She leans forward, resting her arms on the table. “Ash, come on. What is it? Did someone say something? Do something? Do I need to get my guys to take them out?”
A laugh pops out of my mouth. I’m positive her guys don’t have it in them to ‘take someone out’. Still her question presses a crack into the wall I’ve been holding up, and I hesitate, my hand tightening around the coffee cup.
“You can tell me,” she presses, her voice soft, reassuring.
I meet her eyes, and suddenly, everything inside me feels too raw, too exposed. Moisture gathers at the corners of my eyes, and I try to blink it back, but it’s no use. I finally let it slip, barely able to speak the words. “Primal Pulse.” They come out as a whisper, almost catching in the emotion clogging my throat.
The tear that slips down my cheek feels like a betrayal. She stares at me for a beat, frozen in disbelief.
“Wait.” Her voice drops to a stunned whisper. “What? The guys?Your pack? Todd, West, Jake, and Xayden. ThatPrimal Pulse?”
I nod, the words caught in my throat, too thick to push out.
“Ashlyn.” Her tone shifts, surprised and disbelieving. “You’re kidding me. After all these years, after everything—you’re... what, talking to them again?”
I sink deeper into the booth, wishing I could just disappear into it. “Not by choice,” I mutter, my voice barely audible, the past pressing down on me harder than ever.
She blinks, processing that. “What do you mean ‘not by choice’?”
“It’s for the show. Shelley thought it’d be a great idea to collaborate with them. Boost ratings, or whatever.” My fingers curl around the edge of the table as the words settle inside of me. Shit, what am I going to do?
Lilah stares at me like I’ve just told her I’m moving to the moon. “And you didn’t say no?”
“Icouldn’t, Lilah! It’s my job. I didn’t exactly have a choice. Our ratings have dropped, people don’t care about omegas dressing up and walking a runway. We need to add somethingfresh. Likethem.” My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but the frustration bubbling up inside me refuses to stay buried.
Her expression softens, but only slightly. “Okay, but how bad was it? Did they say anything? Did they...” she trails off, like she doesn’t want to finish the sentence.
“They were terrible,” I admit, my voice cracking. “Cold, distant, like I was nothing but a bad memory they wish they could forget. Which, fine. That’s fair, I guess.” I swallow hard, fighting the tightness in my throat. “But it still hurt.”
Lilah exhales slowly, her hands curling into fists on the table. “Ash, you don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t have to?—”
“I don’t have a choice,” I cut her off, my voice quieter now. “I just... I have to get through it. That’s all.”
She watches me for a moment, her expression torn between anger and heartbreak. Finally, she reaches across the table, covering my hand with hers. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know. I’m here. Whatever you need.”
I manage a shaky smile, giving her hand a squeeze. “Thanks, Lilah. But this... it’s my mess to sort out.”
Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t press me further. Instead, she leans back in her seat, giving me the space I need.
“Fine,” she says, voice heavy, but it’s laced with concern. “But if they cross any lines, I swear I’ll?—”
“I’ll handle it,” I cut in, my tone firmer than I feel.
She gives a tight nod, then leans in with a smirk. “I’m your sister, Ash. And whatever you need, I’m here. Need me to throw a blanket over the window to block the sun? I’m your girl. Want me to storm their studio and tell them to fuck off? I’m on it. Hell, if you want to go get trashed and puke on some random dude that you want to have sex with, I’ll be your wing-woman.”
A laugh escapes me at the thought, a little lighter than before. “I’ll be okay. Promise.”
CHAPTER 5
West
That night,my pen hovers over the paper, the words trapped in my chest, refusing to spill out. Ash showing up after all these years—it hit me like a bucket of cold water, freezing me in place. I’ve seen her on the covers of magazines, sure, but those images were always distant, something I could look at without feeling. But having her standing in front of me, real and solid, and not being able to pull her into my arms the way I’ve dreamed of for so long... it felt off. It felt wrong. Every part of it.
I try to write. I try to force the words out, but nothing comes close to what I need. My pen scratches the paper, attempting to capture everything I feel, but the words fall short every time. I write about loss. About heartbreak. The hollow ache of things unsaid, things unfinished.
The first line comes out raw:"I thought I could forget you."
But it doesn’t feel like it’s about her. It feels empty, rehearsed. I crumple up the paper and toss it to the side.
