She slips out, leaving us in sudden silence. Todd takes a hesitant step in my direction, a question in his gaze. I can see the uncertainty beneath his bravado, the same uncertainty swirling in me. I close my eyes for a second, inhaling slowly to steady myself.
“We’ll handle the media,” I say again, meeting his eyes this time. “But right now, I need a minute. Alone.”
He nods, jaw clenching as he forces himself back. Every inch between us feels like a mile, but I need this distance to gather my thoughts. We crossed a line tonight—one I’m not sure we can ever uncross. And yet, despite the panic fluttering in my chest, I can’t say I regret any of it. Even if this only ends one way…with heartbreak.
CHAPTER 22
Todd
The green room feels suffocating,the air thick with everything we’re not saying. Ashlyn’s absence leaves a void I can’t ignore, my arms aching to hold her again, even though I know why she pulled away. My chest tightens as I replay the moment on stage, trying to untangle what was real and what was for show.
Her scent hit me first, strawberries and cream washing over me like a wave before I even saw her. It yanked me out of the performance, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Then I turned and saw her striding toward me—confident, stunning, and so completely Ashlyn it knocked the breath from my lungs.
And then she kissed me.
I didn’t see it coming, didn’t even have time to think. Her lips were soft, insistent, pulling me into her orbit like she always has. For a split second, I froze, too stunned to move. But then instinct took over, and I pulled her close, my hands locking on her waist, refusing to let her go. The roar of the crowd, the thrum of the music—it all faded into nothing. There was only her, warm and sweet against me, her scent tangling with mine, creating something I never wanted to end.
Now, standing here with the guys, I can still feel the ghost of her touch, still taste the echo of that kiss. My hands curl into fists at my sides, trying to tamp down the restless need to go after her.
Xayden paces the room, his energy jittery, barely contained. He keeps spinning a drumstick in his fingers, his jaw tight as he mutters, “So this is for the media, huh? That’s what Shelley thinks? A stunt to get people talking?” He snorts, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can be fake with her.”
Jake sits in the corner, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, watching us like he’s trying to piece together a puzzle. His scent is calm, steady, but there’s a sharpness to it, like he’s holding something back. “Can we all agree that for us it isn’t fake?,” he asks finally.
I nod. Yeah, not fake. So real.
“Yeah,” Xayden breathes.
West, leaning against the wall, hasn’t said much since we left the stage. His eyes are distant, fixed on some invisible point in the room. I know that look—he’s in his head, overthinking, replaying every moment like he can figure out the right answer if he just tries hard enough.
“West?” I ask, breaking the silence.
His gaze flicks over the three of us, then away. “It worked,” he says quietly, his voice steady but subdued. “The crowd went wild. Shelley got exactly what she wanted. It will be on the front pages of tabloids by morning.”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say.
He doesn’t respond, but his jaw tightens, the tension radiating off him in waves.
Xayden finally stops pacing, his drumstick clattering onto the table as he looks at West. “You really think it’s just for show?” he asks, his voice low. “Because I don’t. Not after the way she kissed Todd. Not after she kissed you yesterday before any of this. She’s not faking a damn thing.”
The room goes still, his words sinking in.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jake says after a beat, his voice calm but firm. “If she did kiss Todd for the show, then we'll just need to figure out how to make this real.”
Xayden crosses his arms. “And fix what we broke.”
The room falls into silence again, and I feel the tension crackling between us. My gaze sweeps over them—None of us are saying it out loud, but I know the truth.
We all regret the choice we demanded she make. We. I snort at the thought. Me, it was me that ruined everything, and I have to make it better now.
Finally, I let out a breath, my voice breaking the silence. “Shelley can spin this however she wants. She can call it a stunt, a plan to save the show, whatever. But I’m not pretending.” My voice drops, firm and unshakable. “I meant what I said out there. She’s with us. Period.”
They don’t argue. They don’t need to. I can see it in their eyes—they feel it, too.
Now, all we have to do is figure out how to convince her.
The next morning,I’m parked outside Ashlyn’s apartment building, her favorite coffee balanced in a thermal mug on the seat beside me. The sun’s barely up, the city still waking, but I’ve been here for almost an hour, replaying the chaos from last night in my head. I told her she was with us. I told the world. And now? Now, I have to prove it—prove to her that it wasn’t just for the cameras or Shelley’s damn plan.
I glance at the coffee, the smell of caramel and espresso wafting from the cup. It’s a small gesture, but Ashlyn’s alwaysbeen about the little things. I know this won’t magically fix everything, but it’s a start.
