He saunters to the front, twirling a drumstick between his fingers like it’s just another day, the picture of ease. But I know better. I see the tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his jaw that gives him away.
“Vulnerability,” he starts, his voice light, almost teasing. “Not exactly my favorite topic.”
A few of the contestants chuckle nervously, and he grins, but it’s not the grin I know. It doesn’t light up the room, doesn’t invite you into his orbit the way it used to. This one is thin, strained, like it’s holding something back.
“I’m the guy who makes people laugh,” he says, spinning the drumstick once more before letting it fall to his side. “The joker, the clown. It’s what I do. It’s what I’ve always done. Because if people are laughing, they’re not looking too closely. And if they’re not looking too closely, they can’t see the cracks.”
The room goes quiet, his words hanging heavy in the air, cutting deeper than his usual humor ever could.
Xayden’s grin falters, and for a moment, he looks younger, almost boyish, like the weight of his own words is pressing down on him.
“But the truth?” he says, his voice rougher now, like the words cost him something. “The truth is… I don’t trust people. Not really. Because trusting people means giving them the power to hurt you. And I learned a long time ago that even the people you love the most can do that.”
He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t have to. The words hit like a punch anyway, knocking the air from my lungs.
Because I know what he’s talking about.
It’s me.
It’s us.
I know his past with his dad and mom. And I hurt him too. Maybe not the same way, but pain is pain.
Every word feels like a knife, carving through the walls I’ve tried to keep up since the day I walked away. First Jake’s steady, heartbreaking admission. Then Todd’s raw confession. West’s loneliness, a perfect reflection of my own. And now Xayden, the one who always seemed untouchable, standing there and letting his pain bleed into the room.
The cracks in all of them are too familiar. They mirror the ones I’ve carried for years, the ones I thought I could hide behind the mask of my career, my perfect public image. But sitting here now, hearing them lay it all bare, I can feel those same cracks widening inside me, threatening to break me open.
Xayden steps back, his shoulders stiff, his mask slipping just enough for me to see the vulnerability underneath.
Shelley claps, a grin forming on her face. She is completely oblivious to the fact they just bared themselves in front of the whole filming crew.
“That is ratings gold right there. Hearing Primal Pulse open up, it will make viewers so invested. It’s perfect. Like your romance playing out for the world to see.”
I can’t let it end like this. With Shelley making their words seem like part of the fake dating or just for the show. I know that’s not what they were, and I can’t let their words hang in the air, unanswered, unacknowledged, like I’m still running from what we were. From what we still are.
Before I can second-guess myself, I stand, my heart pounding as I walk to the front. All eyes are on me, but the only ones that matter are theirs.
The guys watch me with varying degrees of surprise and hesitation, their emotions as raw and unguarded as they’ve ever been.
I take a deep breath, my hands trembling at my sides. “Shelley’s right, viewers will like the openness, and there is something I’d like to admit,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel. “This shoot is about vulnerability. And if we’re going to ask the contestants to be honest, we need to be honest too.”
I pause, letting my gaze sweep over each of them before I continue.
“I’ve worn a mask for years,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “I made a choice a long time ago, and it wasn’t just my careerthat I chose. It was safety. It was easier to leave than to face the fact that I was scared. Scared of what we had, scared of what it meant, scared of how much I cared about all of you.”
My words settle over the room, and I see the flickers of recognition in their faces.
“When you four demanded I choose, I ran,” I continue, my throat tightening. “And I’ve regretted it every day since. Because walking away didn’t make it easier. It didn’t make the feelings go away. It just made me lonely. It made me hollow.”
I swallow hard, forcing myself to meet their eyes, one by one. “You’re not the only ones who are broken. I am too. And I don’t know how to fix it, but I’m here now. And I’m willing to try.”
The silence stretches, thick and heavy, but it isn’t empty. It’s full of everything we’ve left unsaid for too long, of the truths that each of us have bared today. It’s raw, and it hurts, but it feels like the first real thing I’ve had in years.
Then Shelley’s voice cuts through it like a blade.
“Cut!” she shouts, her heels clicking against the floor as she strides toward me, a wide grin plastered on her face. “That wasperfect!I love it. The audience will love it. Perfect addition, Ashlyn.”
I blink, her words pulling me out of the vulnerable haze I’ve been stuck in. She’s beaming at me, already moving on, already seeing the moment as part of the bigger machine she’s building.
