Her scent spikes faintly, a tinge of nerves threading through the sweetness again, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to lean closer, not to lose myself in the way her presence fills the car. Instead, I grip the wheel tighter and focus on the road ahead.
The drive to the venue is quiet, the only sound the occasional sip of her coffee and the hum of the engine. Her perfume lingers in the confined space, threading through my thoughts, makingit impossible to focus on anything else. I grip the wheel tighter, forcing myself to keep my attention on the road.
When we pull into the back lot, I glance at her again. She’s finished her coffee, the empty cup sitting in the cup holder, but her hands are twisting nervously in her lap. Her gaze flicks toward the building, then back down, as if she’s steeling herself for whatever comes next.
I park the car and step out, moving to her side to open the door. She hesitates for a beat, then slides out, her shoulders tense, her scent tainted with something sour now—uncertainty.
“It’s just the crew today,” I say, trying to reassure her. “No cameras. No crowd.”
She nods, but it’s a small, tight movement, and the tension in her posture doesn’t ease.
We walk together toward the side entrance, my hand brushing the small of her back out of habit. It’s instinctual, protective, and I catch myself before it lingers too long. But once we’re inside, the silence between us feels heavier.
As we reach the dressing rooms, I pause, turning to face her. She looks up at me, her expression carefully neutral, but I can still see the cracks in her armor. Her scent betrays her again—soft and warm, laced with lingering nerves.
I know what packs do for their omegas in moments like this, how they ease their tension, remind them they’re safe. And for a split second, I almost act on it. I step closer, reaching out to brush her hair away from her face, intending to press my nose to the spot where her scent is strongest, where her pulse thrums at her throat. To purr for her. It’s what an alpha would do—a reassurance, a promise of safety.
But before I can, she steps back, her hand coming up between us. “Todd, stop.”
Her voice is soft but firm, her gaze locking with mine. “There’s no one here to impress. No media, no cameras. Youdon’t have to…” she trails off, her cheeks flushing slightly, but I know what she means.
I swallow hard, pulling my hand back and shoving it into my pocket. “It’s not for them,” I say quietly, my voice low but steady. “It’s for you.”
Her eyes soften for a moment, but she shakes her head, looking away. “I don’t need that. Not right now.”
Her scent shifts again, a mixture of unease and something more subtle—something hesitant. I take a slow breath, willing myself to step back, to give her the space she’s asking for, even though everything in me screams to close the distance.
“Okay,” I say after a beat, my tone even. “I get it.”
She glances back at me, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, I wonder if she’ll say more. But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns and walks toward the dressing room, leaving me standing there, my hands still clenched in my pockets and my chest tight with restraint.
I exhale slowly, running a hand through my hair. This is harder than I thought it would be. But for her, I’ll find a way to make it work—without overstepping, without pushing too far.
Even if it kills me.
CHAPTER 23
Ashlyn
The stage feels cavernous,the rows of empty seats stretching out like a void. My boots click softly against the polished floor, the sound unnervingly loud in the silence. The guys are already there—Jake adjusting an amp, West leaning on a mic stand with his guitar slung low, and Xayden lounging on the edge of his drum kit, twirling a stick between his fingers.
I know they can smell me before I even open my mouth. My scent seeps out of my pores, betraying every emotion I’m trying to bury. Nerves, frustration, and something more—something I don’t dare name. I force myself to keep walking, my spine straight, my expression neutral.
But my mind keeps circling back to when I arrived. To Todd.
I’d barely managed to breathe when he reached out, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face, his eyes dark with something I wasn’t ready for. And then he’d leaned in, like he was going to press his nose right against my neck, right where my scent was strongest.
I felt it before I heard it, the low rumble in his chest. It wasn’t a full purr, but it was close enough to make my heart slam against my ribs. His scent—warm and heady—wrapped aroundme, thickening the air. For a second, I thought I might drown in it.
Then I pulled away. I got scared.
Even now, the memory makes my stomach flip, my cheeks burning. My scent must have given me away back then, too—just like it’s doing now.
“Okay,” I say, stopping near the center of the stage. My voice comes out steady, professional, like I’m still in control. “Let’s get through this rehearsal so Shelley can stop hovering like a vulture. After last night, we need new footage.”
Jake looks up, his calm gaze locking on mine. “You good?” His tone is low, measured, but it cuts through me all the same.
He's always checking in. It makes my stomach dip.
