Page 189 of California Wild

“Please,” she said. “There must be another way.”

“I wish, Hayley.” He held her tighter. “Just do this for me. Just be safe.”

Her hands came up, warm and soft against his face, her thumbs brushing over the bruises he hadn’t even realized still ached until she touched them. Her fingers trembled.

“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispered.

And fuck—it shattered something in him.

Because neither did he.

But he was leaving. Again. Asking her to wait. Again. Asking her to believe in him when he knew damn well how many times he’d given her reasons not to.

His jaw clenched. His throat burned. He didn’t have time to say all the things he needed to say. No time to explain how much it fucking killed him to walk away from her. From this.

So he did the only thing he could.

He grabbed her—one hand in her hair, the other around her waist—and kissed her like it was the last goddamn breath in his body.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet.

It was raw.

Hard.

Desperate.

His mouth crushed hers, his teeth scraping, his tongue sliding deep like he could memorize her from the inside out. Like he could take part of her with him and leave part of himself behind.

She gasped against him, fingers clutching his shoulders, her body pressed so tight to his he could feel her heartbeat hammering in rhythm with his.

“I love you,” he rasped, forehead pressed to hers, breath shaking. “Too fucking much.”

“I love you, Jesse,” she breathed, her voice breaking. “With everything I have.”

He kissed her again—fast, fierce, one more time before he lost his nerve.

Then—he pulled back.

Let go.

And turned.

Walked out the door with the taste of her still on his lips and the echo of her love in his chest.

Chapter 29

The tires screeched as Jesse pulled into his parking lot, his heart slamming against his ribs. The morning light cast long, sharp shadows through the trees over his truck, his apartment in the duplex, the ordinary world he was about to leave behind—again.

No time.

He killed the engine and moved, his ribs aching with every breath as he jogged to his door. His side still throbbed from the stab wound, but it didn’t fucking matter. Nothing did right now except getting back to base.

His keys fumbled against the lock before he shoved inside. The apartment was dark, still smelling like her—flowery hair, vanilla skin, the faintest trace of the tea she drank at night.

Straight to the closet. The go-bag was always ready. SEAL life meant being ready to deploy at a moment’s notice, so hisbag was packed with essentials—extra uniforms, clean socks, toiletries, cash, copies of important documents. He yanked it out, double-checking the inside. Ammo, multi-tool, flashlight, gloves, tourniquets—not the issued stuff, but the good stuff.

Last—the personal shit. A charm necklace his mom had give him with a cross. The chain slipped around his neck, settling against his chest. Wallet. Work phone. Personal phone.

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