Looking back, I can see that they were so afraid of losing me that they basically pushed me away. The last time I saw them was full of hurt and anger.
I turn from the window, my hands gripping the edge of the desk as the memories claw at me again. I can’t let myself go there, not now. Not when everything I’ve worked for is finally in front of me.
But the truth is, they still haunt me. The past haunts me.
And tomorrow, I’ll be forced to confront it.
I don’t know how I’ll survive. I don’t know how I’ll keep my mask intact when every part of me is screaming to take it off, to be raw, to apologize, to fix what I broke. Whatwebroke, because it wasn’t just me, no matter how many times I blame myself. But I can’t. I’ve spent years building this perfect image, and it’s all I have left.
So I will smile. I will nod. I will pretend I’m fine.
But inside, I’ll be fighting a battle that’s already been lost.
CHAPTER 2
Ashlyn
The studio isloud with the hum of voices, the clatter of equipment, the buzz of a hundred moving parts. Shelley’s practically bouncing in place beside me, her energy a stark contrast to the cold knot in my stomach. I’m here, standing on the edge of something I can’t undo.
“You ready for this?” Shelley asks, her eyes shining with excitement.
I force a smile, trying to match her enthusiasm, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah,” I say, keeping it short. My voice sounds steadier than I feel. And a ‘Yeah’ is better than a ‘Hell no.’
I glance around, grounding myself in my surroundings. Framed pictures line the short hallway, a visual timeline of past guests and captured moments. The hallway opens into a spacious main area, where two sound studios sit on opposite sides of the room, their doors marked with glowingOn Airsigns. Through a large window into one of the studios, I catch a glimpse of a sleek console, its surface dotted with glowing buttons and sliders, microphones suspended from adjustable arms.
The main area itself is open and uncluttered, designed for movement and conversation, with a few scattered chairs and acouch pushed against the far wall. At the end of the hallway, another door leads to a separate lounging area—likely a quiet space for guests to retreat before or after recording. The air carries a quiet hum of energy, as if the walls have absorbed every voice that has passed through, leaving behind an unseen charge.
It seeps into me. The expectation, the feeling, the energy. Then Shelley strides into the second hallway and straight to the lounging room at the end, pushing the door wide open, and there they are.Primal Pulse.
I’ve seen them in tabloids, online, in interviews, but nothing prepares me for their presence in the same room. They look… different, and yet, exactly the same.
Thank God I wore my scent blockers today. The almost forgotten, yet familiar pull of their presence hits me harder in person than I ever imagined. I might be able to mask my face, but my perfume would betray me in an instant—exposing every hidden emotion, and I can’t afford that.
Todd stands near the center, radiating that same confident, cocky energy I both loved and hated. He still commands the room, a gravitational force pulling everyone into his orbit. His style is more polished now—tailored leather, designer jackets—but I can still see the boy I once knew in the sharpness of his jaw, the fire of his violet eyes.
West leans against the wall, arms folded over his chest. His gaze is cool, intense, unreadable, like it always was—but now there’s something colder about him, like he’s hiding more than he used to. He hasn’t changed much, though. Ripped jeans, old band tees—his wardrobe still echoes late nights and quiet, soulful conversations, the kind that linger long after they’re over.
I drag my eyes away from him, swallowing hard.
Jake’s sitting off to the side, feet propped casually on the table. He looks more grounded now, more like the man he’s become, but when his eyes flicker up to meet mine, I catcha flash of something deeper—surprise, maybe? Or a tinge of regret? It’s hard to tell. He feels like a stranger.
The most noticeable change in him, though, is his confidence. His shirt hangs open, revealing a deeply tanned and toned chest and the faint trail of hair that leads from just below his belly button to where it disappears under the waistband of his jeans. He shifts slightly, completely at ease, and I can see why the crowds scream and cry for them when they’re on stage.
Would it be weird to do that now?I hold in my snort.Yes, yes it would.
And then there’s Xayden. He’s standing at the back, arms crossed, leaning against a table with that familiar grin plastered on his face. But it’s not real. I know that smile, the one he wore when everything was falling apart but he pretended it was fine. When his dad would get drunk and break things and he'd seek us out for a calm in the tornado his life was. His dark eyes are unreadable, but I can still feel him, feel everything that’s unspoken between us.
His hair falls over his forehead, untamed curls tumbling like a wild, unkempt storm. His sleeves are rolled up, showcasing tattoos, and his clothes are flashy—like he’s daring everyone to notice him. Not that he’d have to try that hard. He’s a masterpiece, impossible to ignore.
I don’t let myself look at them too long. I can’t. I don’t want them to see how much this is still affecting me. But no matter how hard I try to pull my eyes away, I can’t stop glancing between them.
They’re still beautiful—too beautiful. Like a force of nature you can’t look away from, no matter how many years pass.
I hear Shelley talking, saying something about scheduling, but her voice is muffled in my ears. All I can focus on is the way the guys are looking at me, like I’m something they’ve bothwanted and resented. They all hide it behind masks, but I can read it. It’s like I stepped into the past and I can still read them.
I keep my face neutral, unwilling to show anything.
They’ve all changed. They’ve all moved on. And I’m still the same girl, pretending I’m not affected.
