Todd ignores him, strolling down the runway with quiet confidence. His look is classic—dark jeans, a fitted black vest over a crisp white button-up, and just a hint of eyeliner that somehow makes his blue eyes brighter. He rolls up his sleeves with deliberate precision when he reaches the end, practically making the girls swoon.
His pace is steady, his posture effortless. Where Jake leaned into charm and Xayden brought flair, Todd’s appeal lies in the simplicity of his presence. He doesn’t need to try; he justis.
The room falls quieter as he turns back down the runway, the models paying rapt attention.
“Damn, Todd,” Xayden says from his spot near the edge of the stage. “Didn’t know you were secretly a runway pro.”
Todd glances over his shoulder, his smirk subtle. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
Jake snorts, leaning against a column just off the runway. “Okay, mister mysterious. Don’t let the power go to your head.”
I can’t help but laugh softly under my breath. Todd glances my way as he steps off the runway, and for a fleeting moment, there’s a glimmer of something in his eyes—something unspoken but heavy all the same.
“You’re up next, West!” Shelley calls, breaking the tension.
West rises from his chair, brushing off invisible dust from his dark blazer. His makeover is understated but striking—a slim-fitsuit with subtle pinstripes, paired with sleek leather shoes and a minimalist hairstyle.
He walks the runway with an air of quiet determination, his movements precise and deliberate. Unlike the others, he doesn’t play to the audience. He’s focused, almost guarded, and it’s clear he’s uncomfortable being under the spotlight without his guitar.
The models scribble notes, their eyes following his every step.
“Relax, West,” Xayden calls, a playful lilt in his voice. “It’s just a walk, not an audition for a funeral.”
West shakes his head, his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles. “Not all of us are performers at heart, Xay.”
“You could’ve fooled me,” Jake chimes in. “Looking hot up there, man.”
West finishes his walk and steps off the stage, his gaze briefly meeting mine before flickering away. I can't even count how many times he does that. And each time I'm shoved back to that bathroom, him backing away…
As the guys gather on the sidelines, laughing and poking fun at each other, I watch them just as much as my models do.
They look the part of a polished boy band or a group of high-fashion models, but they don’t look likethem. The edges that made them unique—the quirks, the sparks, the parts of them that feel like home—are buried beneath the layers of carefully curated style.
And that’s the point, make the audience and the models see it. I might not like it but, maybe, it’s easier this way, for all of us.
As I watch them laugh and tease each other, I can’t shake the ache in my chest. I miss them. I miss what we used to be.
Shelley’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Alright, let’s get the models prepped for their challenge! Guys, go change back—we’ll be wrapping this segment shortly.”
The room stirs to life. The guys disappear back into the dressing area, leaving behind the echo of their banter and the lingering energy of their presence. I force my gaze down to my tablet, feigning focus. My heart isn’t racing because of them—it’s the work. Just the work.
But no matter how hard I try, the feelings linger. Because no amount of professionalism can make me forget the pieces of my past standing just a few feet away. My saving grace is Shelley’s insistence of a scent-free stage. She doesn’t want the models swayed by their musk or have their perfume distract anyone. I doubled up on my scent blocker lotion and took one of the pills for good measure this morning. Honestly, it is what I should do every time I know I’m going to be around them.
The door to the dressing area swings open, pulling me from my thoughts. Xayden is the first to emerge, back in his typical loud-print shirt, a cascade of necklaces, every finger ringed, and ripped jeans. His flashy personality practically spills into the room as he stretches, arms raised high, his tattoos on full display.
“Ah,” he says, grinning as he spots me. “Feels good to be me again.”
I glance up, biting back a smile. “Not a fan of vintage glam?”
He stops mid-stretch, a mock-wounded expression crossing his face. “Oh, don’t get me wrong. I lookedgreat.But the world deserves the full Xayden experience.” He gestures to himself dramatically. “And this, my dear Ashlyn, is thereal deal.”
“Lucky us,” I say dryly, though there’s no bite to the words.
“Lucky indeed.” He leans in slightly, lowering his voice. “You know, you could’ve told me how much you missed seeing me like this. I wouldn’t have blamed you.”
I snort, rolling my eyes. “Missed it? Please. You’re impossible to miss, no matter what you’re wearing.”
“See? That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” He winks, stepping aside as Jake strolls out of the dressing area.
