33. Ashlyn
CHAPTER 33
Ashlyn
West left me at my apartment door. He didn’t ask to come in. I’m not sure I would have let him if he had.
My phone pings with a text the next morning, and I reach for it on the bedside table. Jake.
We can pretend it didn’t happen.
I suck in a breath of air. My body doesn’t know how to pretend when it comes to any of them. Sure, my head is a pro, but the rest of me betrays the hell out of me. My fingers hover over the digital keypad as I consider whether to reply. Is that what I want?
The phone lights up with another text.
Or we can accept it for what it was.
I pause. What does he think it was?
My heart lodges in my throat as I wait, eyes fixed on the blinking ellipsis on my screen. It appears and vanishes repeatedly, stretching each pause into what feels like an eternity. I know he's waiting for my response.
I type slowly,
We both know it happened. We’re adults, we had a fun night…
and send it off.
Almost immediately, my phone buzzes again. I glance at it and see his reply:
Yeah, fun night.
I let out a frustrated sigh and toss the phone aside. Fun night? Really? I think back over everything—the touches, the whispered words, the connection that is still definitely there between us. It wasn’t just fun; it was something more significant. But I can’t exactly tell him, "Hey Jake, I gave you my heart, don’t break it." Instead, I sit here, caught between what I feel and what I’m supposed to feel.
I get ready with the uncomfortable ball of emotions sitting on my chest. Completely in my head. It’s probably why the second I stepped out of my apartment building I didn’t notice Owen peeling away from the gray bricks.
Paparazzi are on it though, because flashes of light catch him trying to hand me a coffee. As they shout intrusive questions at us. Shelley’s going to murder me if Owen ruins this fake dating angle by continuing to show up.
“What are you doing here?” I practically hiss the question at him.
He looks me up and down and slowly smiles. “I missed you.”
“Owen,” I sigh.
The lines by his eyes tighten as his smile turns fake. “What are you really doing with Primal Pulse?”
“That isn’t a question you get to ask me.”
He presses his lips together as he ignores my words. He holds out the coffee again. “Take it. It’s your favorite.”
I doubt it is. He never bothered to learn what I really liked. It’s probably a vanilla latte or something.
“Come on, Ashlyn, don’t be this way. Can’t an old friend bring you a coffee? Isn’t that what that lead singer did for you from Primal Pulse? I saw the pictures.”
He sounds jealous. Not that him being jealous is a surprise. He was always jealous of other alphas or betas or anyone that gave me half a smile.
I take the coffee, smelling it. Vanilla. I was right. “Thanks, Owen,” I say before brushing past him and depositing it into the nearest trash. He doesn’t follow. But I knew he wouldn’t, he was just there for the photo ops. He probably hopes they land him on the front of some magazine.
It doesn’t take long for the tabloids to run with the story. It must be a record. Less than a week and Owen’s face is plastered everywhere—front pages, gossip blogs, trending hashtags. And always the same photo: him looking earnest and hopeful, like some kind of reformed heartthrob, while the back of my head stares in his direction.
He’s lying in that picture.
Shelley slaps the third magazine down on her desk with a loud thwack and leans back in her chair, arms crossed. “It’s bad.”
I clench my jaw and say nothing. Told her it would be. Warned her the second I saw paparazzi. But right now, I’m not thinking about Shelley or the press. I’m thinking about them . The guys. Primal Pulse .
It’s been total radio silence.
Not one message. Not one cryptic emoji from Jake. Not even a snarky meme from Todd. And I’ve been too much of a coward to reach out first. It’s not like we were officially anything. Not like I had a claim. Still, my chest aches every time my phone buzzes and it’s not one of them.
“But we can use this,” Shelley says, like she’s brainstorming for an ad copy. “Fan the flames. Give the media a narrative. Are you really with Primal Pulse ? Or have you made up with Owen? Love triangle, second chances—it’s juicy.”
“No.” The word slips out automatically.
She pauses, blinking. “No?”
Like she hasn’t heard that word in years.
“No,” I repeat, firmer this time. “I’m not using them like that.”
Shelley sighs and tosses her pen onto the desk. “You’re not using anyone, Ash. This is business. Publicity. You’re not out here breaking hearts—you’re building a brand.”
I shake my head, throat tight. “They’re not props, Shelley. I know you think this is all smoke and mirrors, but they’re real people. And I already broke their hearts once. I’m not doing it again for the sake of a headline.”
She studies me like I’m speaking another language.
And maybe I am.
Shelley studies me for a beat longer, lips pursed like she’s trying to decide if it’s worth arguing. Finally, she exhales and pushes up from her chair.
“We’ll table it for now,” she says, smoothing her blazer like it’s some kind of armor. “But the guys are here. Makeovers. Studio. Let’s go.”
I freeze.
Here?
Already?
