23. Aria

23

ARIA

I slip into the community center like I’m infiltrating enemy territory, my heart doing its best impression of a jackhammer against my ribs. The room is half full, folding chairs arranged in a depressing circle that screams, “Group therapy.” The air is thick with anticipation and the sour tang of stale coffee, fighting a losing battle against industrial-strength cleaner. A hint of sweat and desperation lingers beneath it all, a potent cocktail of human struggle.

I choose a seat near the back, the plastic chair creaking in protest as I sit—so much for blending in. The cold plastic against my back sends a shiver down my spine.

As I scan the room for Dash, my brain decides it’s the perfect time for a greatest hits reel of our worst moments—his cocky grin, and the dismissive flick of his wrist as he laughed off my concerns like they were no more important than deciding what to have for lunch. The memory sits in my gut like I swallowed a block of ice.

I can almost hear Cayenne’s voice in my head, calling me ten kinds of stupid for giving him another chance, but then again, my best friend’s romantic history reads like a cautionary tale, so pot, meet kettle.

When Dash finally walks in, I do a double take. Gone is the carefree alpha who acted like the world was his personal playground. This Dash looks… smaller somehow… vulnerable. There’s a set to his jaw that speaks of determination, but his eyes are what really throw me. They are clear and present. It’s unsettling as hell.

Our eyes meet, and for a second, I see surprise flicker across his face before it softens into something that might be gratitude. He gives me a small nod. I nod back, jutting out my chin in a gesture that warns him not to get any ideas. I’m not here to make things easy for him, after all.

The meeting kicks off, chair legs scraping against linoleum like nails on a chalkboard. One by one, people start sharing their stories. It’s raw, unfiltered honesty that sucker punches me right in the feels. Each tale of struggle and hope, of face-planting into rock bottom and clawing their way back up, hits closer to home than I’d like to admit.

I find myself wondering how the others would handle this. Would Malachi’s calm authority crack? Would Zane’s brooding intensity soften? Would Quinn make inappropriate jokes to lighten the mood? The thought of any of them in this vulnerable position is so foreign, it’s almost laughable.

I steal glances at Dash as others speak. He’s laser focused and nodding along, occasionally offering words of encouragement that sound genuine instead of rehearsed. It’s like watching a stranger wear Dash’s face. The Dash I knew couldn’t sit still for five minutes without bursting into song or trying to start a conga line. This Dash is still, attentive, and present in a way that makes my skin prickle with unease.

Finally, Dash stands up. His eyes find mine for a split second, and I catch a flash of anxiety before he takes a deep breath and dives in.

“Hi, I’m Dash, and I’m an alcoholic,” he says, his voice steady even as his hands clench into white-knuckled fists at his sides. “I’ve been sober for thirty days now.”

He pauses, and I swear you could hear a pin drop. His usual rapid-fire chatter is gone, replaced by careful, measured words, but there’s still a hint of the old Dash in the way he runs his hand through his hair, messing it up in that effortlessly sexy way that used to drive me crazy—and not always in a good way.

“There’s someone in my life,” he continues, and suddenly his gaze is locked on mine, pinning me to my seat, “someone I hurt badly because of my drinking. I was arrogant and dismissive… I treated her like she was less than me because she was an omega, but the truth is, she’s one of the strongest people I know, and I’m here today because I want to be worthy of her forgiveness, even if I never receive it.”

The raw honesty in his voice hits me like a blow to the solar plexus. Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes, and I ruthlessly blink them back. This isn’t the Dash I thought I knew. This is… I don’t even know. It’s like someone reached inside him and flipped a switch, revealing depths I never knew existed. I find myself wondering how Quinn or Zane would react to this transformation. Would they be as thrown off balance as I am?

When the meeting wraps up, I stay glued to my seat, my mind whirling like I just stepped off a tilt-a-whirl. Dash approaches cautiously, like I’m a spooked animal that might bolt at any sudden movement.

