3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Naval Base Health Center – Tuesday
J esse wasn’t expecting a response. It had been twenty-four hours since he sent the message. Two days since he stood in the back of The Black Coast and let Hayley’s voice crack something in him all over again.
But the silence still sat heavy.
Not that it mattered. He had other shit to focus on. Right now, that meant physio.
He stretched out his right leg, easing into the motion, testing for tightness. It had been bothering him since their last deployment—a bad landing during a training jump, nothing major, just enough to be annoying.
The base health center was mostly empty, mid-morning light filtering through the high windows. San Diego sun, clear blue sky. Seemed unfair for the day to be this damn nice.
Jesse pulled against the resistance band, rolling his shoulder, muscles stretching tight. His body was a machine, and maintenance was part of the job.
The time between deployments was just keeping their bodies in top condition. If they weren’t in the field, they were working out, doing range drills, sitting through tactical refreshers., running team scenarios—and, his personal favourite, endless fucking paperwork.
The Navy didn’t like idle SEALs.
“Thought I might find you in here.”
Jesse exhaled hard, dropping the band as Heath Carrington stepped into the room.
Tall, clean-cut, too put-together for a guy who spent years stitching people up in war zones. Brown hair just starting to gray at the edges, reddish beard trimmed short. A sharp contrast to Jesse’s golden-blond mess of waves and ink-covered skin.
Jesse wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah? What gave it away?”
Heath smirked. “You mean besides the fact that I know every injury in this platoon like the back of my damn hand?”
Jesse snorted, grabbing his water bottle. “That obvious, huh?”
“Just a little.” Heath folded his arms, watching him like he was assessing damage. Jesse was used to that look—it wasn’t scrutiny, not like his LPO, Colson Shaw, and his constant, waiting-for-him-to-fuck-up stare. Heath saw through bullshit, but he didn’t push unless he had to.
Jesse ran a hand over his face. “You here to babysit or what?”
“Nah,” Heath said, easy. “Just wanted to talk.”
Jesse stiffened. Heath didn’t just ‘talk.’
Still, he followed him out of the physio room, past the treadmills, through the side door that led to the small office space reserved for medical staff and Corpsmen.
Inside was a standard-issue military desk, a coffee mug, some scattered reports. The place smelled like antiseptic and strong black coffee.
Heath sat on the edge of the desk, arms crossed, gaze steady.
Jesse wasn’t in the mood for this conversation. But Heath Carrington didn’t give a damn about Jesse’s moods.
“So,” Heath said, like they were talking about the goddamn Padres, arms crossed over his chest. “You doing alright?”
Jesse blinked, slow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Heath didn’t say anything at first. Just gave him that long, unreadable look. The one that said, Don’t bullshit me, Navarro.
Jesse shifted his jaw, rolling his shoulder. “I’m good.”
“Yeah?” Heath lifted a brow. “Because one year’s a big deal.”
Jesse exhaled sharply, looking away.
One year.
Three hundred and sixty-five fucking days of fighting the pull, fighting himself, fighting everything.
In AA, it was a milestone.
People clapped. Coins were handed out.
Jesse hadn’t gone to his meeting last night. Didn’t want the attention.
Didn’t want people looking at him like he was some kind of success story when every day still felt like a battle.
So, instead, here he was. Being clocked by the one guy who saw straight through his shit.
“Yeah,” Jesse muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Guess it is.”
Heath studied him for a beat before nodding. “I’m proud of you, man.”
Jesse swallowed. Felt the words settle in his chest like something heavy and unfamiliar.
Proud.
No one had ever said that to him before. Not like this.
Not about this.
He forced a smirk. “Getting soft on me, Carrington?”
Heath snorted. “Yeah, right. Like I have time for that shit.”
Jesse exhaled, leaning back against the desk in Heath’s office, rolling his sore shoulder. The one still stiff from all the time off.
Because that was the real conversation happening here.
The one Jesse had been avoiding.
The one about Colson.
“You talk to him?” Jesse finally asked, voice low.
Heath didn’t pretend not to know what he meant.
He nodded, slow. “Yeah.”
Jesse flexed his fingers, waiting.
Heath exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s not convinced.”
Jesse let out a humorless laugh. “No shit.”
LPO Colson Shaw was done with him. And even worse, Platoon Chief Adam Carrington had wanted him gone. Not just benched—off the team, permanently.
The moment Jesse had hit rock bottom—the worst night of his life, the night he’d rather forget—Adam had made it clear.
No more of this guy.
Didn’t matter that Jesse had gotten help. Didn’t matter that he was sober now.
