34. Todd
CHAPTER 34
Todd
“Shit,” Xayden mutters as we step into the studio, tossing his drumstick onto the nearest couch. He doesn’t sound angry—just worn out, like today took something out of him he wasn’t ready to give. “That was… a lot.”
I nod, adjusting the mic stand even though it hasn’t moved. The heaviness of Ashlyn’s words is still lodged in my chest, tangled with the hope and guilt they stirred. I keep hearing her voice, the raw honesty that spilled out, and I keep wondering what would have happened if I’d never told her to choose.
If I hadn’t been such an insecure asshole, would she have stayed? Would we all still be whole?
And now— this. Her and Owen splashed across every tabloid like some twisted reminder of everything we lost. Him smiling like he’s the hero, and her— our girl —blurred and shadowed like an afterthought. Like she’s his.
“I don’t think I can do that again,” West says, his voice tight. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze distant. “Not like that.”
Xayden drops onto the arm of the couch, rubbing a hand over his face. “It was raw, yeah, but it needed to be said.” He pauses, looking between West and Jake. “She needed to hear it.”
Jake shifts his weight, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. “But did we need to hear her say that? Or was it just… for the cameras?”
And maybe more importantly—was it for us , or for him?
Xayden lets out a breath, his foot tapping against the floor. “That’s the question, isn’t it?” His voice is quieter than I expected, less sharp, but still soaked in doubt. “She said the right things. But saying them and meaning them? Not always the same thing.”
I glance at him, surprised. Xayden’s been the one pushing us to talk to her, to give her a chance to make things right. Seeing even a flicker of doubt in him feels off-kilter, like the ground under us isn’t as steady as I thought.
“You think she’s faking it?” West asks, careful but tense.
Xayden doesn’t answer right away. His gaze flickers toward me, then drops to the floor. “I don’t know,” he finally admits. “I want to believe her. I want to believe that was real, but… trust isn’t exactly my strong suit. And with those tabloids running a story about her getting back with Owen?—”
His words settle into the room, heavy and unshakable. None of us say anything for a moment. My mind flashes back to the covers—Owen, all bright-eyed and media-polished, and Ashlyn standing next to him like a ghost. My gut twists. We barely have her, and now we’re already fighting shadows again.
“On our date,” West says, breaking the silence, “I saw her. The girl we all fell in love with. She’s still in there. And her making that choice? It’s not all on her.” He leans forward slightly, his voice firm but quieter now. “We never should have done that to her back then.”
The words hit like a gut punch, the truth of them undeniable.
West’s right. We were all so caught up in our own emotions, our own jealousy and insecurity, that we put her in an impossible position. Told her to choose between us and her dream.
And she did.
The worst part? I don’t blame her.
My chest tightens, the past pressing harder against me. I look at the guys—at Jake, who’s been holding back because he doesn’t want to hurt her again. At West, who’s still trying to make sense of what happened back then. At Xayden, whose trust is as fractured as the rest of us.
And then I think of those headlines—“Ashlyn Robinson Reunites with Owen Lane?” “Spotted: The Kiss That Broke the Internet”—and it lights a fire under everything else.
If we want her—we have to fight for her.
“She said she’s broken,” I say, the words coming out rougher than I mean. “We did that to her. And maybe she’s trying to fix it now. Maybe she’s being real. But we haven’t exactly made it easy for her, have we?”
Jake nods slowly, his expression softening. “No, we haven’t.”
“So what do we do?” Xayden asks, his voice quieter now, his foot finally stilling against the floor.
I take a deep breath, the words heavier than I expect. “We stop acting like it’s all on her. We stop expecting her to fix what we broke.”
West straightens, his jaw tightening. “You mean we make it right.”
Jake steps forward, his voice steady. “We earn her forgiveness. For everything.”
Xayden looks at each of us, the hesitation in his eyes slowly giving way to something steadier. “You think it’s that simple?”
“No,” I admit. “It’s not. But it’s worth it. She’s worth it.”
Especially now—because Owen’s already playing his hand.
And if we don’t step up we might lose her all over again.
The silence that follows feels different. Not as heavy, not as uncertain.
For the first time, it feels like we’re all on the same page.
The same goal.
We’re going to fix this.
And this time, we’re not going to lose her.
The second I step out of the car, I see them. Paparazzi line the sidewalk like vultures, cameras clicking and flashes firing in rapid succession. It feels like stepping onto a stage I never asked to be on, but I know exactly who’s pulling the strings. Shelley.
Ashlyn doesn’t flinch, though. She straightens her shoulders, lifting her chin, and her lips tilt into a practiced, serene smile. She’s used to this. It’s her world. But I see the tension in her neck, the way her fingers grip her clutch a little tighter than usual.
I step closer, offering her my arm. “Ready?”
Her smile shifts slightly, but it’s still more for them than for me. “Do I have a choice?”
“Not really,” I murmur, keeping my voice low. “But I’ve got you.”
Her gaze flicks to mine, something unreadable flashing through her eyes before she slides her hand into the crook of my arm. The warmth of her touch seeps through my jacket, grounding me in a way I don’t want to analyze too deeply.
The flashes are relentless as we make our way inside.
“Are you two together now?”
“Is this official?”
“How does the pack feel about this?”
“Is it true you were all involved back in the day?”
That last question makes me stiffen. My jaw tightens, but I keep my pace steady, glancing down at Ashlyn to see if she reacts. She doesn’t. Her expression stays calm, untouchable, but I can feel the tension rolling off her in waves.
