Page 85 of Ashley & the A-Listers

God, this is why he hated alphas.

No. Dylan needed to figure his shit out first. He couldn’t spring something like that on Ashley right away. Not when they were about to part ways for the first time in years.

He felt so young just then, floundering with his new designation and all the feelings now bumbling around in his body and brain.

Eventually the headlights splashed across Ashley’s house, and he glanced over to find her asleep, head resting against the window. In that instinctive sense everyone had, she blinked her eyes open when the tires bumped over her driveway.

“Oh my god, sorry I slept the whole way. Shitty passenger much?” she mumbled and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

She was so cute he wanted to just hold her tight and squeeze. The affection was so strong he couldn’t breathe.

“No worries,” he managed to say. “Easy drive.”

He watched the moment she remembered the kiss, her eyes widening before dropping from his own, avoiding.

Dylan shut the car off and the silence was loud, louder than the concert had been. “Ready, sleepyhead?” he asked.

Ashley snapped into action, grabbing her bag and water bottle and looping the former over her head.

He got out and walked her to the door, because he always did. He was hyper-aware of where their arms brushed as they walked, and they came to a stop far too soon.

“I had so much fun.” She squeezed her eyes closed, still grinning. “Literally the best night of my life, I think.”

“Glad I was there for it,” he said, both wishing she would open the door so he could get this goodbye over with and also aching for the night never to end. If only they could go back to that one perfect moment where their lips met, before everything went sideways, and live there.

“You look tired,” she said. “Thanks for driving. Get some sleep.” She squeezed his arm and he cupped his hand over hers.

“You, too,” he responded, unsure of what to say because in his newly alpha brain, with nothing but hormones buzzing around, he couldn’t exactly find the correct words to describe just what was going on in his chest.

For a moment, she lingered, and if he wasn’t so in his own head he would’ve seen how she swayed toward him, eyes studying, waiting for a moment that never came.

And then the moment was over, and she pulled away and opened the door and the light of the lamp her mom had left on spilled onto the concrete step.

“Goodnight,” he said softly.

“Night, Dylan,” she said, gaze just as sweet as ever. “Text me?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll text you,” he said, and waved as she tiptoed into the house, a shy smile on her lips before the door closed.

He stuffed her mom’s money in the mailbox with a hastily scribbled thanks, and left.

Dylan did not text Ashley.

Not when he got home. Not the next morning. Not the following days as he packed his shit and moved to the campus near his sister and found a job at a coffee shop for criminally low pay and shitty tips because all the customers were equally broke students.

Not as he found some alphas to buddy up with, failed out of college in his second year, and used their connections to get hired into a security program. For the first time ever, he had insurance, got therapy, and talked his shit out.

His pack found an omega, his own damned sister, so Dylan left, on his own once more.

Then once he finished training, he bounced around from place to place depending on where the security company needed him.

Dylan tried not to think about the biggest mistake of his life.

But the texts he received went ignored, until he broke his phone on a job and then they… stopped.

Some things would never change, no matter how much time passed or how much distance was between them.

It had occurred to Dylan before, of course, that he shouldn’t have run. That he shouldn’t have moved with his sister without saying goodbye. That he shouldn’t have left Ashley behind.

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