Page 202 of California Wild

“I should’ve told you sooner,” he said. “I should’ve fucking told you a million things sooner. But I swear to God, Hayley, I’m doing this. I need this. I need you.”

A lump formed in her throat, thick and heavy. “Jesse—”

“I just need you to wait a little longer.” His voice dropped to something quieter, rougher, pleading. “Because when I come home, I’m coming home for good.”

Hayley pressed her forehead against the pillow, her breath shaky, heart slamming against her ribs.

She had wanted this. Needed this.

But hearing it—really hearing it—felt like standing on the edge of something terrifying and beautiful.

A future. A promise.

Something real.

She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe. “You’re serious?”

“I swear to you, Hayley.”

She closed her eyes.

For the first time in a long, long time… she believed him.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and unstoppable.

“I have to go,” he said.

“I love you, Jesse.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but she knew he heard it.

She felt it in the way he exhaled, in the way his silence filled with something lighter, something steadier.

Like he had been holding his breath for three years—and she had finally given him permission to breathe again.

“I love you too much,” he said finally. “Be good, Hayley. I’ll be home soon enough.”

* * * * *

By day six of Jesse’s deployment, Hayley was somewhere between grief and grace.

She blinked awake to pale morning light cutting through the blinds in his bedroom.

The space beside her was still faintly warm, but she knew that was just muscle memory playing tricks. He was gone. Off doing whatever classified thing SEALs did when they vanished.

She rolled onto her back, one hand resting on her belly. The apartment was still and quiet. The kind of quiet that wasn’t peace—it was waiting.

God, she was tired. Bone-deep tired. Her eyes burned and her head felt thick, like she’d slept too long but not enough. She couldn’t remember if it was Sunday or Monday. Didn’t really care.

Yesterday—or was it the day before?—she’d emailed Zoe.

Hey. Put a pin in everything band-related.

Need time to reflect, reset.

I’ll reach out when I can breathe again.

No explanation. No excuses. Just space.

She kicked off the blankets and sat up slowly, her tank top rumpled, Jesse’s old sweatpants loose on her hips. The air smelled like him. Laundry detergent and motor oil and that hint of cedarwood from his cologne.

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