My pulse stutters, a low thrum behind my ribs that feels suspiciously like panic. Or dread. Or maybe something worse—something with hope tangled inside it. I stand slowly, smoothing my skirt, even though there’s no wrinkle to be found.
“They’re downstairs?” My voice comes out steadier than I expected, but I can’t stop the way my fingers twitch at my sides.
Shelley nods, already halfway to the door. “Yeah. Crew’s setting up now. Let’s not keep them waiting.”
Easy for her to say.
She’s not the one who left four boys and watched them turn into men from a distance—watched them become stars while pretending it didn’t still hurt. She’s not the one who kissed West in the dark after too many drinks or the one who still dreams about Xayden’s laugh, or the one who knows exactly how Jake smells when he’s freshly showered. She’s not the one who said goodbye and meant it—only to have every part of her body betray her the second they walked back into her life.
I follow Shelley into the hallway, heels clicking on the polished floor, nerves buzzing under my skin like static. The elevator ride is too fast and too slow all at once, and by the time the doors slide open to the studio level, my stomach is a knot of tension.
They’re here.
And I have no idea what I’m going to say to them.
Or what they’ll say to me.
The studio is quieter than usual when we reach it, the buzz of activity replaced by something heavier, more reflective. The lights are dimmed, the mood subdued. Even Shelley, who usually commands the room with brisk efficiency, seems softer as we enter the space.
“Today’s shoot is different,” she begins, her voice steady but carrying an unusual weight. “It’s about vulnerability. About stripping away the masks we wear and showing who we really are. Minimal styling, raw photography, no filters.”
The contestants exchange uneasy glances, fidgeting in their seats. Vulnerability isn’t easy to ask for, especially not here where perfection is the goal. But that’s the point, isn’t it? It’s not supposed to be easy.
“We’ll start with some inspiration,” Shelley continues, her gaze sweeping over the room. “The band has agreed to share personal stories about their own journeys—the struggles they’ve faced and how they’ve overcome them.”
I glance toward the stage where the guys sit, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Jake sits calmly, his hands resting on his knees, but there’s a tension in his shoulders, like he’s holding something back. Todd is restless, his fingers drumming a staccato rhythm against his leg. West’s gaze is far away, his expression unreadable, like he’s already somewhere else.
And Xayden?—
Xayden is smiling. But it’s not the kind of smile that lights up the room and puts everyone at ease. This one is tight, almost forced, like a mask he can’t quite drop.
Shelley gestures for them to begin, and Jake stands first.
His movements are deliberate, measured, as though he’s rehearsed this in his head a dozen times. His calm demeanor doesn’t waver, but there’s a heaviness in his eyes that catches me off guard.
“I’ve always been the steady one,” he starts, his voice low but steady. “The guy who makes sure everyone’s okay. The one who holds things together when it feels like everything’s falling apart.”
His gaze sweeps across the room, lingering briefly on each of us before he continues.
“But being that guy? It’s not as easy as it looks. People see the calm, the control, and they think it’s effortless. But it’s not. It’s exhausting. It’s isolating.”
He pauses, his hands flexing at his sides, his knuckles whitening.
“Because when you’re the glue, you don’t get to break. You don’t get to have bad days. And when you do… you’re alone.”
The silence that follows is heavy, thick with unspoken truths.
Jake looks down, his voice lowering. “I’ve spent years trying to be everything for everyone else. But somewhere along the way, I forgot how to let people be there for me.”
The words settle over the room like a weighted blanket, and my chest tightens. I watch as he steps back, his shoulders stiff, his expression composed—but there’s a rawness to him that makes my heart ache.
It makes me want to cross the room, to hug him and hold him until every broken piece of him is fixed.
But I don’t.
I haven’t so much as looked him in the eye since the night I spent in his arms. And he’s let me avoid him, hasn’t pushed for anything more since our text messages.
Is this why?
Does he think I can’t handle it? That I’d crack under the pressure of knowing what he’s going through?
The thought twists in my chest, a mix of guilt and something else I’m not ready to name.
Because maybe he’s right.
Maybe I don’t know how to be steady for him the way he’s always been for everyone else. And maybe that’s why I haven’t tried.
Todd stands next, his movements more restless. He rubs the back of his neck as he approaches the front, his usual confidence dimmed but not entirely gone.
“You all see the rockstar, right?” he starts, his voice edged with sarcasm, his lips pulling into a crooked grin that doesn’t reach his eyes. “The guy who’s always smiling, always performing, always… on. ”
The room shifts, the tension thickening as his words sink in.
He chuckles dryly, shaking his head, his hand dropping to his side. “Yeah, well, that guy? He’s not real. At least, not all the time.”
His voice carries something heavier now, a rawness that cuts through the room like a blade.
