Page 196 of California Wild

Hayley moved fast, arms wrapped tightly around herself, trying to hold in the chaos spiraling inside her. Her stomach churned, a sick mix of nausea and anxiety pressing against her ribs. The fight with Zoe still burned hot in her veins, but beneath it was a deeper exhaustion. One that curled into her bones, heavier than it had ever felt before.

She felt sick.

She felt lost.

And worst of all—she felt alone.

Her phone buzzed.

She almost ignored it. But then she saw the name.

Heath Carrington.

Hayley frowned, swiping to answer. “Hey?”

“Where are you?”

No preamble. No bullshit. Just direct. Straight to the point, like he already knew she wasn’t okay.

Hayley swallowed, glancing around. “Uh, walking downtown.”

“Where?”

She told him the cross street.

There was a pause. Then, “Stay there. I’m on my way.”

The line went dead before she could argue.

Hayley blinked at her phone. What the hell?

She wasn’t in the mood to be around anyone—least of all one of Jesse’s teammates. But something in Heath’s voice, something calm, steady, absolute, kept her feet planted on the sidewalk.

Five minutes later, a white Ford F-250 rumbled to a stop at the curb.

The truck was huge, the kind of vehicle that looked like it could tow an entire damn house if needed. The man who stepped out of it was no different.

Heath Carrington.

Six-three. Built like a brick wall. Broad as hell, shoulders filling out a navy t-shirt that stretched tight over muscles stacked from years of carrying, lifting, patching, fixing. He looked like a man who had spent his entire life holding the weight of others.

Older than Jesse—maybe late thirties—with sharp blue eyes, close-cropped brown hair graying at the temples, and a squared jaw that always looked one second away from locking into a scowl.

But when his gaze landed on her, something in his face softened.

Just a little.

“Hayley.” He opened the passenger door. “Come on. Get in.”

She hesitated.

“Not a request,” he added, his voice even.

Hayley didn’t argue.

She climbed into the cab, pulling the door shut as Heath merged back into traffic.

The truck smelled like sawdust, leather, and coffee, a toolbox shoved in the backseat alongside a mess of supplies. She vaguely remembered Jesse mentioning once that Heath did handyman work on the side. Medic by trade, but also the guy who fixed things, the old-school kind of protector who didn’t just patch wounds—he made sure things didn’t break in the first place.

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