Page 88 of California Wild

Hayley turned back to the keys. Let her fingers fall into a softer shape. Something sweet. A lullaby, almost—minor chords shifting to major, melancholy into hope. She hummed, barely above a whisper, letting melody take shape. No distortion pedals. No screaming harmonies. Just her and the keys and this ache inside her chest.

She played “Lullaby” by Sia, then slipped into an acoustic reinterpretation of “The Only Exception.” Her voice cracked once, but she didn’t stop.

She wasn’t writing for the label anymore.

She was writing for someone sweet and innocent. Someone who didn’t care about stadiums or charts or soundchecks. Someone who just needed her voice to be real.

Hayley smiled softly, letting the music carry her.

She could build something new.

Something beautiful.

Something honest.

Chapter 13

The sky outside the C-17’s tiny window was a bleached, indifferent gray—clouds thick and low as they cut across California airspace.

Jesse sat rigid in his seat, arms crossed tight over his chest, his spine straight despite the thrum of exhaustion through his bones. Six weeks. That’s how long they’d been gone. South Pacific. Remote as hell. Jungle terrain so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face half the time. No names, no backup, no digital footprint.

Just them.

Dom was asleep across from him—well, not asleep exactly. His eyes were closed, arms folded, head back, boots planted wide. But Jesse knew better. Dom didn’t sleep until it was safe. He just shut down, like a machine on standby.

Isaac sat beside him, black hoodie pulled up, earbuds in, legs sprawled like the plane wasn’t full of seventy pounds of gear and seven weeks of silence. He tapped out a rhythm on his thigh, eyes tracking the ceiling like he was scoring the soundtrack of the end credits.

Zach was talking—because of course he was. Lounged sideways on a bench seat like they hadn’t been crawling through bamboo and god-knows-what for the past month and a half. He had one boot kicked up and was telling a story Jesse was only half-tuned into, something about a bartender in Saipan and a machete. The kind of shit Zach always managed to make happen.

Colson stood near the rear bulkhead, arms crossed, head bent over a tablet. Classic LPO stance—always in control, even when his eyes looked half-dead. He didn’t say much, didn’t have to. If the rest of them were bones and blood, Colson was the spine.

Jesse sat still. Restless.

The noise of the aircraft was steady. Comforting, almost. Like white noise that could drown out thought if you let it. But Jesse couldn’t let it.

Six weeks. That’s how long it had been since he’d seen her.

Hayley.

He could still taste her on his lips. Still hear her voice in the dark. Still feel the press of her body against his, the way she’d looked at him that night like maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.

And then she was gone.

Tour started. She left the country. He deployed. Neither of them said goodbye.

He hadn’t heard from her. Not really. Just a few messages relayed through Heath when the signal allowed. One word, maybe two. She’s good. She’s singing again. Still sober.

That was the one that had hit hardest. Still sober.

Jesse clenched his jaw, the thick ache in his chest growing sharper with every mile. He wasn’t supposed to miss her like this. Wasn’t supposed to still hope.

And yet.

The pilot’s voice crackled through the headset above them. “Entering U.S. airspace. Touchdown in thirty.”

Dom shifted. Isaac popped an earbud. Zach sat up and stretched like he hadn’t just spent a month in hell.

Colson turned, gave a short nod, and Jesse felt something settle deep in his ribs. The mission was over.

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