Page 204 of California Wild

She read baby books until her eyes crossed. Highlighted things. Dog-eared pages. Made lists. Compared prenatal vitamins. Booked her twelve-week scan. Started talking to her belly without irony.

The worst of the morning sickness had eased. But every now and then, the nausea rolled back through like a wave. She learned to keep ginger chews in her pocket.

Some nights she slept curled on his side of the bed, wearing his shirts, cradling the guitar instead of a pillow.

She wasn’t okay.

But she was healing.

In music.

In quiet.

In the shape of something new taking root in her.

In the soft strum of lullabies for a baby that wasn’t even here yet.

And somewhere, thousands of miles away, she knew Jesse didn’t have a clue what she was building.

But he would.

One day soon.

Chapter 31

Three weeks later

The air inside the clinic was too cold, the kind of sterile chill that seeped into her skin and made her wish she’d brought a sweater. But she hadn’t. She hadn’t brought anything or anyone.

Natalie had offered. Insisted.

Hell, Natalie had practically demanded she come, standing in Jesse’s kitchen that morning, arms crossed, ready to fight her on it.

“You shouldn’t be doing this alone.”

But Hayley had shaken her head, pressing a palm over the curve of her stomach, still barely noticeable beneath her oversized hoodie.

“If Jesse can’t be here, I don’t want anyone else to be.”

So here she was.

Twelve weeks pregnant.

Striding into a medical clinic, alone.

A couple months ago, she had been in Australia playing the biggest festival of her career. The industry had been at her feet, the label mapping out an international tour, Caiden standing at her side as her musical other half. Now, she was here. Walking into a fluorescent-lit waiting room where no one knew her name, no one cared about charting singles or magazine covers.

Just another pregnant woman.

Just another appointment.

She signed in at the front desk, her name barely legible on the clipboard because her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She had spent the last three weeks fending off threats from the label, warning her to fix things with Caiden, to get the band back on track, to be the rockstar they had invested in. And for three weeks, she had thought maybe—maybe—she could still do it. Still be the woman she had worked so hard to become while figuring out how to be a mother.

But none of them gave a shit about the fact that she was pregnant. No one wanted to hear about doctor’s appointments or nausea or exhaustion. No one was asking if she was okay.

They just wanted her to keep producing. Keep singing, keep touring, keep playing the part.

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