California Wild (SEAL Team Cali #2)

1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

San Diego, California

J esse Navarro stood near the back wall of The Black Coast, arms crossed over his chest, the thrum of bass already vibrating in his ribs.

It was a packed house—shoulder to shoulder, sticky floors, sweat-soaked energy humming beneath the stage lights. He didn’t want to be here. Not really. But Isaac Rayleigh had dragged him out, citing brotherhood and live music and the fact that Jesse hadn’t left his damn apartment in over a week.

“I told you,” Isaac said beside him, nodding toward the stage as the crowd started to swell. “Dead Run Riot is gonna blow your fucking mind.”

Jesse said nothing, jaw tight, eyes locked on the stage. His water bottle hung loose in one hand, condensation trailing down the side. He wasn’t drinking. Not tonight. Not ever again.

He rolled his shoulders, forcing a breath through his lungs.

“I’ve seen them,” he said.

Isaac raised a brow. “Yeah?”

Jesse kept his voice even. “They’re good.”

Isaac snorted. “That’s one way to undersell the most feral frontwoman on the West Coast.”

Jesse didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Because the lights dropped, the crowd hushed—and then she stepped onto the stage.

Hayley.

His heart lurched so hard he had to blink.

She was exactly the same. And completely different.

Waist-length auburn hair falling like fire over her shoulders, black platform boots, ripped tights, oversized tee that hung off one shoulder like it had been pulled on seconds before hitting the stage. The confidence hit first—cool, effortless. Like she owned the fucking air.

And then she looked up.

Jesse didn’t breathe.

Because for a split second, he swore she looked right at him.

Then she grabbed the mic. And all hell broke loose.

The first note ripped through the room like smoke and thunder, raw and low and full of grit. And Jesse—

He fucking broke.

The sound of her voice cracked through his ribs like a goddamn hammer. That voice—he’d heard it on street corners, in cheap dive bars, in the middle of the night when she thought no one was listening. It had haunted his dreams. Haunted every fucking version of his future.

The drums hit. The guitar followed. A full-body onslaught of sound.

Hayley didn’t sing. She devoured.

Isaac let out a low whistle. “Jesus Christ. That girl’s a problem.”

Yeah.

Jesse knew.

She always had been.

Three years ago, he’d been blackout drunk in some dive bar off Rosecrans. Riding the high of another successful op, another impossible mission, another excuse to chase down the numb.

Then there was her.

Hayley Fox—small, sharp, impossible to ignore—grabbing his wrist like she owned him already.

“Trust me, cowboy,” she’d said, that voice dipped in smoke and whiskey, eyes bright and reckless. “You’re gonna love this.”

And he had.

But not the band.

Just her.

Because when she stepped onto that makeshift stage in some half-lit garage space with amps stacked on milk crates and cables taped to the floor, when she grabbed the mic and opened her mouth—

Everything inside him shifted.

Her voice didn’t just sound good—it tore through him. It peeled something open, raw and reckless, and made him feel everything he’d spent a decade trying not to. He remembered sitting there, stunned, one boot propped on a folding chair, beer halfway to his lips, and thinking: fuck.

He never stood a chance.

That was the moment she became dangerous.

And now—now he was just another asshole in the back of a packed venue, standing still while a thousand people screamed her name.

He crossed his arms tighter, jaw set.

Beside him, Isaac Rayleigh leaned in with a knowing grin. His black hair was slicked back, tattoos winding down his forearm under a rolled-up plaid sleeve. “This is the part where you pretend you didn’t fall in love with her voice the first time you heard it,” he muttered under the sound of the guitars.

Jesse didn’t move. “Shut up.”

Isaac laughed, low and sharp. “Bro. This is the best shit I’ve heard in months. She’s a star.”

Yeah.

No shit.

Jesse didn’t respond.

Because that ache was already crawling up his spine. That quiet fury in his chest that said she’s right there and she’s not yours anymore.

The stage lights flickered across her face, catching the curve of her jaw, the curl of her lips, the way she moved like she belonged in this chaos.

She always had.

Meanwhile, Jesse stood there like a fucking ghost, watching the one thing he wanted most—and had already lost.

Isaac nudged his elbow again. “You good?”

Jesse forced out a breath. Rolled his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

But he wasn’t.

Because this wasn’t just a band. Wasn’t just a show.

This was her.

And no matter how many years had passed, no matter how much time or distance or damage sat between them—

She still fucking wrecked him.

Jesse felt it before it even happened.

That shift in the air. The tightening in his chest.

Because she was looking.

Not at the mic, not at the crowd.

At him.

Her gaze swept the venue—steady, calculating, wild.

Then it stopped.

Right on him.

A flicker of green fire cutting through the stage lights. One second. Maybe less. But it landed hard. Locked onto his.

The world paused. No sound. No breath. Just that look.

That fucking look.

Then she turned away, launching back into the chorus like nothing had happened.

But it had.

Because Jesse couldn’t move.

The floor buzzed beneath his boots, and that half-second of recognition burned through him like live current. That tiny hesitation. That maybe.

Next to him, Isaac let out a low, amused breath. “Shit. She saw you.”

Jesse didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because now his brain wouldn’t stop.

Did she recognize him right away? Did she know he was here the whole time? Did she care?

And the worst part—the part that made him want to crawl out of his own skin—was the question that slipped in right behind it.

Could they be a thing again?

And fuck—did he want them to be?

