Page 79 of California Wild

Because even she could feel it.

The almost.

The question in the air.

Then, as the last chorus hit, Caiden reached out, sliding his fingers along the back of her neck, his forehead pressing against hers for the briefest moment, both of them breathless, sweat-drenched, lost in the music, in the moment.

The crowd fucking lost it.

And Hayley—Hayley knew exactly what they were thinking.

Are they?

Won’t they?

Is this real?

She pulled back first, turning her face away, breaking the spell.

The song ended.

The stage lights cut to black.

The crowd screamed.

And as they walked off stage, heart still racing, lungs burning, Caiden slung an arm around her shoulders and grinned, low and smug.

“They fucking love us.”

Hayley swallowed hard, her chest still rising and falling with the high.

Yeah.

They fucking did.

* * * * *

Sydney, Australia. Felt like a dream, the kind that pressed heavy against her skin, thick with expectation, with noise, with lights too bright to escape. Hayley moved through it like she was weightless, carried on the momentum of the band, the shows, the endless cycle of press, rehearsals, and screaming crowds.

Monday morning, she was sitting on a worn leather stool in the Triple J studios, a guitar balanced on her thigh, Caiden beside her, close enough that their knees knocked together as they ran through their acoustic set.

The air in the studio was warm, filled with the scent of coffee and static, the quiet hum of people moving behind the glass, producers signaling to keep rolling, keep going, keep feeding the machine. Hayley smiled, spoke when she was supposed to, let her fingers slide over the frets in muscle memory as they played stripped-down versions of their biggest tracks.

And when Caiden reached for her hand during the interview, lacing their fingers together as the host gushed about their “undeniable on-stage chemistry,” she didn’t pull away.

She couldn’t.

She had learned how to play this game a long time ago. Smile when expected, lean in when necessary, never say too much, never give away what’s real.

Her skin prickled under the heat of his touch, and she wondered if it was from the way the host leaned in eagerly, feeding off the tension, or if it was something else entirely.

Twelve days.

Twelve days since she’d been with Jesse.

Twelve days since she’d seen his face, heard his voice, been underneath him.

And now she was late.

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