Page 36 of California Wild

Isaac Rayleigh strolled up, hands in the pockets of his black cargo pants, hoodie slung half-off one shoulder like he hadn’t cared enough to fix it. Hair black as night, messy like always,tattoos peeking from under his sleeves. Cool in that way Jesse never had to ask if it was intentional—it just was.

Jesse narrowed his eyes. “What.”

Isaac smirked. “Don’t get twitchy, man. I come bearing invitations.”

Jesse sighed. “Jesus. To what.”

“Few of the guys are hitting Holding Company tonight. You should come.”

Jesse didn’t answer right away. He knew the place. Alt-rock rooftop bar in OB, loud as hell, cheap beer, good bands. Friday nights were open mic. The kind of scene that pulled people in and let them scream shit into the void.

He hadn’t stepped inside that place in three years.

Isaac watched him, one brow cocked. “Come on. Live music. Shitty tacos. Probably someone trying to cover Nirvana and fucking it up.”

Jesse exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Isaac rolled his eyes, glancing toward Heath, who was leaning against Jesse’s truck with that calm, I-already-know-what-you’re-gonna-say look on his face.

“You backing this?” Jesse asked.

Heath shrugged. “Recovery doesn’t mean isolation. You need a life, man.”

“I have a life.”

“Why do you lie?” Heath tipped his head. “Buddy, no one’s asking you to drink. Just… breathe a little.”

Jesse looked between them. Isaac, all don’t-give-a-fuck swagger and dry humor. Heath, calm as always, like he had his shit together even when he didn’t. These were the guys who knew him. Who’d seen him gutted, drunk, bone-deep lost—and hadn’t walked.

Isaac nudged his shoulder. “We’ll keep it chill. You wanna ghost out early, you ghost. No drama.”

Jesse hesitated.

Then—he looked out across the lot, toward the sunset burning low over the base. Orange fire smearing the sky, wind salty off the Pacific. Everything in his chest still felt tight. Like it always did when his past came knocking.

But maybe, just maybe, he could take the edge off. Try.

He muttered, “If any of you assholes get sloppy, I’m leaving.”

Isaac grinned. “Deal.”

Jesse shook his head, dragging a hand down his face. “This is a bad fucking idea.”

“Which means it’s probably gonna be a good night.”

Jesse huffed out a laugh despite himself. “God help me.”

Isaac bumped his shoulder again. “You’re not dead, man. So stop acting like it.”

Jesse didn’t answer, but he felt it—that flicker.

Maybe it was time to step back into the noise. Let himself feel something again.

Even if it scared the shit out of him.

* * * * *

San Diego at night in late February had a way of shifting between worlds.

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