“Aria,” he says softly, uncertainty clouding his usually confident demeanor. “Thank you for coming. I know it couldn’t have been easy.”

I stand, meeting his gaze head-on. There’s a tsunami of words building behind my teeth, but what comes out is, “Well, I’m full of surprises. Don’t think this means everything’s forgiven and forgotten though.”

Dash nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. It’s not his usual I’m God’s gift to omegas grin, but something softer and more real. “I wouldn’t expect it to be, but… would you maybe want to grab a coffee? Talk a bit more?”

I hesitate, weighing my options. Part of me wants to run for the hills and put as much distance between me and this new, unsettling Dash as possible, but another part—a part I’m not entirely comfortable acknowledging—wants to know more.

“Okay,” I hear myself answer, the word tasting foreign on my tongue. “But you’re buying. Consider it the first installment in your grand apology tour.”

As we step out into the cool night air, there’s a shift in the atmosphere between us, subtle but unmistakable. Dash walks beside me, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him, but he’s careful not to touch. It’s a level of consideration I’m not used to from him, and it throws me off balance.

The coffee shop is just a block away, a beacon of warmth and caffeine in the gathering twilight. As we walk, I can’t help but notice how different Dash’s energy is. There’s a stillness to him now, a steadiness that’s both intriguing and slightly unnerving.

Our hands brush accidentally as we navigate around a puddle, and I swear I feel a jolt of electricity at the contact. I jerk away like I’ve been burned and catch a flicker of something cross Dash’s face.

Inside, the rich aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wraps around us like a warm blanket. I order a latte, and Dash asks for an herbal tea—and isn’t that a mindfuck all on its own—and then we snag a quiet corner table.

For a moment, we sit in awkward silence, the weight of our shared history hanging between us. I wrap my hands around my steaming latte, letting the warmth seep into my fingers as I study Dash over the rim of my mug. He looks… different. Older, somehow. The perpetual mischievous glint in his eyes has been replaced by something deeper and more contemplative.

“So…” I finally break the silence, my voice coming out harsher than I intended. “Thirty days, huh?”

Dash nods, his fingers tracing abstract patterns on the tabletop. “Yeah. It’s been… a journey.”

I can’t help but snort at that. “A journey. That’s one way to put it.”

His eyes snap up to meet mine, and I’m struck by the intensity I see there. “Aria, I know I have a lot to make up for. What I did to you… how I treated you… it’s unforgivable.”

“You’re right,” I say bluntly. “It is.”

He flinches but nods. “I know, and I’m not asking for forgiveness. Not yet at least. I just… I want you to know that I see it now—how wrong I was and how much damage I caused.”

I take a sip of my latte, buying myself time to process his words. The Dash I knew would have brushed off any criticism with a laugh and a wink. This Dash, however, seems to be genuinely grappling with the weight of his actions. It’s disconcerting to say the least.

“So what changed?” I ask, unable to keep the skepticism from my voice. “Did you have some magical epiphany, or did you just get tired of waking up in a puddle of your own vomit?”

Dash winces, but he doesn’t shy away from my harsh words. “It wasn’t one big moment,” he says quietly. “It was a lot of little ones. Waking up and not knowing where I was or what I’d done. Seeing the fear in people’s eyes when I got angry. Realizing I couldn’t remember the last time I felt truly happy without a drink in my hand.” He pauses and takes a sip of his tea. “And then there was you.”

I freeze, my mug halfway to my lips. “Me?”

He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “The night you left… the things I said and the way I acted. When I sobered up and remembered, I was disgusted with myself. I kept trying to rationalize it and tell myself it wasn’t that bad, but I couldn’t shake the image of your expression and the hurt in your eyes. It haunted me.”

I swallow hard, fighting back the surge of emotions his words bring. “It wasn’t just that night, Dash. It was a pattern—a long, painful pattern.”

