Page 128 of California Wild

Himself?

He stripped off his shirt, slid into bed beside her. His body curved to hers like a reflex, one hand resting lightly on the swell of her hip, his face in her hair.

The second his skin met hers, she shifted. Her body melted into him like she’d been waiting for it. No hesitation. No question.

Jesse lay there for a long time, listening to the rise and fall of her breath, trying to sync his own with it.

But sleep didn’t come.

The ceiling blurred above him. His thoughts wouldn’t quiet. And when she rolled over and stole all the damn blankets—twisting herself into some chaos of limbs and cotton—he couldn’t even muster a smirk.

He was too far gone.

The nightmare hit fast.

One second he was staring at the shadows dancing across the ceiling, and the next—he was back in Banda.

The burning.

The blood.

The kid. Small hands clutching that soaked stuffed animal. Eyes wide. Blank. Empty.

His eyes.

The jungle disappeared and became a living room. His mother screaming. His father’s voice like a blade. A belt in one hand, Jesse’s shirt in the other.

He heard the crack before he felt it. Then tasted blood.

And then the boy was back. Standing in the wreckage, silent and still.

Alone.

Jesse shot up in bed, gasping. His lungs scraped against the inside of his chest. 2:15 a.m.

The room was dark. The air too still. Hayley lay beside him, peaceful. Untouched.

She hadn’t heard.

But his body didn’t know that. His body still thought he was under fire. Still thought it was him or the dirt.

He sat there for a long moment, hands braced on his knees, drenched in sweat, heart trying to punch through his ribs.

And then—

It hit.

That hunger.

The kind of pull that started low in the gut, ugly and familiar. That need. That quiet voice whispering just a little bit would help. Just a drink. Just a line. Just something to take the edge off. Something to shut down the noise.

It was always louder after nightmares.

Always crueler when things were good.

Because good meant he had something to lose.

And Hayley? She didn’t know half of it. Not really. Not the pills. Not the needles. Not the one-night blackout fucks that never scratched the itch.

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