38. Ashlyn
CHAPTER 38
Ashlyn
Backstage after the show, the air feels lighter, humming with the buzz of adrenaline and something deeper—something raw and unspoken.
“That went better than I expected,” Xayden says, dropping onto the couch and popping the cap off a water bottle. He grins, his energy still electric. “Not that I doubted it. I mean, who wouldn’t love us?”
Jake snorts, sitting on the arm of the couch and shaking his head. “Humble as ever, Xay.”
“Hey, I’m just saying,” Xayden replies, his grin widening as he points his bottle at me. “And she killed it. Admit it, Jake.”
Jake’s gaze shifts to me, his smile more tender than usual, a quiet warmth behind it. “He’s not wrong.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice quieter than theirs, though everything that just happened still lingers in my chest.
Todd leans against the wall, a towel draped around his neck, his eyes flicking between me and the others before settling on me. “You okay, Ash?”
I nod, though my pulse is still racing. “Yeah. It was just… a lot.”
“Good a lot or bad a lot?” Todd presses, his tone gentler now, like he’s afraid of the answer.
“Good,” I admit, surprising even myself with the steadiness in my voice. So much good, even if it is all for show.
West, standing a little apart from the group, finally speaks, his voice low but sure. “It suited you. Being up there. With us.”
His words hang in the air, and I glance at him, caught off guard by the sincerity etched into his face.
I hesitate, my hand brushing over the edge of my chair. “Well, Shelley will definitely approve,” I say lightly, deflecting because I don’t know what else to do with the heat crawling up my neck.
West’s eyes narrow slightly, and he steps closer, shaking his head. “This has nothing to do with Shelley,” he says, his voice steady and deliberate. “That song, all of it—it’s about you. About how we feel. That’s it. End of story.”
The room stills, his words settling like a weight in the air.
Xayden leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his grin changing into something more thoughtful. “He’s right, you know. Shelley didn’t even know about the song. That was us. For you.”
I blink, the full meaning of their words sinking in. My throat tightens, and I glance down, trying to hide the emotions threatening to spill over.
“You’d better get used to it,” Xayden adds after a beat, his teasing grin reappearing as if to lighten the moment. “You’re stuck with us now. Because we’re not letting you go twice.”
“Lucky me,” I manage, but there’s no bite to my words, only a quiet warmth that surprises even me.
They laugh, easy and unrestrained, the tension breaking like sunlight through clouds.
And as I look around the room at them—at the four men who’ve somehow managed to find their way back into my life—I feel something I haven’t let myself feel in years.
Belonging.
Not just with them.
To them.
The backstage area has mostly cleared out, the earlier buzz of excitement fading into a calm lull. The guys are scattered, handling post-show routines or chatting with crew members, but Xayden is still here, leaning against the edge of a folding table, idly spinning one of his drumsticks in his fingers.
I linger near the door, unsure why I haven’t left yet. It isn’t like there is anyone here to take pictures of me hanging around. But their earlier words keep me here.
Xayden’s eyes flick to mine, catching me staring. He grins, that usual spark of mischief lighting up his face. “You waiting for an autograph or something?”
I roll my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you ever turn it off?”
He chuckles, pushing off the table and walking toward me, his grin fading into something that feels… different. Genuine. “What, my charm? Nah. That’s all-natural, baby.”
“Right,” I say, but my voice wavers just slightly, and I hate how he notices. His steps slow, and the distance between us shrinks until he’s standing right in front of me.
For once, there’s no teasing, no cocky smirk. Just Xayden. My Xayden. He radiates heat, his shirt still hanging open to reveal his toned chest. My fingers itch to touch him, but I curl them into themselves instead.
“Did you like it?” he asks, his voice quieter now, as if he’s afraid of the answer. “The show? The song?”
My throat tightens, and I nod. “Yeah. I… I loved it.”
Something shifts in his expression, the usual playfulness giving way to something gentler, something I don’t quite know how to handle. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because we meant every word.”
I don’t know what to say to that. My chest feels tight; everything presses down on me.
“Hey,” he says, his voice low, grounding. His hand reaches out, his fingers brushing against my arm, just enough to make me look up at him.
And there it is.
No pretense. No jokes. Just him looking at me like I’m something worth holding onto.
“Xayden,” I whisper, my voice catching on his name.
“Yeah?” he asks, his hand shifting slightly, his thumb brushing against my skin in a way that sends a shiver down my spine.
“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” I admit, my voice barely audible. “With any of this.”
“You don’t have to know,” he says quietly. “You just have to… be.”
Before I can think, before I can stop myself, I step closer, my breath hitching as the space between us disappears.
His hand moves to my cheek, his touch featherlight, like he’s giving me every chance to pull away. But I don’t. I can’t.
And then he kisses me.
It’s soft, barely there at first, like he’s testing the waters. But when I don’t pull back, his lips press more firmly against mine, warm and unhurried, like he’s pouring every unspoken word into that single moment.
I lean into him, my hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as the world fades away. It’s not hurried or desperate—it’s tender, steady, like he’s saying, We have time.
When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath warm against my skin.
“See?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough. “You’re doing just fine.”
I inhale deeply, his musk wrapping around me like a warm, comforting hug I’ve been missing for too long. It’s grounding and intoxicating all at once, a reminder of everything I’ve been holding at arm’s length.
And in that moment, I know without a shred of doubt—if this is fake, if this all blows up in my face—I’ll never recover.
But right now? I don’t care.
Because I’m all in.
My hands tighten their grip on his shirt, pulling him closer. “Xayden…”
He doesn’t say anything, his thumb brushing against my cheek as his other hand curls around my waist, holding me like I’m something fragile and precious.
“It doesn’t feel fake,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “Not when it’s like this.”
“It’s not,” he says, his breath ghosting over my lips. “Not for me.”
The vulnerability in his voice steals my breath, and I tilt my head up, pressing my lips to his again, this time with more certainty. He responds instantly, his arms tightening around me, his kiss gentle but filled with a depth that shakes something loose inside me.
When we pull apart, I look into his eyes and see nothing but sincerity staring back at me.
“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely audible.
His grip on me tightens slightly, his gaze steady. “So am I. But we’ve got this, Ash. I’ve got you.”