The quiet stretches out, heavier now, and for a moment, his playful facade slips. He leans forward just slightly, enough for me to catch the flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, a shadow of the hurt he hides behind all his jokes and mischief.
“For what it’s worth,” he says, his voice quieter, more serious, “you don’t have to fall apart in private. I can hold you while you crumble.”
His words hit harder than they should, piercing through the walls I’ve spent years building around myself.
“Xayden—” I start, unsure of what I even mean to say. But before I can figure it out, he straightens, that familiar mischievous grin snapping back into place like armor.
“No? If you’d prefer Jake, I know he does the whole comfort thing better than me,” he says, spinning the drumstick one last time before tucking it into his pocket. “Really, I don’t know why I offered. The salt in your tears would probably ruin my jacket.”
I roll my eyes and huff out a half hearted laugh. “I’m sure you have the money to buy a new one.”
“True.” He shrugs. “So, need to fall apart still?” He holds open his arms like I’m going to fall into them, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to myself at least that the idea is tempting, if only to feel them wrapped around me again.
I’m notsure I remember what sleep feels like anymore. By the time Shelley and I sit down for our nine a.m. meeting, it feels as though the clock has both dragged endlessly and sprinted forward too quickly. I sink into the chair across from her desk, the familiar space offering no comfort.
So much has changed since the last time I was here. I feel like a different person, like someone who’s been unraveled and stitched back together wrong. I guess running into the scent matches you rejected—having sex with one of them and being forced to work with them—does that. It frays you around the edges until you can’t tell what’s holding you together anymore.
Shelley leans back in her chair, her fingers lightly clasped in front of her. Her gaze narrows as she studies me, and I know she’s about to zero in on exactly what I don’t want to talk about.
“Okay, spill,” she says, her tone light but laced with authority. “What’s going on with you and the guys?”
I flinch, my defenses instinctively snapping into place. “The planning’s going fine,” I say smoothly, reaching for the file I brought with me. “I’ve outlined?—”
“Not the show, Ashlyn,” she cuts me off, raising an eyebrow. “The guys.You. What’s going on with all of that?”
My hands tighten around the folder and, for a moment, I consider deflecting again. But Shelley doesn’t let me get away with much.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I try, though the words come out weak.
“Ash.” Her tone softens, and she leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. “You’re not yourself. You’ve been running on fumes since this collaboration started. Whatever it is, it’s eating you alive. Talk to me.”
Her sincerity undoes me. The dam I’ve been trying so hard to hold back starts to crack. “It’s complicated,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Try me,” she says gently.
I take a shaky breath, staring down at the folder in my lap like it holds the answers. “I loved them,” I say finally, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “All four of them. I loved them so much, and when I left—when I chose my career over them—I thought I was doing the right thing. For me. For them.”
Shelley stays quiet, letting me continue.
“But now… being around them again, it’s like all of it is still there. The hurt, the anger, the love. I don’t even know who I am anymore, let alone who they are. And I don’t know how to deal with any of it.”
Shelley exhales, her expression softening. “Ashlyn,” she says, her voice firm but kind. “I know this feels impossible, but maybe this is exactly what you need. Maybe working with them—facing all of this head-on—is how you work through it.”
I shake my head, panic rising in my chest. “I don’t think I can. It’s too much. They’re too much.”
“Of course it’s too much,” Shelley says, leaning forward, her gaze steady and unyielding. “That’s what love and heartbreakand growth are. But tell me this—ignoring it hasn’t worked, has it?”
I stay silent, her words settling over me like a heavy blanket of truth I can’t shake off.
Her hand reaches across the desk, resting lightly on mine. The warmth of the gesture is unexpected, grounding. “You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for, Ash. And you deserve to figure this out. For you. Not the show, not them—foryou.”
I look down at her hand on mine, the steady pressure both comforting and unnerving.
“I know how much you’ve struggled in your romantic life,” she continues, her voice soft but insistent. “The whole time we’ve known each other, it’s been one thing after another. Maybe they’re the reason why. Maybe it’s always been about them.”
Her words hit harder than I want to admit, a direct hit to the ache I’ve tried so hard to bury. For a moment, I can’t breathe.
But then something shifts inside my chest—a faint flicker of hope sparking in the shadows. Maybe she’s right. Maybe this mess I’ve walked back into is exactly where I need to be. Maybe Jake was right, too—maybe it’s time to stop running and acknowledge what we all did to each other.
