Xayden nods, twirling one of his drumsticks between his fingers. “Yeah, let’s not turn this into an emo fest.”
The guys ease back into their banter, but it feels forced, their usual rhythm slightly off.
I turn away, heading toward the edge of the stage where Shelley’s assistant, Grace, is standing with a headset.
“Everything okay?” she asks softly.
“Fine,” I lie, my voice steady even though my insides are anything but.
Because no matter how far I run, how much I tell myself I’ve moved on, their words—his words—keep pulling me back to what we lost.
CHAPTER 14
West
I knowexactly what the guys are doing—it’s written all over their faces.
Xayden and Jake flirt with Ash as if the years apart never happened, while Todd has become unexpectedly gentle with her, his rough edges softened by a sudden resolve to set things right. They’re all trying to fix the mess we created back then, to mend the void we left in her life—and in ours.
I don’t tell them it’s useless.
She’s different now. Hell,we’redifferent.
No amount of charm or kindness can undo the damage we inflicted.
It doesn’t help that I know the truth. She purred for me. Melted for me. Begged for my knot. And I almost gave it to her, until I remembered that she had a boyfriend. That I was not the person she claimed to love now, according to all of the magazines.
When I pulled away, she simply watched, without trying to stop me. I saw a quiet horror in her eyes—a silent regret that settled the moment I withdrew. She didn’t need to speak for me to understand, and I felt the same.
Though time had softened our past, being with her again—the warmth of her touch, the sound of her soft breaths, the taste of her kiss—brought everything rushing back, a reminder that I never truly moved on.
That night has stayed with me like a stubborn thorn, festering into something darker, something I can’t quite name. An obsession? Maybe. But she’s always been my muse, the spark behind every song we create. Our encounter was like striking a match and pouring gasoline on it. I write until my fingers cramp, channeling songs straight from deep within.
Every lyric, every chord—it’s her. She lives in the melodies, the rhythms, and the words we shout into packed arenas. She is the common thread woven through it all.
I watch her as the song settles over her. She doesn’t hide her reaction—not from me. I see raw emotion in her eyes, the pain etched on her face. She still feels something for us—I can tell. And yet, I can’t decide if it matters that she has someone else. Does that change what remains between us, or am I just fooling myself, like the others?
When Todd disappears backstage, Jake trailing close behind, I let out a slow breath and set my guitar down. The weight of it leaves my hands, but the ache in my chest remains. I step off the stage, my boots thudding softly on the floor, and start toward her.
She stands there, lost in thought, her eyes distant but still watching the empty stage. The tablet she clutches is like a barrier between us, a wall she’s built to keep us out. I don’t blame her.
“Hey,” I say softly, my voice almost hesitant.
Her gaze snaps to mine, guarded and uncertain, but something flickers behind her eyes—something that pulls me in.
“West,” she replies, her tone measured, her grip on the tablet tightening like she’s bracing herself. She’s going to break the damn thing.
That’s my fault. The way I’ve acted since we had sex—it’s definitely added some layers to her walls. But I hate it. I hate what I did. I hate the space it put between us. It’s stupid, but my heart could care less that she has a boyfriend.
I rake a hand through my hair, looking away for a second to gather my thoughts. The emptiness of the stadium stretches around us, but it doesn’t make this any easier. “Those lyrics,” I start, my voice quieter now, “they’re mine.”
She inhales deeply, her chest rising as her wide eyes lock onto mine. There it is again—that pain. The same pain I’ve been carrying for years.
“About you,” I add, the words heavier now that they’re out in the open.
She swallows, blinking like she’s trying to process. “You wrote them?”
I nod, dragging a hand through my hair again, nerves lighting up my stomach. “Yeah,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended.