Adam didn’t trust him.
And Jesse had spent the last year fighting tooth and nail just to prove that he was still worth something.
Heath watched him carefully. “I told him you’ve been clean a year. That you did the work. That you’re ready.”
Jesse’s throat felt tight. “And?”
Heath hesitated. Then—“He doesn’t think it changes anything.”
Jesse went still.
A slow burn crawled up his spine, anger curling low in his stomach.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, jaw clenching.
Heath held up a hand. “Look. You know how Adam is. He doesn’t take risks with this team. And as far as he’s concerned—”
“I’m a risk.” Jesse’s voice was flat. Final.
Heath didn’t confirm it. Didn’t have to.
Silence stretched between them.
Jesse stared at the floor, chest tightening with frustration he couldn’t shake.
“I shouldn’t have told you this,” Heath admitted, voice lower now. “But I need you to know I’m fighting for you.”
Jesse exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “I can fight for myself.”
Heath gave him a pointed look. “Yeah? And how’s that been working out?”
Jesse’s teeth ground together.
Heath sighed, standing up straight. “You’re gonna get back on full ops soon. You just need to keep proving it. No more hotheaded shit. No more going rogue.”
Jesse scoffed. “You sound like him.”
Heath smirked. “Bullshit. I’m way more likable.”
Jesse huffed a laugh, but the weight in his chest didn’t lift.
Jesse started toward the door.
Then—
“You went home, didn’t you?”
Jesse stopped cold.
The air in the room shifted.
He turned back, expression locked down, but Heath saw through it anyway.
Jesse swallowed. “How’d you know?”
Heath just shrugged, easy. “Call it a hunch.”
Jesse licked his lips. “Yeah. I went.” His voice was rough. “Saw my mom. Apologized.”
Heath nodded. Didn’t say anything, didn’t push. Just let Jesse sit with it.
Jesse glanced at the door, then back at him. “No one knows, Heath.”
Heath gave him a slow nod. “I won’t say a word.”
Jesse exhaled. “Thanks.”
Heath just smirked. “Don’t thank me yet. I still gotta clear you for deployment.”
Jesse pushed open the door. “Yeah, yeah.”
As he walked out, Heath called after him—
“And bud?”
Jesse turned back.
“There is something to letting the past be the past.”
Jesse didn’t answer. Just walked out, the sound of Hayley’s voice still running through his head.
* * * * *
The city felt different at night.
Not the way most people saw it—glittering buildings, rooftop bars, couples wrapped up in the glow of a perfect evening.
Jesse knew another side of San Diego. The side most people pretended didn’t exist.
And that was where he was headed.
Jesse rolled up behind Gino’s Pizzeria, a hole-in-the-wall joint tucked between a laundromat and a liquor store, the kind of place that had been there for three decades and never needed a Yelp review.
His truck—a beat-up, rusted-out Ford from another lifetime—rumbled low as he put it in park.
The back door of the restaurant swung open before he even stepped out.
“My man!” Gino’s deep voice echoed in the alley, arms wide like he was greeting an old friend. “Was starting to think you forgot about me tonight.”
Jesse smirked, pulling a wad of cash from his pocket. “Never, old man.”
Gino, mid-sixties, broad as a damn fridge, salt-and-pepper stubble covering his face, waved him off. “I ain’t that old, kid.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Jesse teased.
Gino grunted, motioning to the stack of pizza boxes beside him. His only staff member working the late shift—a wiry kid with a cigarette tucked behind his ear—helped load them into the truck.
Twenty boxes of pizza.
Jesse paid in cash, just like always. No paper trail. No questions asked.
Gino watched him for a long beat, arms crossed. “You ever gonna tell me where all this food’s going?”
Jesse smirked. “Wouldn’t be as fun, would it?”
Gino huffed, shaking his head. “You’re a weird bastard, Navarro.”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep the change.” Jesse tipped him a hundred, then climbed back into the truck and pulled out of the alley.
Jesse had a system.
He knew the blocks that got hit the worst. The spots where people weren’t just struggling—they were surviving on nothing.
He took the side streets, where streetlights flickered like they were giving up, where shadows moved too fast and too slow at the same time.
Windows down, cool night air cutting through the heat lingering from the day.
First stop.
Jesse parked in an empty lot beside a boarded-up laundromat. A dark alley stretched to the right, the kind of place most people wouldn’t set foot in.
Jesse didn’t hesitate.
He grabbed one pizza box and a six-pack of water bottles, tucking them under his arm. His boots crunched on broken glass as he stepped into the alley, the low hum of the city swallowing the quiet.
