Page 139 of California Wild

She hated that this was how he found her—weak, sweating, kneeling on the floor like a wreck.

He didn’t speak. Just breathed. Just moved.

“Sorry,” she rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’t be.” His voice was low. Rough from sleep. But gentle.

Still, she felt the silence settle between them like dust. Heavy. Undisturbed. The kind of silence that came not from comfort—but from all the things they weren’t saying.

She stayed folded over for a minute longer, forehead against her arm, breath shaky. Her whole body trembled with leftover nausea. Every part of her felt foreign lately—like her skin didn’t fit right anymore. Like she was disappearing under the weight of something growing inside her.

“You okay?” Jesse asked softly.

Hayley nodded. Lied. “Yeah.”

He didn’t press. Just stood slowly and offered his hand to help her up.

The movement made her dizzy. Her head spun, her limbs heavy as she leaned into him, letting him guide her back to the bed likea ghost of herself. He helped her sit. Propped pillows behind her. Tugged a blanket up over her legs.

Then he left the room.

She stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, trying to breathe. Trying not to cry. God, she was so tired of crying. Tired of feeling like her body belonged to someone else. Like her insides were betraying her by the hour. Jesse was here—but it still felt like she was carrying this alone.

A few minutes later, he came back with a steaming mug and a small plate of dry toast.

“Tea,” he said simply. “And carbs.”

She took the mug with both hands, fingers wrapping around the ceramic for warmth. It smelled like ginger. He’d remembered. Of course he had. Jesse noticed things, remembered details. He just didn’t talk.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

He didn’t answer. Just sat on the edge of the bed and handed her the toast like it might break in his hands.

Hayley took a bite. One chew. Two.

Her stomach flipped again.

She set it down.

“I can’t,” she whispered, swallowing hard.

Jesse nodded once. Said nothing.

And that was worse than if he’d gotten frustrated. Worse than if he’d tried to fix it. This version of him—calm, quiet, helpful—felt like a stranger sometimes. Like he was playing the part of the boyfriend, the dad-to-be, checking boxes without letting her see what was actually going on inside him.

She glanced at him sideways. He was staring at the carpet. Shoulders tense. Hands braced on his thighs.

“Do you…” she started, hesitating. “Do you ever think this is too much?”

His head snapped up.

“What?”

“This.” She gestured to herself. “Me. The pregnancy. Everything. It’s a lot.”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed. His brow pulled tight.

But still—silence.

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