Page 80 of California Wild

She kept waiting. Kept counting. Every morning, her stomach coiled with dread as she checked. Nothing.

Not yet.

She told herself it was the stress. The travel, the exhaustion, the endless late nights, early mornings. But it didn’t help the knot in her gut.

Tuesday came fast. Sydney Olympic Park was massive, the biggest venue they’d played yet, a sea of faces stretching endlessly before her, cameras flashing, industry reps watching.

She should have felt exhilarated. Should have soaked in the moment, let it pulse through her veins, fuel her the way it always had.

Instead, she felt off-balance.

She killed the performance anyway. She had to.

Caiden was magnetic beside her, feeding off the electricity, giving the crowd exactly what they wanted. Every glance, every shared lyric, every moment they moved together had them screaming louder, believing the fantasy the media had been painting for months.

Hayley let them believe it.

It was easier than the truth.

That night, she lay awake in the dark hotel room, staring at the ceiling, hands pressed against her stomach, willing her body to reset, to let her exhale.

Nothing.

Wednesday dragged her through press circuits, Music Feeds, The Music Network, interviewers who wanted to know how it felt to be Australia’s new favorite band.

And she smiled. Answered the questions. Laughed when Caiden made jokes about how they were the next big rock and roll power couple.

Her stomach twisted.

By the time night fell, she was exhausted, her body screaming for rest, her nerves stretched too thin.

The Rolling Stone party was loud, a haze of bodies and flashing lights, music pumping through the speakers so hard she could feel it in her ribs.

Caiden had his hand on her back, guiding her through the crowd, his energy wired, hyped from the day, from the industry attention, from the sheer weight of being exactly where he wanted to be.

Hayley didn’t feel the same.

She felt suffocated.

When he pulled her onto the dance floor, she let him, moving to the music, letting the rhythm take her, trying to push away the exhaustion, the ache behind her eyes.

Then he leaned in, his mouth brushing her ear, his fingers sliding lower on her waist.

Just like at Holding Co.

Her breath caught, and for a split second, she was back there—Jesse disappearing into the night, tequila burning down her throat, Caiden’s hands on her, her own desperation clawing at her skin, looking for anything to numb the ache.

She turned away.

“I’m not feeling great,” she said, pressing a hand to her temple, feigning dizziness.

Caiden pulled back, studying her. “You okay?”

She nodded, forcing a weak smile. “Just tired. I think I’m gonna call it early.”

He hesitated, eyes searching hers, and for a second, she thought he might press the issue.

But then he sighed, running a hand through his dark hair, stepping back. “Alright. Get some rest, Fox.”

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