Page 87 of California Wild

She read it again.

And again.

Jesse’s words. Not a call. Not a voice. Not even from him directly.

But still him.

Still his voice in her head, low and steady.

Keep going, Fox.

Her throat tightened. Her hand curled around the phone like it could somehow hold more than pixels.

It wasn’t enough.

But it was something.

And for now… that had to be everything.

So, she got up and went to the bathroom. The mirror caught her off guard.

Hayley stood there, sleep shorts low on her hips. She lifted her tank top, turning to the side. The curve of her belly just barelybeginning to show—four weeks in, and already her body was shifting. Subtle. Soft. But real.

She pressed a palm to it. Not dramatic. Not obvious. But undeniable.

Her breath caught. Just for a second.

Then—she inhaled deep.

Time to shower. Tea. Breathe.

The hot water helped, steam curling around her limbs as she leaned into the tile, letting it all rinse off—the nausea, the fatigue, the constant hum of pressure. After, wrapped in one of Jesse’s old flannels and thick socks, she padded barefoot into the kitchen, made chamomile tea the way her mom always had—three drops of honey, not stirred—and carried it into the living room.

The piano waited there like a promise.

Old, patent black, still pristine despite its years. A low-profile Steinway upright with a single scuff at the left foot from when she’d tried to rollerblade in the house as a kid. Her mom had nearly cried when she left it to Hayley. She used to practice for hours on it. Back when her world had been simpler. Smaller.

She sank onto the bench, the mug warm between her hands, and let her fingers trail over the ivory keys.

At first, she tried.

A few chords from the latest Dead Run Riot setlist. Some guttural drop D grunge progression they’d been kicking aroundin rehearsals before the tour fell apart. She played it twice, maybe three times, trying to feel something.

But it didn’t land.

Not in her chest. Not in her hands.

She wasn’t there anymore.

The road had taken too much from her. The sleepless nights. The screaming crowds. The forced smiles. The headlines about her and Caiden. The hollow, echoing feeling of Jesse not being there.

It was gone. All of it. The rage. The noise.

All she had now was this—quiet. Stillness. Her heartbeat. The low, anchoring flutter of something new growing inside her.

She touched her belly again.

What is this going to be?

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