Groaning. Muffled voices.
Then—
“Back the fuck off, man.”
A shadow moved in the dark. Jesse slowed.
Three figures. Strung out, slumped against the alley wall, twitchy and paranoid.
One of them pushed up onto his elbows, eyes hollow, body thin as hell.
“You got a problem?” His voice cracked, defensive.
Jesse held up the box. “Nah. Just got dinner.”
A pause. Then—recognition.
“Shit. It’s you.”
Jesse crouched, setting the food down. “Yeah, it’s me.”
They all shifted, sitting up straighter. The tension bled out of the air.
Jesse knew them. Eddie—forty, maybe, used to work construction before his body gave out. Marcos—skin and bones now, but still quick with a joke. Jade—early twenties, eyes like she hadn’t slept in years.
They weren’t just junkies in an alley. They were people.
And Jesse knew their names.
“Water, too.” He set down the six-pack.
Eddie’s hands trembled as he grabbed a bottle. “Didn’t think you were coming tonight.”
Jesse shrugged. “Mondays are busy.”
Jade wiped her mouth, gaze flicking over him. “You a cop?”
Jesse let out a low chuckle. “Do I look like a cop?”
She snorted. “Not really.”
Marcos pulled open the pizza box, eyes lighting up. “Damn, man. You always bring the good shit.”
Jesse stood, brushing off his jeans. “Only the best.”
Eddie looked up at him, expression raw. “You’re a good guy, Jesse.”
Jesse didn’t answer that.
Didn’t believe it.
Instead, he nodded toward the food. “You eat. I gotta run.”
Marcos threw him a lazy salute. “Appreciate you, brother.”
Jesse turned and walked back toward the truck.
There were still nineteen pizzas left to go.
As midnight closed in, Jesse knew very well that he should’ve been home by now. Should’ve dropped off the last box, pulled his truck onto the Coronado bridge, and left the city behind for the night. He had to report to work in less than eight hours.
But this stop wasn’t just routine.
It was a promise.
He drove slow, engine low as he cut through the empty streets near North Park and City Heights, skirting just wide enough to avoid The Dance Cave.
That place was a trap door back to a version of himself he didn’t want to remember.
Too many nights lost inside. Too many fights, too many drinks, too many bad choices.
So he took the long way around.
Kept his eyes forward.
Didn’t look at the glowing neon sign still flickering over the doorway.
Didn’t think about the ghosts waiting in the dark.
Jesse pulled up to a decayed old brick house, the kind of place that should’ve been condemned years ago. Graffiti covered the warped wooden siding. The roof sagged. Windows were shattered or boarded up, depending on how long ago someone had squatted inside.
No one should be living here.
But Jesse knew better.
He grabbed the last pizza box and water, stepped out of the truck, and glanced around before heading down the stairs to the half-open basement.
He didn’t knock.
Didn’t need to.
Inside, the air smelled like smoke, damp wood, and something earthy—sage, maybe.
Jesse eased past a pile of old blankets, stepping carefully over the rotting floorboards, before lowering himself into the one remaining chair that hadn’t collapsed under its own weight.
Across from him, Kwilé Nathaniel Osuna, an elderly Kumeyaay man, sat propped up against a stack of old crates, wrapped in a threadbare blanket.
Kwilé wasn’t just homeless.
He was a storykeeper. A man with too much history and nowhere to put it.
Jesse set the pizza and water down beside him. “Evening, old man.”
Kwilé cracked one eye open. “You always come this late.”
Jesse shrugged. “You always still awake.”
That earned him a low, rattling chuckle. “Fair point.”
Jesse leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. “How you holding up?”
Kwilé exhaled slow, shifting slightly beneath his blanket. “Still breathing.”
Jesse nodded. “That’s something.”
For a moment, they just sat in the quiet.
There was no rush here. No need for small talk or explanations.
Kwilé had been through too much, seen too much. Jesse never asked why he chose this life, and Kwilé never asked why Jesse kept coming back.
The pizza box sat untouched between them.
Kwilé’s fingers ghosted over it. “Still wasting your money on lost causes?”
Jesse half-smiled. “You’re eating it, aren’t you?”
Kwilé chuckled, shaking his head. He slowly opened the water bottle, taking a few careful sips before resting it in his lap. His hands, weathered and veined, trembled slightly.
Jesse knew he was sick. Really sick. The type of sick and poor that didn’t mix well.
Had been for a long time.
But Kwilé never talked about it.
Instead, he tilted his head, studying Jesse with those sharp, knowing eyes.
“You’re carrying too much weight again.”