“You know what’s real?” he continues, his voice dipping. “Self-doubt. The kind that eats at you, even when you’re onstage, in front of thousands of people screaming your name. The kind that makes you wonder if you’re good enough, if you even belong here. If you belong anywhere.”
My breath catches, the vulnerability in his tone hitting harder than I expect.
“I’ve been chasing this dream for so long,” he says, his voice quieter now, as though speaking more to himself than the room, “I don’t even know what it would look like if I stopped. But the truth is… sometimes I don’t feel like I deserve it. Any of it.”
He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And sometimes… I don’t want it. I want something I lost a long time ago.”
The room is silent, his words hanging heavy in the air as he steps back. His usual swagger is gone, replaced by something more vulnerable, something real.
My heart pounds in my ears as I watch him, his confession settling deep in my chest. He’s not just talking about fame or the pressures of performing. He’s talking about us.
About the pack the five of us were.
I can feel it all the way down to my soul, even without him looking at me. It’s there, unspoken but undeniable, in every word he didn’t say.
I swallow hard, my fingers gripping the edge of my chair as the ache I’ve been carrying for years surges to the surface. I can’t look at Todd, but I can’t look away either.
Then West moves.
It’s subtle at first—a shift of his shoulders, a deep breath—but the room feels it. Everyone feels it. He doesn’t stand right away, just stays seated with his head bowed, his hands resting loosely in his lap. When he finally rises, his movements are slow, deliberate, like he’s trying to gather the pieces of himself before taking another step.
The room holds its breath as he walks to the front. He doesn’t look at anyone, his gaze fixed on some point in the distance, something none of us can see.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet, almost too quiet, forcing everyone to lean in.
“Fame doesn’t fix anything,” he starts, his words clipped, each one a struggle to say. “It doesn’t make you happy. It doesn’t make you whole. If anything, it does the opposite.”
He pauses, his gaze distant, his expression unreadable.
“When I was a kid, I thought if I made it big, I’d never feel lonely again. That if I had enough people cheering for me, it’d drown out everything else.” His lips press into a tight line, his jaw clenching as he shakes his head. “But it doesn’t. The crowds? The noise? It’s all just… noise. And when it’s gone, you’re left with the silence. The kind that reminds you of everything you don’t have.”
His voice wavers slightly, and for the first time, I hear the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hold it back.
“I’ve been surrounded by people for years,” he says, his voice quieter now, “but I’ve never felt lonelier than I do now.”
The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of his confession hanging over the room like a storm cloud.
He steps back, his movements stiff, his expression carefully blank, but I know better. I can see the cracks in his mask, the pain he’s barely holding in.
And it wrecks me.
Because I feel it too.
I’ve been running from it for years, pretending the choices I made didn’t leave me hollow. I buried myself in work, surrounded by people who admired me, envied me, wanted something from me. I told myself it was enough—that being admired was better than being loved, that the attention was enough to fill the empty spaces.
But it wasn’t.
And now, sitting here, watching West say the words I’ve never been brave enough to admit, I realize I’m as lonely as he is.
Maybe lonelier.
Because at least he has them—Jake, Todd, Xayden. They’ve stayed together, even with all their cracks and flaws. But I left. I chose the spotlight over them, over us, and I’ve been standing in that glaring, empty light ever since.
My chest tightens, and I grip the edge of my chair harder, as if it’ll keep me from falling apart. The ache inside me, the one I’ve been ignoring for so long, feels unbearable now.
West’s words echo in my head, his loneliness a mirror to my own.
The worst part of all of this is I don’t know how to fix it.
Then it’s Xayden’s turn. If I weren’t wrecked enough, he still needs to speak.
He saunters to the front, twirling a drumstick between his fingers like it’s just another day, the picture of ease. But I know better. I see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw that gives him away.
“Vulnerability,” he starts, his voice light, almost teasing. “Not exactly my favorite topic.”
A few of the contestants chuckle nervously, and he grins, but it’s not the grin I know. It doesn’t light up the room, doesn’t invite you into his orbit the way it used to. This one is thin, strained, like it’s holding something back.
“I’m the guy who makes people laugh,” he says, spinning the drumstick once more before letting it fall to his side. “The joker, the clown. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. Because if people are laughing, they’re not looking too closely. And if they’re not looking too closely, they can’t see the cracks.”
The room goes quiet, his words hanging heavy in the air, cutting deeper than his usual humor ever could.
Xayden’s grin falters, and for a moment, he looks younger, almost boyish, like the weight of his own words is pressing down on him.
“But the truth?” he says, his voice rougher now, like the words cost him something. “The truth is… I don’t trust people. Not really. Because trusting people means giving them the power to hurt you. And I learned a long time ago that even the people you love the most can do that.”
He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t have to. The words hit like a punch anyway, knocking the air from my lungs.
Because I know what he’s talking about.
It’s me.
It’s us.