Inside, the restaurant is quiet, the lighting dim, and the air thick with the smell of roasted garlic and fresh bread. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos outside.
The hostess leads us to a private table near the back, far enough from the windows to give us a little space, but I know the pictures are already making their rounds online.
Ashlyn sits gracefully, her movements polished and practiced, and I slide into the chair across from her.
The silence stretches as we both pick up our menus. For once, I don’t have anything to say.
“Shelley really outdid herself this time,” she murmurs, breaking the quiet. Her voice is light, but there’s an edge to it that tells me exactly how she feels about being paraded in front of the cameras like this.
“She always does,” I reply, scanning the menu without actually reading it. My eyes keep drifting back to her, no matter how hard I try to focus.
“Are you going to keep staring, or are you actually hungry?” she asks, glancing at me over the top of her menu. Her tone is teasing, but there’s a flicker of something deeper in her eyes.
Caught. I let out a low chuckle, setting my menu down. “Can’t I do both?”
Her lips twitch, a faint smile threatening to break through, but she doesn’t look up. “You could try being subtle about it.”
“Subtle’s never been my thing,” I admit, leaning back in my chair.
Her gaze flicks to mine for a moment, and something passes between us. Something real. But before I can hold onto it, the waiter appears, shattering the moment.
He takes our orders quickly, and as soon as he’s gone, the quiet stretches again. This time, it feels heavier.
“So,” she says, hesitant. “How’s the band holding up after yesterday?”
I rub the back of my neck, the tension creeping back in. “We’re fine. Just… processing, I guess.”
Her brow furrows slightly, her fingers brushing the edge of her water glass. “It wasn’t easy to say all of that. I know it wasn’t.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t easy to share what you did,” I say, my voice quieter now.
She inhales sharply, her brows raising slightly. “I couldn’t let you four have all the spotlight, now could I?”
The teasing lilt in her voice doesn’t fool me. She’s deflecting, like always. I reach across the table and catch her hand, my fingers tangling with hers. She stills, her breath catching.
“I know that’s not what it was,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended. “I’m sorry we just left. We?—”
“You don’t have to explain,” she says quickly, her voice soft but firm. She’s trying to be strong, but I can see how much we hurt her. It’s in the depths of her eyes and I’m not just going to brush her feelings aside like they don’t matter anymore.
“I do,” I insist, my grip on her hand tightening slightly. “We’ve been assholes. For a long time. And I just hope it’s not too late to make it right.”
Her lips part slightly, like she wants to say something, but the waiter returns with our food, cutting off whatever was about to pass between us.
The conversation shifts to lighter topics, small talk that fills the space without actually saying much. But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s changed.
When dessert arrives—a rich, chocolate something-or-other that Shelley insisted on—Ashlyn picks up the fork, holding it out to me with a raised brow.
“For the cameras,” she says, her voice teasing again.
“For the cameras,” I echo, leaning forward to take the bite she offers.
The dessert is sweet, decadent, but it’s nothing compared to the way her lips curve into a smile as she watches me.
For a moment, the paparazzi outside don’t exist.
It’s just her.
And damn it, if I don’t want this to be real.
The waiter returns with the bill, and I pay quickly, eager to leave before Shelley’s plans somehow escalate further. Ashlyn stands gracefully, her movements fluid, and I step beside her, offering my arm again. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before sliding her hand into the crook of my elbow.
As we walk toward the door, I steal a glance at her. She looks calm, her face composed in that way only Ashlyn can manage, but I can feel the tension radiating from her grip. She’s bracing herself.
Outside, the paparazzi are still there, waiting like wolves circling their prey. The flashes start immediately, blinding and relentless.
“Over here!”
“Are you going home together?”
“Is it official?”
“Are you going to claim her?”
I clench my jaw, my arm tensing beneath Ashlyn’s hand. The last question twists something in my chest, but I don’t let it show.
We reach the car, the driver already holding the door open, but I stop.
Ashlyn looks up at me, her eyes widening slightly. “Todd?”
“For the cameras,” I murmur, my voice low enough that only she can hear.
Before she can say anything, I turn toward her fully, my hands settling on her waist as I pull her close. Her breath catches, and for a second, I think she might pull away. But then her hands find my shoulders, and she tilts her head up, her lips parting slightly.
I close the distance, capturing her mouth with mine.
The world falls away in an instant—the cameras, the shouts, the blinding flashes. All I can feel is her. The way she melts against me, the breathy sigh that escapes her lips, the way her fingers tighten against my shoulders like she’s holding on for dear life.
It’s not a chaste kiss, not the kind of kiss you give when you’re just pretending. It’s hungry, consuming, filled with everything I’ve kept bottled up for years.
Ashlyn responds in kind, her body pressing closer to mine, her lips moving against mine in a way that sends a surge of heat through me.
By the time I pull back, we’re both breathless. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen, and her eyes are wide as she looks up at me.
“For the cameras,” I say again, though my voice comes out rougher, raspier than before.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth, her chest rising and falling quickly. “Right. For the cameras.”
Neither of us moves for a beat, the air between us charged and crackling.
The paparazzi are shouting louder now, their questions a chaotic blur I can barely make out. But I don’t care.
I help Ashlyn into the car, closing the door behind her before circling to my side. Sliding into the seat, I glance at her, but she’s staring straight ahead, gripping her clutch like it’s the only thing tethering her to reality.
Her scent lingers in the air between us, sweet and unmistakably her, and I can’t stop the grin that tugs at my lips.
The cameras might have been the excuse, but the kiss?
That was real.