Because I can’t tell anymore where the act ends and the truth begins.
CHAPTER 26
Jake
The secondI touch her hand, her whole body tenses. It’s subtle—something most people wouldn’t notice—but I do. Her fingers twitch, her eyes dart down to where my thumb brushes over her skin, and for a moment, I think she’s going to pull away.
But she doesn’t.
Instead, she glances up at me, her wide eyes searching mine like she’s trying to figure out if this is part of the performance or something more. I already know what she’s convincing herself—this is for the cameras, nothing more. Just another part of Shelley’s grand plan to sell a story.
But it’s not. Not for me.
I lean forward slightly, closing the space between us just enough that my voice won’t carry to anyone else. “Ashlyn,” I say softly, my tone steady, but she doesn’t look away. Good. I need her to really hear what I’m saying this time. “This doesn’t have to be pretend. Not with me.”
Her breath hitches, and her lips part like she’s about to say something, but nothing comes out. I can see the flicker of doubt in her eyes, the war she’s waging with herself to stay guarded. Iget it. After everything we’ve put her through, I wouldn’t trust us either.
But I can’t let her keep thinking this is all an act. Watching Xayden do it made my blood boil.
I let my thumb glide over the back of her hand again, slower this time, trying to ground her in the moment. “I know you think this is just for the cameras,” I continue, my voice dropping lower, “but it’s not. Not for me, and not for them either.”
She blinks, her brow furrowing slightly. “Jake?—”
I shake my head, cutting her off gently. “I mean it. All of this? It’s real. We might have agreed to Shelley’s plan, but none of us are pretending when it comes to you.”
Her scent shifts—sweet and warm, laced with something hesitant but unmistakably her. Besides the guys, she’s the only other person on this planet Icansmell. It’s always been her, and it pulls at something deep in my chest, something I thought I’d buried years ago.
“I know we’ve got a lot to make up for,” I admit, my voice softening. “And I know it’s not going to be easy. We hurt you. I hurt you. And I hate that more than I can put into words.”
She looks away then, her lashes lowering like she’s trying to shield herself. But she doesn’t pull her hand from mine. That has to mean something.
“I’m not expecting you to forgive me overnight,” I say, keeping my tone calm, steady. “Or even to believe me right away. But I’m ready to put in the work, Ash. I’m not going anywhere. None of us are.”
Her gaze flicks back to mine, her lips pressed into a thin line. For a moment, we’re just sitting there, the noise of the coffee shop fading into the background, the flashes of cameras outside no longer mattering.
“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers finally, her voice so quiet I almost miss it.
The ache in her voice nearly breaks me, but I hold her gaze, determined to make her believe me. “You don’t have to decide now,” I say gently. “All I’m asking is for a chance. Let me—let us—show you that we mean it this time.”
Her fingers twitch under mine, and she exhales a shaky breath. “This isn’t just about me, Jake. It’s about all of you. And… it’s a lot.”
“I know,” I say, nodding. “And we’ll take it one step at a time. No pressure, no expectations. Just… let us try.”
She doesn’t answer, but the faintest nod of her head gives me hope.
The cameras are still snapping outside, but for once, I don’t care. This moment isn’t for them—it’s for her. For us.
I let her hand go slowly, giving her the space I know she needs, but I don’t look away. “Whatever it takes, Ash,” I say softly, my voice low enough that only she can hear. “You’re worth it.”
Her lips part, and I can see the conflict in her eyes, but there’s something else there too. Something softer, something I haven’t seen in a long time.
Hope.
It’s small, barely there, but it’s enough.
The car ride to her building is quiet, but the air between us hums with tension. Ashlyn’s fingers fidget with the strap of her bag, her gaze locked on the window as though the streetlights outside hold all the answers. Her scent lingers in the small space, soft and sweet—but there’s a hint of something tart, unspoken.
When the car pulls to a stop in front of her building, she exhales softly, like she’s been holding her breath. “Thanks for tonight,” she says, her voice low and almost hesitant.
