Page 144 of California Wild

He didn’t say anything.

Just looked down at his empty foil wrapper and crumpled it slowly between his fingers.

The silence stung more than anything else.

“You’re here,” she said, “but it still feels like I’m doing this alone.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to shut you out.”

“Then what are you trying to do?” she whispered. “What are you so afraid of?”

His body went still.

The air changed.

He glanced at her—sharp, unreadable—then blew out a breath and offered a half-laugh that didn’t sound like anything but deflection. “Jesus, Hayley. Don’t go therapist mode on me.”

She stared at him. “I’m not.”

But he’d already shut down.

The wall was up. The one she hated. The one she couldn’t reach through, no matter how hard she tried.

Back at his place, the screen door slammed shut behind them. The light had shifted—long shadows casting gold across the wood floor.

Hayley paced toward the couch, then turned back toward him, arms folded tight.

She wasn’t trying to fight.

She wasn’t.

But it slipped out before she could stop it.

“I don’t even know how you were raised,” she said, her voice sharp, brittle. “How am I supposed to know what kind of father you’ll be?”

Silence.

A long beat of nothing.

Then Jesse looked at her—eyes hollow, jaw tight.

“You wanna know what kind of father I had?” he said, voice low and cold. “One who beat the shit out of me when I asked questions.”

The air left the room.

Hayley’s stomach turned.

She opened her mouth. “Jesse, I didn’t mean—”

But he was already walking past her. His movements clipped, his body tense.

He disappeared into the bedroom.

She heard the dresser drawer open. The quiet rustle of fabric. The unmistakable sound of his running shoes hitting the floor.

When he walked back out, he was in old Navy shorts and a black tee, his laces in his hands.

He didn’t say anything.

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