Page 16 of California Wild

But Jesse knew better.

He grabbed the last pizza box and water, stepped out of the truck, and glanced around before heading down the stairs to the half-open basement.

He didn’t knock.

Didn’t need to.

Inside, the air smelled like smoke, damp wood, and something earthy—sage, maybe.

Jesse eased past a pile of old blankets, stepping carefully over the rotting floorboards, before lowering himself into the one remaining chair that hadn’t collapsed under its own weight.

Across from him, Kwilé Nathaniel Osuna, an elderly Kumeyaay man, sat propped up against a stack of old crates, wrapped in a threadbare blanket.

Kwilé wasn’t just homeless.

He was a storykeeper. A man with too much history and nowhere to put it.

Jesse set the pizza and water down beside him. “Evening, old man.”

Kwilé cracked one eye open. “You always come this late.”

Jesse shrugged. “You always still awake.”

That earned him a low, rattling chuckle. “Fair point.”

Jesse leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. “How you holding up?”

Kwilé exhaled slow, shifting slightly beneath his blanket. “Still breathing.”

Jesse nodded. “That’s something.”

For a moment, they just sat in the quiet.

There was no rush here. No need for small talk or explanations.

Kwilé had been through too much, seen too much. Jesse never asked why he chose this life, and Kwilé never asked why Jesse kept coming back.

The pizza box sat untouched between them.

Kwilé’s fingers ghosted over it. “Still wasting your money on lost causes?”

Jesse half-smiled. “You’re eating it, aren’t you?”

Kwilé chuckled, shaking his head. He slowly opened the water bottle, taking a few careful sips before resting it in his lap. His hands, weathered and veined, trembled slightly.

Jesse knew he was sick. Really sick. The type of sick and poor that didn’t mix well.

Had been for a long time.

But Kwilé never talked about it.

Instead, he tilted his head, studying Jesse with those sharp, knowing eyes.

“You’re carrying too much weight again.”

Jesse exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “You always say that.”

Kwilé shrugged. “And I’m always right.”

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