Page 203 of California Wild

She wandered through the quiet, rubbing sleep from her eyes, and opened the closet.

There it was.

His guitar case.

Half-hidden behind a stack of boots and his go-bag, like a secret waiting to be found. She pulled it out, popped the latches. The acoustic inside was worn, smooth, fingerprints ghosted across the fretboard. She remembered this guitar. Remembered being seventeen, sitting on the floor of his garage while he played something quiet and sad, refusing to admit he wrote it himself.

Hayley carried it to the couch and curled into the cushions, tucking her legs under her. She hadn’t picked up a guitar in months. She’d always been more of a piano girl—but she knew enough.

Just enough.

She strummed once. Adjusted the tuning. Let the sound settle into the silence of the apartment like it belonged there.

Then—she started playing.

Not loud. Not polished. Just soft, raw chords. Gentle lullabies that drifted up from some part of her that had gone quiet lately.

A cover. Something nostalgic and aching.

Christina Perri. “You Mean the Whole Wide World to Me.”

Then another.

Until the songs weren’t covers anymore.

They were hers.

She wrote one about the baby. About the little heartbeat tucked inside her.

She didn’t try to make it perfect.

She just let it be soft.

In the days that followed, life narrowed into something quiet and slow. Like her body knew how to survive even when her mind didn’t.

Natalie Carrington dropped by with Heath. They brought groceries and prepped meals. Natalie stood in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled and eyes kind, and Hayley just leaned into it.

“It’s okay to not be okay,” Natalie had said softly, hugging her. “But you’re not doing this alone.”

There were calls with her mom, too.

Tearful ones.

She told her about the baby.

About Jesse.

Her mom cried. Not out of fear, not out of worry. Just joy. That strange, complicated joy only mothers understood.

“You’re going to be brilliant,” she said. “Even if you feel lost, the baby will know you. Just like you always knew me.”

Hayley kept writing.

She filled Jesse’s apartment with songs meant for lullabies and rocking chairs, for 3 a.m. feedings and quiet mornings when the world felt safe.

She started a folder on her desktop: Songs for Baby Blue.

The name stuck.

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