“What it looked like?” I finish for him, my tone dry.
He lifts his shoulders in a half hearted shrug, his eyes finally meeting mine. “I didn’t plan it.”
“Well, apparently flirting isn’t the way to go. Just kill the power and find her alone.”
He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, the grand plan.” Silence falls again, and he clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter though. The flirting, the being nice—she still has a boyfriend, and we lost her.”
I don’t get the boyfriend vibe from her. Sure, a lot of my teasing and joking is a barrier I use, old habits are hard to break. But she hasn’t acted like there’s a guy in her life.
“I don’t think she has a boyfriend, West. If she does, it isn’t serious. The Ash we know wouldn’t kiss you if she had a boyfriend.”
“She isn’t the Ash we know anymore,” he says, crossing his arms.
“Isn’t she?” I study him.
West finally looks at me in the darkness, and for once, his walls are down. “Even if she isn’t, I still want her, I still love her,” he admits, the words quiet but steady. “I never stopped.”
“I don’t think any of us did.”
For a moment, neither of us speaks. Neither of us moves, the shadows wrapping around us like the past we’re trying to make sense of. Then, suddenly, the overhead lights flicker back on, harsh and unrelenting.
West shifts, running a hand through his hair, his gaze meeting mine again. “I’m ready,” he says firmly. “Ready to do what we should’ve done back then—accept her for who she is, all of her, and support her. No ultimatums. No conditions.”
I snort, shaking my head. “If she even gives us a second chance.” I cross my arms, leaning back slightly. “She might kiss us, West. Hell, she might even want us. But that doesn’t mean she’ll open her heart to us again. And I wouldn’t blame her if she told us all to shove it.”
West doesn’t argue, but the determination in his eyes doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll earn it,” he says after a moment.
I press my lips together and nod slowly. “We’ll try at least.”
The rehearsal space is quiet,the hum of the air conditioning the only sound as I step inside. Most of the team is either on break or running errands, leaving the room feeling unusually empty. Ashlyn’s purse is balanced on the edge of a table, but there’s no sign of her at first.
Then I spot her by the mirrors, her arms crossed as she studies the playback of yesterday’s choreography. She’s deep in thought, her brows slightly drawn, and for a moment, she looks just like the girl I used to know—before the fame, the walls, and the hurt we all caused each other.
The faint scent of strawberries and cream drifts toward me as I approach. It’s different today. Sweeter, softer, like sunshine warming ripe fruit. She’s not wearing her scent blockers. She must not realize, or maybe she’s too distracted. Either way, the smell pulls at something deep inside me.
“Ash,” I call out gently, not wanting to startle her.
She turns, her lips parting slightly in surprise, but her expression softens when she sees me. “Xayden.”
Her voice isn’t guarded. It’s just my name, said like it used to be, and that alone gives me hope.
“You’ve been working hard.” I nod toward the screen, stepping closer. Her scent grows stronger, wrapping around me like it’s meant to. Like it’s calling to me.
She gives a small shrug, glancing back at the video. “Just making sure everything looks perfect. Shelley would lose her mind if something went wrong.”
“Everything’s already perfect,” I say, watching her instead of the screen.
Her lips twitch, almost smiling, but she doesn’t quite let it happen. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe,” I admit, letting a small grin slip through. “But I’m also not wrong.”
She glances at me, her eyes meeting mine, and for a moment, the years fall away. The tension, the pain—it all fades. I reach out, my fingers brushing her elbow lightly, and she doesn’t flinch or pull away. Instead, she lets me stay, her warmth seeping into my skin.
“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice low. “After… last night?”
Her gaze drops to where my hand rests against her arm, then lifts back to meet mine. For a moment, her walls falter, and something unspoken flickers there—vulnerability, maybe.
“I’m fine.” She smiles slightly, but it’s guarded. “It was just a kiss.”