I know his past with his dad and mom. And I hurt him too. Maybe not the same way, but pain is pain.
Every word feels like a knife, carving through the walls I’ve tried to keep up since the day I walked away. First Jake’s steady, heartbreaking admission. Then Todd’s raw confession. West’s loneliness, a perfect reflection of my own. And now Xayden, the one who always seemed untouchable, standing there and letting his pain bleed into the room.
The cracks in all of them are too familiar. They mirror the ones I’ve carried for years, the ones I thought I could hide behind the mask of my career, my perfect public image. But sitting here now, hearing them lay it all bare, I can feel those same cracks widening inside me, threatening to break me open.
Xayden steps back, his shoulders stiff, his mask slipping just enough for me to see the vulnerability underneath.
Shelley claps, a grin forming on her face. She is completely oblivious to the fact they just bared themselves in front of the whole filming crew.
“That is ratings gold right there. Hearing Primal Pulse open up, it will make viewers so invested. It’s perfect. Like your romance playing out for the world to see.”
I can’t let it end like this. With Shelley making their words seem like part of the fake dating or just for the show. I know that’s not what they were, and I can’t let their words hang in the air, unanswered, unacknowledged, like I’m still running from what we were. From what we still are.
Before I can second-guess myself, I stand, my heart pounding as I walk to the front. All eyes are on me, but the only ones that matter are theirs.
The guys watch me with varying degrees of surprise and hesitation, their emotions as raw and unguarded as they’ve ever been.
I take a deep breath, my hands trembling at my sides. “Shelley’s right, viewers will like the openness, and there is something I’d like to admit,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “This shoot is about vulnerability. And if we’re going to ask the contestants to be honest, we need to be honest too.”
I pause, letting my gaze sweep over each of them before I continue.
“I’ve worn a mask for years,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “I made a choice a long time ago, and it wasn’t just my career that I chose. It was safety. It was easier to leave than to face the fact that I was scared. Scared of what we had, scared of what it meant, scared of how much I cared about all of you.”
My words settle over the room, and I see the flickers of recognition in their faces.
“When you four demanded I choose, I ran,” I continue, my throat tightening. “And I’ve regretted it every day since. Because walking away didn’t make it easier. It didn’t make the feelings go away. It just made me lonely. It made me hollow.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet their eyes, one by one. “You’re not the only ones who are broken. I am too. And I don’t know how to fix it, but I’m here now. And I’m willing to try.”
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, but it isn’t empty. It’s full of everything we’ve left unsaid for too long, of the truths that each of us have bared today. It’s raw, and it hurts, but it feels like the first real thing I’ve had in years.
Then Shelley’s voice cuts through it like a blade.
“Cut!” she shouts, her heels clicking against the floor as she strides toward me, a wide grin plastered on her face. “That was perfect! I love it. The audience will love it. Perfect addition, Ashlyn.”
I blink, her words pulling me out of the vulnerable haze I’ve been stuck in. She’s beaming at me, already moving on, already seeing the moment as part of the bigger machine she’s building.
Her praise feels hollow, out of place against the backdrop of everything that’s just happened.
I glance toward the guys, but they’re already moving. Jake is the first to rise, his expression carefully composed as he murmurs something to Todd. Todd claps Xayden on the back, his swagger starting to creep back in as he laughs at whatever Xayden mutters in return. West is last, his gaze flickering toward me for a moment before he looks away, his jaw tight.
They’re leaving.
I step forward, my lips parting to call out to them, to say something , but the words get caught in my throat.
“Thanks, Shelley,” West says over his shoulder, his voice low but polite.
“Yeah, good shoot,” Jake adds, giving her a small nod as they make their way toward the door.
My chest tightens as I watch them go, their backs turned, their footsteps echoing in the suddenly too-quiet studio.
“Wait,” I manage, the word barely audible even to my ears.
But they don’t stop.
Xayden twirls his drumstick as he walks, his easy movements back in place like a shield. Todd cracks a joke that I can’t hear, but it makes Jake shake his head and West’s shoulders tighten.
And then they’re gone, the door swinging shut behind them.
The air feels heavier now, the silence pressing down on me in a way that’s almost suffocating.
Shelley’s voice pulls me back. “Ashlyn, that was incredible,” she says, flicking her finger over her tablet with a satisfied smile. “I’m telling you, this is exactly what the show needed. Raw, emotional, real. You nailed it. That promotion just might be yours after this.”
I nod numbly, forcing a tight smile as she rambles on about the production schedule and upcoming shoots. But my mind is elsewhere, stuck on the way the guys left without a word to me, the way they didn’t even look back.
I had bared my soul to them, tried to tell them I was here, that I was trying. And they walked away.
The ache in my chest deepens, spreading through me until it feels like I’m breaking all over again.
Maybe I was wrong.
Maybe some things are too broken to fix.