“I know,” he says, and the raw honesty in his voice makes me shiver. “That’s what I’m trying to change. Not just for you, but for myself. I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

I study him, searching for any sign of the old Dash—the charming manipulator and the self-centered alpha who thought the world revolved around him—but all I see is sincerity and a vulnerability that makes my chest ache in a way I’m not ready to examine too closely.

“It’s not going to be easy,” I warn him, my voice low. “You have a lot of ground to make up.”

Dash nods, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips. “I know, but I’m willing to put in the work, Aria. For the first time in my life, I think I’m ready to face my demons head-on.”

We lapse into silence again, but this time, it feels less strained. I sip my latte, letting the rich flavor roll over my tongue as I mull over Dash’s words. Part of me wants to believe him and embrace this new, more self-aware version of the man I once loved, but another part—the part that still flinches at loud noises and second-guesses every decision—remains wary.

“I’m proud of you,” I blurt, because I am.

Dash’s eyes widen. He’s clearly caught off guard by my sudden declaration. For a moment, he looks almost boyish, but then something deeper settles in his gaze, a mix of gratitude and determination that makes my heart stutter.

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly. “That means more than you know.”

I nod, suddenly feeling exposed. I wrap my hands tighter around my mug, using it as a shield. “Don’t let it go to your head,” I warn, but there’s no real bite to my words.

Dash chuckles, a low, warm sound that sends an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, then he sobers. “Look, Aria, I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but… I’d like to try to make amends if you’ll let me.”

I study him, weighing his words against years of broken promises and shattered trust. The smart thing to do would be to walk away and protect myself from the possibility of more pain, but something in his eyes and the set of his shoulders makes me pause.

“I can’t make any promises,” I say slowly, my heart pounding, “and I’m not saying I forgive you. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I’m not slamming the door in your face, but don’t expect me to roll out the welcome mat either.”

Relief and hope brightens Dash’s face. “Slow and steady it is. I’ll be your tortoise if you’ll be my… well, not hare. Maybe a slightly less jumpy rabbit?”

I nod, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of this moment. “I should probably get going,” I say, glancing at my watch. “It’s getting late.”

Dash stands as I gather my things, ever the gentleman. “Can I walk you home?” he asks, then he quickly adds, “Just to make sure you get there safely. No ulterior motives, I promise.”

I hesitate for a moment, then nod. “Alright, but keep your hands to yourself, mister.”

As we step out into the cool night air, I feel a strange mix of trepidation and excitement. This new Dash is unfamiliar territory, but there’s something undeniably appealing about his newfound maturity and self-awareness.

As we walk, I think about how this interaction might affect my relationships with the other pack members. How would Malachi react to Dash’s transformation? Would Zane’s protective instincts flare up? And Quinn… Would he see this as a potential threat or a positive development for the pack?

The silence between us is charged but not uncomfortable. Dash shoves his hands into his pockets, his shoulder brushing mine every so often in a way that feels deliberate, like a question he’s too afraid to ask aloud.

“So, about that apology tour,” he begins, breaking the quiet with a grin. “Any stops in mind?”

I glance at him, pretending to think it over. “I don’t know. I hear Paris is nice this time of year.”

Dash laughs, the sound full and genuine, and it sends a warm ripple through my chest. “I’ll get right on that, but maybe we start with a few more of these?” He gestures between us, the suggestion hanging in the air like an unspoken promise.

“Maybe,” I hedge, letting the word stretch out. “But you’re still buying.”

He grins, all boyish charm and mischief. “Deal.”

As we walk, I notice Dash’s steps are slower and more measured than they used to be. He’s not rushing or charging ahead like he always did, dragging everyone along in his wake. It’s like he’s finally in sync with the world around him, rather than trying to outpace it.

“You know, I never thanked you,” he says softly, breaking into my thoughts.

I look at him, puzzled. “For what?”

He hesitates, his eyes searching mine. “For walking away when I couldn’t—or wouldn’t—see what I was doing to you… to us.”

His words catch me off guard. I expected many things from Dash, but gratitude for leaving him wasn’t one of them. “You’re welcome?” The words come out more like a question, my confusion clear.

