Page 191 of California Wild

The mission briefing was fast and to the point. Jesse barely had time to absorb it before they were moving.

A hostage extraction. High-value personnel. Sensitive location.

No guarantees of success.

The prep was a blur.

Gear up. Kit up. Check weapons. Run comms. Everything automatic, his body moving like a machine while his mind was a thousand miles away. Every movement was second nature, every click of his rifle, every strap tightened, every last-minute adjustment to his gear. He should have been locked in, dialed in. Instead, there was a gnawing at his gut—something raw and aching, something pulling him in the opposite direction.

Hayley.

Kwilé.

Everything he was leaving behind.

He forced it down. Focus. He had to focus.

But then—Heath.

Jesse caught him in the med room, the harsh overhead fluorescents making the lines in Heath’s face look deeper, his sharp blue eyes scanning him with that familiar, assessing intensity. The kind that saw right through every wall Jesse ever put up.

Jesse shut the door behind him and exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair before yanking up his shirt.

“I need you to check this for me.”

Heath’s expression didn’t change. Just a sharp nod, already moving. No questions, no hesitation.

Jesse barely flinched as Heath peeled the blood-soaked bandage away from his side. The wound was ugly—red, irritated, sluggishly leaking—nothing life-threatening, but bad enough that he should have handled it hours ago. Heath didn’t say anything, but Jesse felt the judgment in his silence.

“Jesus, man,” Heath muttered, reaching for his supplies. “This is a fresh wound, isn’t it? What the fuck happened?”

“Ran into a junkie,” Jesse gritted out. “Didn’t see the blade.”

Heath huffed, already dousing gauze with antiseptic. “Bet that felt great.”

Jesse sucked in a sharp breath as Heath pressed the gauze to his side, fire licking through his ribs. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay still. There was no time for painkillers, no time for anything. Just a quick patch job before he had to be on that plane.

“I can glue it instead of stitching,” Heath said, voice calm, clinical. “Less time, less movement restriction. It’ll hold for the op, but you’re gonna feel it.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say,” Heath muttered.

Jesse’s fingers flexed on his thighs as he braced against the pain. It wasn’t just the wound that was eating him alive. It waseverything. The deployment. The unfinished business. Hayley. Kwilé. The fact that he was getting on a fucking plane and leaving it all behind.

He bowed his head, elbows digging into his knees, fingers pressing hard against his skull as he squeezed his eyes shut.

And then, suddenly, there were tears.

Silent, steady, burning hot as they slid down his face.

He didn’t sob. Didn’t make a sound. Just sat there with his head in his hands, letting the weight of it crash over him.

Heath stilled, the med kit shifting slightly on the metal tray.

“Brother,” he said quietly. “What’s going on?”

Jesse dragged in a slow, shuddering breath. “This is the worst fucking timing for me to go.”

---