we had no business being at. The music was too loud, the people too drunk, and Ashlyn had leaned over, tugging at my sleeve with that mischievous glint in her eyes.
“Let’s go,” she’d whispered, her voice full of a kind of reckless energy I could never resist.
Minutes later, we were running down the street, the rain pouring down in sheets, soaking us to the bone. My leather jacket clung to me, plastering my red shirt to my body beneath it. Her laughter rang out, wild and unrestrained, and it made my chest ache with how alive she looked. Her hair clung to her face, her makeup smudged and running, but she’d never looked more perfect. More like someone I never wanted to let go.
She’d spun to face me, her arms spread wide like she was daring the storm to catch her. “Come on, West!” she’d called, her smile radiant even through the downpour.
I hadn’t been able to stop myself.
I’d caught her by the wrist, pulling her to me, her body colliding with mine. She’d gasped, her laughter turning into something softer, breathless, as I leaned down and kissed her for the first time.
The rain poured over us, cold and unrelenting, but all I could feel was her—her warmth, her hands clutching at my shirt, the way she melted into me like she was made to fit there. The kiss had been desperate, messy, full of everything I couldn’t say, and when I’d pulled back, she’d looked up at me with wide, wondering eyes, like I was her whole world.
When I look at Ashlyn, I know she’s thinking about it too. I can see it in the way her lips part slightly, the tension in her jaw softening just for a moment.
It shouldn’t get to me. But it does.
“West,” Xayden hisses, snapping me out of it.
I blink, shaking the memory loose as my fingers falter on the strings for half a beat. Xayden shoots me a look, nodding toward the runway as if to remind me where I am.
“Yeah,” I mutter, focusing back on the guitar, but my eyes can’t help but flicker back to Ashlyn. She’s typing something on her tablet now, her expression guarded again, but I know better.
The memory doesn’t let go, even as I force my fingers to stay steady on the strings. That kiss—the first time I’d kissed her—was the beginning of everything.
I kissed her before the others.
We were all sixteen, all circling around her like she was the axis holding us together. And maybe she was. Ashlyn had this way about her, something magnetic, something that made her impossible to ignore. We all felt it—me, Jake, Todd, Xayden. But none of us knew what to do about it. None of us even knew what scent matches actually were. They were some sort of childhood fantasy, not something that happened to real people.
We’d been best friends for years, the five of us inseparable. But by the time we hit sixteen, something shifted. She wasn’t just Ashlyn, our partner-in-crime, the one who always had our backs. She was Ashlyn—an omega and the girl who made my pulse race, the girl who lingered in my thoughts long after we said goodnight.
It was like that for all of us. I knew it; we all knew it. But none of us wanted to be the one to change things, to risk what we had.
Until that night in the rain.
That kiss wasn’t planned. Hell, I didn’t even know I was going to do it until it was already happening. But when she spun to face me, her smile lighting up the storm around us, something inside me snapped.
I couldn’t not kiss her.
And once I did, there was no going back.
After that, everything changed. At first, it was just us—secret glances, stolen moments, kisses that felt too big to keep hidden but too precious to share. But the others weren’t blind. They noticed, and it wasn’t long before they started finding their own moments with her.
Jake was the next one. He was quieter about it, more hesitant, but she let him in. Todd, bold and relentless, wasn’t far behind. And Xayden? He made her laugh in ways none of us could, slipping into her orbit like he’d always belonged there.
It wasn’t just about me anymore. It was about us. Our pack.
We never talked about it outright, not in the beginning. It just…worked. Somehow, she managed to hold all of us, and none of us felt like we were competing. It wasn’t about winning or losing—it was about being part of something bigger than ourselves.
But that kiss—that first moment in the rain—that was mine.
I glance at her again, still typing on her tablet, her expression carefully blank. But I know what’s behind it. I know she’s thinking about that night too.
Because I felt it. I still feel it.
The music shifts, the runway changing pace as the next model steps out. Xayden glances at me, his smirk fading into something more serious. “You okay?” he asks under his breath, his tone low enough not to carry.
“Yeah,” I lie, my fingers pressing harder into the strings. “I’m fine.”
But I’m not fine. Not when she’s sitting there, looking like the past is just as alive for her as it is for me. Not when I can still feel the rain on my skin, the taste of her on my lips, the way everything between us started that night.
Not when I know we’re all still orbiting her, just like we were back then.
And not when I’m still wondering if I’ll ever get to call her mine again.