Dash smiles sadly. “After you left, I took a nosedive into the gutter. It wasn’t pretty, but it was the wake-up call I needed to pull my head out of my ass. It forced me to confront who I’d become, and it made me realize what I lost… what I’d thrown away.”

I swallow hard, looking away. The raw honesty in his voice is difficult to hear, but it’s what I’ve always wanted from him. “You did throw it away, Dash. You threw us away.”

He nods, accepting the harsh truth. “I know, and I can’t change the past, but I can make amends in the present and be better in the future.”

We stop at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. I turn to face him, studying his features in the glow of the streetlamps. He looks so different, yet so familiar. It’s an unsettling contrast.

“You hurt me, Dash,” I whisper. “You hurt me so much.”

Pain flashes across his face, and he reaches up, tentatively tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is gentle, hesitant, and respectful. “I know, Aria, and I’m so sorry. I’m so incredibly sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice is undeniable. I feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes and quickly blink them back. “Sorry isn’t enough, Dash. It can’t erase what happened.”

“I know,” he says softly, dropping his hand back to his side, “but it’s a start, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn your forgiveness, even if it takes a lifetime.”

The light changes, and we cross the street in silence. His words hang heavily in the air, a promise that feels both profound and frightening. As we approach my apartment building, I see the familiar warmth of the lights inside.

We stop at the entrance, and I turn to face him. “Well, this is me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dash nods, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. “Thank you for tonight, Aria. Thank you for listening and giving me a chance to explain.”

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts. “I’m glad I came, Dash. It was important to hear what you had to say, but remember, baby steps. We aren’t rushing into anything.”

He smiles softly, a hint of the old Dash shining through. “Baby steps. I can do that.”

There’s an awkward pause as we both hesitate, unsure how to end the evening. Finally, Dash leans in, brushing his lips gently against my cheek. It’s a chaste kiss, barely more than a whisper, but it sends a jolt of electricity through me nonetheless.

“Goodnight, Aria,” he murmurs, stepping back.

“Goodnight, Dash,” I reply quietly.

He waits until I’m safely inside the building before turning and walking away, his figure disappearing into the night. I watch him go, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. Hope, fear, and uncertainty all battle for dominance, leaving me feeling both exhilarated and exhausted.

As I make my way up to my apartment, I can’t shake the feeling that tonight was a turning point, a new beginning, or perhaps, at the very least, a step toward healing. Whatever it was, I know one thing for sure—the Dash I thought I knew is gone, and in his place is a man who seems genuinely committed to change.

I think about how this might affect the pack dynamics. How will they all fit with this new, sober Dash, and where do I fit in all of this?

As I unlock my apartment door, I’m hit with a wave of exhaustion. The emotional roller coaster of an evening has left me drained, but underneath the fatigue, there’s a small spark of something. Hope? Possibility?

I collapse onto my couch, kicking my shoes off and letting out a long sigh. My mind races, replaying every moment of the evening. Dash’s vulnerability at the AA meeting, his raw honesty over coffee, and the gentle kiss on my cheek all swirls together in a confusing mix of emotions.

Part of me wants to call Cayenne and get her take on the situation, but I know what she’d say. She’d tell me to run and protect myself, not give Dash another chance to hurt me, and maybe she’d be right.

Another part of me, a part that’s growing stronger by the minute, wants to see where this goes, giving both Dash and me a chance at redemption.

I pull out my phone, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. After a moment’s hesitation, I type out a quick message.

Me: Thanks for tonight. It meant a lot. Let’s talk again soon.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, then I toss the phone aside. Only time will tell if Dash’s actions will align with his words, but for now, I choose to hold onto a fragile hope. Maybe, just maybe, we can find a way to heal and move forward together.

As I drift off to sleep, my last thoughts are of the pack. How will they react to this development? Will they support this tentative reconnection, or will it cause friction? Whatever happens, I know one thing for sure—life in Pack Clarke is about to get a lot more complicated.