He didn’t let himself answer.

Not now. Not with the music still vibrating in his bones, not with her voice still echoing in his head.

The show ended an hour later, but Jesse still hadn’t exhaled. The crowd thinned around them, the lighting in The Black Coast shifting from stage glare to dim bar haze. People hung around, grabbing beers, drifting toward the merch booth where the band was signing autographs and taking selfies.

Isaac stretched his tattooed arms above his head, half-smirking. “Alright, let’s go.”

Jesse blinked. “Go where?”

Isaac shot him a look like he couldn’t possibly be this dense. “The booth. To meet the band. To meet her. To say hey, remember me—”

“No fucking way.” Jesse’s voice came out low. Final.

Isaac paused, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

Jesse didn’t move. “Not my thing.”

Isaac raised an eyebrow. “Not your thing? Bro, you’ve been posted up at the back of this place like a sniper, watching her like your life depended on it.”

“I came for the music.”

Isaac let out a dry laugh. “You came because you’re in love with her.”

Jesse turned his head sharply, eyes locking on Isaac’s. “You wanna die?”

That shut him up.

A beat of silence passed. Jesse didn’t blink.

Isaac held up both hands, backing off. “Alright. Alright. You don’t want to talk about it, I’m not gonna make you. I’m just saying—”

“Don’t.”

Another pause.

Isaac studied him, lips twitching like he wanted to keep pushing. But he didn’t.

Because Isaac got it. The way real friends did.

“Fine. I’ll say hi for both of us. You driving?”

Jesse nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah. I’ll be outside.”

He turned without waiting, ducking out the side exit into the cool San Diego night. The air hit his skin like a slap, cutting through the heat still simmering beneath it.

He walked to his truck and leaned against it, arms crossed, staring down the dark alley behind the venue.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

He could still feel her in his bloodstream.

Inside, Isaac would be talking to her, all casual charm and easy jokes, pretending like Jesse hadn’t just stood through the entire show like a man on fire.

And Jesse?

He stayed outside.

Because he didn’t know how to talk to her.

Because he didn’t know if he deserved to.

Because the truth?

The truth was, Isaac was wrong about one thing.

Jesse hadn’t just fallen in love with her voice three years ago.

He’d fallen in love with her.

And he’d been trying not to feel it ever since.

Jesse leaned against his truck, arms crossed, the cool San Diego air skimming over his skin. The last of the crowd from The Black Coast drifted down the block, their voices loud, carefree. Music still vibrated faintly from the venue behind him, but he wasn’t hearing it anymore.

He was somewhere else entirely.

Back in a shitty one-bedroom apartment, three years ago. Fluorescent light buzzing. Smell of stale beer and smoke in the curtains. Her silhouette in the hallway, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hair a wild mess from the night before.

That was the last time he had Hayley Fox up close.

And fuck, he hadn’t forgotten a second of it.

He could still see the way her hand trembled when she zipped up that bag, like she’d run out of fight. She didn’t yell. Didn’t throw things. Didn’t cry.

She just… looked at him.

Like she didn’t even recognize the man in front of her.

“You really think this is what you need?” he’d said, trying to sound casual, like his voice wasn’t cracking, like his gut wasn’t in knots. His arms had been crossed then too—like he could keep it all in if he just clenched hard enough.

She laughed. Low and bitter. “What I need?”

Her eyes had burned. Not with rage. Not even sadness.

Just tired.

“Jesse, you barely show up for anything outside of fucking,” she’d said. “You gonna pretend like this is some kind of shock?”

And he hadn’t said shit.

Because there wasn’t anything to say.

When not deployed, he was high half the time, drunk the rest. Spinning out, pretending he wasn’t. Women in and out. Drugs on the counter. Late nights that bled into worse mornings. And Hayley—God, she had tried. Had held him up longer than she should’ve. But even she couldn’t carry dead weight forever.

He let her leave.

Just watched.

Let her walk away like she was just another chapter in the disaster that was his life back then.

And now here he was, three years sober, leaning against a truck outside a venue where she’d just lit the entire fucking room on fire with her voice—and he didn’t even have the balls to say hi.

Jesse rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest, like that might quiet the ache.

He knew, without looking, that Isaac wouldn’t push him. Wouldn’t needle or pry. That’s not how their brotherhood worked.

They’d go into battle together. Spill blood together. Bury secrets and ghosts deep in the dirt.

But feelings? Fears? That shit stayed locked down.

Jesse’s sobriety? Isaac never asked.

Neither did Dom.

But they always had his back. No drinks shoved into his hand. No judgment. Just silent understanding. That’s how men did it.

But Hayley?

Hayley had seen him.

Not just the surface. Not the tough, inked-up SEAL with a guitar and a mouth full of charm.

She’d seen the broken parts. The rot. The hunger. The terrified boy underneath who didn’t know how to keep something good even when he wanted it more than anything.

And she’d walked away because of it.

Hell, maybe for it.

And now she was out there somewhere, glowing, thriving, wild and alive under stage lights, and he was leaning against this fucking truck, trying to pretend he didn’t feel like the same addict with different problems.

But this time?

This time, she saw him.

And that half-second—those eyes meeting his in a crowded venue?

That was enough to blow the whole thing open again.

Because Jesse Navarro had spent three years trying to forget her. He’d fought his way back from the wreckage. He was sober. He was steady. He had rebuilt himself from the ground up.

And tonight proved he never stood a chance.