Page 174 of California Wild

Toward her.

The wound was shallow, but it burned like fire. Every move sent a sharp, wet pain lancing through his ribs, blood seeping hot against his side. He should stop. Should press something cleaner against it. Should get stitches.

Later.

He’d figure it out later.

Right now, he had somewhere to be.

Someone to see.

Hayley.

His mind latched onto her like a lifeline, cutting through the pain, through the haze, through the fucking chaos screaming inside his skull.

Go.

His body moved on instinct, slipping from the alley’s shadows and toward his truck parked a few blocks away. He weaved through the city like a ghost, head down, steps quick, keeping to the dim-lit sidewalks, avoiding the places where people would look too long, ask too many questions.

He didn’t have time for questions.

One foot in front of the other.

The rhythmic pulse of pain.

The slow, sticky warmth of blood under his shirt.

He exhaled through his teeth, forcing his breath steady as he yanked the truck door open and climbed inside. His fingers trembled as he shoved the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life, a low, steady growl that echoed in his bones. His ribs flared hot as he pulled out, the city’s neon glow stretching and blurring as exhaustion crept in.

He reached for his phone, flipping it open, his thumb fumbling over the screen. The texts popped up first. Multiple.

Then—

Voicemail.

His pulse thundered as he lifted the phone to his ear.

Static. Then—her voice.

Soft. Breaking. Raw.

“Jesse… I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if you’re okay. I don’t know if you’re hurt or if you’re just… gone.”

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel.

She sounded small. Scared. He could hear it in every syllable, the tight strain of breath between words. The way she hesitated before speaking, like she was trying to hold herself together.

Like she was trying not to fall apart.

“But I can’t do this. I can’t do this if it’s going to be like this.”

His jaw clenched.

She thought he left her.

That he was pulling the same old Jesse shit. Ghosting. Running. Disappearing when things got too hard.

A sharp twist coiled in his gut, something angry, something sick. He checked the time on the dash. It was late. Late enough that she’d probably cried herself to sleep.

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