Jesse exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “You always say that.”
Kwilé shrugged. “And I’m always right.”
Jesse leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “What do you want me to do? Start chanting? Smudge the demons out?”
Kwilé gave him a slow, tired smile. “Wouldn’t hurt.”
Jesse snorted, shaking his head. “Not my style.”
Kwilé nodded, thoughtful. Then, after a moment—
“You’re standing at the edge of something, Jesse.”
Jesse’s jaw tightened.
Kwilé always did this.
The oracle shit. The way he spoke in riddles like he knew things Jesse didn’t.
“Something that you already know.”
Jesse ran his tongue over his teeth. “Yeah? And what happens if I jump?”
Kwilé’s gaze didn’t waver. “That depends on the other side.”
Jesse swallowed, something thick in his throat.
He didn’t say it.
Didn’t have to.
Kwilé already knew.
They sat in silence after that, the weight of something bigger than both of them pressing into the cold air.
Jesse finally reached for the water, twisting the cap between his fingers.
“How’d you end up like this?” he asked.
Kwilé chuckled, voice low. “Same way you did.”
Jesse’s grip tightened on the bottle. “I got out.”
Kwilé’s dark eyes flickered with something ancient. “Did you?”
Jesse didn’t answer.
Because, for the first time in a long time—
He didn’t know.
The night stretched thick and silent as Jesse stepped out of the basement and into the open air.
The damp scent of old wood and stale smoke clung to his jacket, mixing with the cool bite of the coastal breeze. The abandoned house behind him stood like a husk, hollow and broken, just like everything inside it.
Jesse exhaled slow, running a hand through his hair as he moved toward his truck.
Then—a sound.
Soft. Feminine laughter, just barely audible.
Jesse’s head snapped up.
He stilled, listening.
Nothing.
But something in him stirred, sharp and unsettled.
Then—a flash of auburn behind the skeletal branches of a tree.
His breath caught.
No.
No, that was impossible.
Jesse’s pulse pounded against his ribs, every muscle coiled tight as he stood frozen in place.
It’s not her.
Couldn’t be.
The street was empty. Silent.
But for one moment, one unbearable second, it felt like something out there had been watching him.
Jesse swallowed hard.
Then he shook himself off, exhaling sharply, forcing his feet to move.
He was imagining shit.
Too much time in the dark. Too much in his head.
Shoving the lingering unease down, Jesse climbed into his truck, the door creaking as he pulled it shut.
The engine rumbled to life, drowning out the silence.
He didn’t look back.
Didn’t check the trees.
Didn’t let himself wonder.
Instead, he drove home.
By the time Jesse pulled into his small driveway, the city lights had blurred into nothing but static in his mind.
His truck rattled as he cut the engine, the quiet settling too fast, too heavy.
The house was dark. Silent.
Just like every night.
Jesse let out a long breath, running a hand over his face before climbing out and locking the door behind him.
Inside, the air was cool, smelling faintly of salt and wood from the open window.
No distractions.
No noise.
Nothing but himself.
Jesse stripped down to his boxers, tossing his jeans onto the floor, not bothering with the lights.
The bed creaked under his weight as he collapsed onto the mattress, exhausted but nowhere near sleep.
His body ached, but not from work.
Not from running or lifting or training.
From being awake.
From fighting it.
From the weight of himself.
He stared at the ceiling, his hands resting on his chest, fingertips pressing against his ribs like he was trying to keep something inside from slipping out.
The itch was there.
It was always there.
Like a shadow in his blood, a whisper curling at the edges of his brain.
The need. The hunger.
A drink would take the edge off. A few shots, just to turn down the volume in his head.
A hit would smooth it out. Silence the restless energy, that pulse of static that never fucking stops.
One drink.
One hit.
One moment of relief.
That’s all it would take.
Jesse clenched his jaw, pressing his hands harder against his chest.
No.
Not tonight.
Not ever.
He had been fighting for three hundred and sixty-five days.
Three hundred and sixty-five nights just like this one.
And the only reason he hadn’t given in?
Because he knew if he fell, he’d never get back up. Do it again—and die. He knew it.
No one talked about that part. Not in NA, not in therapy, not in the bullshit inspirational recovery stories people loved to throw around. No one warned you that when the highs and the crashes were gone, you were left with only yourself, convincing yourself that being alive is better than easing the pain one last time.
And for Jesse?
That was the hardest fucking part.
Because himself was the thing he had been running from all his life.
And now he had nowhere left to go.
He swallowed hard, blinking up at the dark ceiling. His chest ached from the weight of it.
From being alone.
From being sober.
