Page 121 of California Wild

He’d never brought a girl here because this place was his. A part of his life that stayed separate from all the mess he’d ever dragged into relationships.

But Hayley wasn’t separate. Not anymore.

And he didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

Isaac leaned over a little while later, voice low enough that only Jesse could hear. “You good?”

Jesse nodded once. “Yeah.”

Isaac watched him for a beat longer. “Then relax. She’s fine. You’re the one acting like someone’s gonna take her away.”

Jesse exhaled, the words hitting deeper than he’d admit.

Because Isaac was right.

She wasn’t slipping away.

Not yet.

But he’d lost her before.

And tonight, surrounded by his team, her laughter in his ear, her fingers trailing absently over his forearm as she talked—Jesse couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the moment he had to hold onto.

* * * * *

Hayley told herself she wasn’t nervous.

She wasn’t.

Not really.

She’d met Jesse’s friends before—at Holding Company, at shows, passing moments in too-loud bars. They knew Dead Run Riot. They knew her. The girl with the sharp eyeliner and the sharper voice. The frontwoman. The storm in leather boots.

But this wasn’t that.

This wasn’t a gig or a party or a half-drunk night they’d all forget in the morning.

This was Jesse.

Real Jesse.

And she didn’t know who the hell that was anymore.

He wasn’t drunk.

Wasn’t high.

Wasn’t reckless, wild, bleeding at the edges like he used to be.

He was clear-eyed and steady. Quiet in a way that made her nervous.

Still Jesse—but different.

And that unsettled something deep in her.

She sat at a weathered table on McP’s patio, string lights glowing soft and amber overhead, the smell of salt and beer mixing with the faint sweetness of summer air. The place pulsed with energy—off-duty SEALs trading war stories, beer bottles clinking, the low thrum of live music bleeding from the bar’s open doors.

Jesse moved through it like he’d been born here.

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