I take a shaky breath. “We were young,” I say aloud, more to myself than to Shelley. “Young and stupid. All of us. It wasn’t just me who made mistakes. We all did.”
Shelley nods, her expression a mix of understanding and encouragement. “That’s growth, Ash. It’s seeing the whole picture, not just the pain. And maybe now’s the time to figure out what’s next.”
The idea terrifies me—letting the past surface, picking apart the mess we made. But it also feels… necessary. Like maybe this is how I start putting myself back together. This is how I heal.
CHAPTER 9
Ashlyn
The studio feels different today.Colder, maybe. Or maybe it’s me. Shelley’s words linger, pressing against my chest as I step inside. The hum of activity is muted, the crew moving like ghosts around the equipment, their voices low and indistinct.
I clutch my tablet like it’s a lifeline, the polished surface digging into my palms. It’s easier to focus on the numbers, the logistics, the things I can control. Easier than acknowledging the storm that’s brewing beneath my skin.
The guys are already here, scattered across the room in varying states of indifference. Todd strums an acoustic guitar, his expression unreadable. West leans against the wall, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed somewhere far away. Jake adjusts the knobs on an amp, his movements precise, almost mechanical. And Xayden—he’s sprawled in a chair, one foot propped up, spinning a drumstick between his fingers with lazy precision.
I try to slip in unnoticed, but their eyes find me anyway. It’s like they have a radar for my presence, their attention flicking toward me in unison.
“Morning,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel.
“Morning,” Todd replies, his tone clipped. The others murmur their own versions of the greeting, but it’s perfunctory, detached.
I force a smile and busy myself with my notes, pretending not to notice the tension in the air. But it’s there, thick and suffocating, wrapping around me like a vise. Worse than yesterday.
The first song starts, and the room fills with sound. It’s raw and haunting, the kind of melody that makes your chest ache. Todd’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and unrelenting, the lyrics laced with anger and regret.
I gave it all, but it was never enough.
You chose the spotlight over us.
The words hit like a physical blow, and I grip the tablet tighter, my knuckles whitening.
It’s just a song, I tell myself.Just lyrics.
But I know better.
The chorus rises, the harmonies blending into something achingly beautiful. I glance up despite myself, my gaze catching on West. His eyes are closed, his fingers moving over the strings like he’s trying to pull the pain from his chest and shape it into music.
Jake’s bass thrums, steady and grounding, but there’s an edge to it, a subtle aggression that wasn’t there before. Xayden’s drumming is precise, almost restrained, like he’s holding something back.
The song ends abruptly, the last note hanging in the air like a question that no one wants to answer.
“Take five,” Todd mutters, his voice rough.
The guys scatter, leaving me standing alone in the center of the room. I stare at my tablet, the words swimming on the screen, meaningless.
“You okay?”
I look up to find Jake watching me, his expression unreadable. His voice is soft, but there’s a tension in his posture, a cautiousness that wasn’t there before.
“Fine,” I say, the lie automatic.
He doesn’t push, but his gaze lingers for a moment longer before he nods and walks away.
The room feels impossibly big, the walls too far apart. I turn away, my breath hitching as it all crashes over me.
I slip into one of the smaller side rooms, the door clicking shut behind me. The quiet is a relief, but it does nothing to stop the tears that spill over.
I press a hand to my mouth, trying to stifle the sobs, but they come anyway, wracking my body until I’m trembling.