From being stuck in the space between who he was and who he was trying to be.
His fingers twitched against his ribs, restless. He clenched his fists.
This is what it takes.
He told himself that. Every night.
Because this?
This was the price of getting his life back.
This was the part no one saw.
No one except himself.
And tonight, just like every other night, he would endure it.
One more night.
One more fight.
And in the morning, he’d get up and do it all over again.
Eventually exhaustion took over, and Jesse drifted into dreams—but they were short lived.
Within a few hours, Jesse woke up to nothing.
Not sound. Not movement. Just silence, thick and suffocating.
The kind of silence that pressed down on him like a weight, making his chest feel tight.
He blinked into the dark, exhaling slow, his body heavy, sluggish, sore from training.
Then—
A glow.
Not his work phone. That one was silent, untouched, sitting on the nightstand.
No—this was his personal phone.
Jesse frowned, reaching blindly, fingers fumbling over the screen before he brought it close enough to see.
Caller ID: Hayley.
His pulse kicked up.
For a second, he just stared at the screen.
Then, before he could think better of it—he answered.
“Hey.” His voice was rough, thick with sleep. “Hayley?”
A pause. Then—a breathy laugh.
“Jesse?”
She was slurring.
Jesse closed his eyes, rubbing his face.
Drunk. She was fucking drunk.
A wave of something he couldn’t name settled in his chest.
“Hayley,” he muttered, clearing his throat, sitting up. “What’s going on? It’s two in the morning.”
“I know.” Another laugh. “Shit. Is it? Oh my god. I didn’t—” She broke off, distracted, like she’d forgotten mid-sentence what she was saying.
In the background, Jesse could hear noise.
Laughter. Music. The distant echo of a bar, doors swinging open and closed.
Jesse dragged a hand through his hair. “Where are you?”
“Downtown,” she said, breezy and light. “We’ve been celebrating.”
Jesse frowned. “Celebrating what?”
A beat. Then—
“Jesse, you won’t believe this. The label took us out. Because—” She inhaled, sudden excitement flooding her voice. “We got it, Jesse. The gig. The one we wanted. Stone Sour just backed out of opening for Linkin Park for the last leg of their world tour… and for Soundwave in Australia. So—we booked it! Dead Run Riot is going to Australia!”
Something tightened in his chest.
She wasn’t talking about just any gig.
This was the one.
The break.
Jesse exhaled, leaning forward, pressing his elbows to his knees. “Shit, Fox.” A slow grin pulled at his mouth. “That’s huge.”
“I know, right?” She giggled. “I wanted to call you earlier, but, um—”
She trailed off.
Jesse knew why.
Because Monday morning had been the apology.
She had read it.
And she hadn’t answered.
Until now.
“Your message,” she said, softer now.
Jesse let his eyes fall shut for a second. “I meant it. Every word.”
“Yeah.” Her voice softened. “I know.”
A pause.
Jesse waited.
Hayley exhaled. “I… didn’t know what to say.”
Jesse pressed his lips together, nodding to himself.
She was drunk. He wasn’t going to push.
“It’s okay,” he said, voice low. “You don’t have to say anything.”
Another beat of silence.
Then—voices in the background.
People calling for her.
And then—Caiden’s voice.
“Hayley—let’s go.”
Jesse’s stomach curled, sharp and bitter.
“I’m sorry,” Hayley said softly. “I have to go.”
Jesse closed his eyes, ignoring the way his fingers curled into his bedsheet. “Right. Yeah.”
A pause.
A hesitation.
Then, before he could stop himself—
“Can I see you before you leave?”
The words hung in the air.
He regretted it instantly.
Hayley went still. He could hear the way her breath caught, even through the phone.
“Jesse…”
He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Forget it. I didn’t mean—”
“No, it’s just—” She sighed. “Is that a good idea?”
Jesse swallowed, forcing his voice steady. “I don’t have expectations.”
A beat.
Then—“Okay.”
Jesse blinked. “Okay?”
“Yeah.”
His throat went tight.
“It would be nice to count you as a friend,” he said, voice low.
Another long pause.
Then, soft—“Yeah. You too.”
Click.
Jesse stared at the screen, at the dark space where her name had just been.
Then, before he could stop himself, he flipped open Google.
Linkin Park tour dates.
His gaze scanned the results.
Australia. New Zealand. Soundwave Festival.
She was leaving in days.
Jesse let his phone drop onto his chest, staring at the ceiling.
One year sober.
Three years since he first touched her.
And now, she was about to disappear across the world.
And Jesse? Jesse had no idea what the hell he was doing.