20. Chapter 20
Chapter 20
T he first thing she felt was heat.
Not the good kind—not the Jesse kind that she loved. The warm, safe press of a strong arm across her stomach, a breath at her neck, a lazy kiss behind her ear. No, this was the bad kind. Clammy. Rolling. Rising from her belly like a wave of bile.
She barely made it to the bathroom.
Her knees hit the tile with a thud, one hand bracing against the cold porcelain of the toilet as the other clamped over her mouth. And then—she was sick. Again. Bitter heat in her throat, her stomach cramping violently as she doubled over.
She barely heard the footsteps until the door creaked open behind her.
Jesse.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just knelt behind her and swept her hair up into his hand, gathering it gently, fingers threading through the tangled strands with surprising care. One of his hands rubbed slow, firm circles over her back, the other kept her hair pulled away from her face.
She hated that this was how he found her—weak, sweating, kneeling on the floor like a wreck.
He didn’t speak. Just breathed. Just moved.
“Sorry,” she rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, eyes squeezed shut.
“Don’t be.” His voice was low. Rough from sleep. But gentle.
Still, she felt the silence settle between them like dust. Heavy. Undisturbed. The kind of silence that came not from comfort—but from all the things they weren’t saying.
She stayed folded over for a minute longer, forehead against her arm, breath shaky. Her whole body trembled with leftover nausea. Every part of her felt foreign lately—like her skin didn’t fit right anymore. Like she was disappearing under the weight of something growing inside her.
“You okay?” Jesse asked softly.
Hayley nodded. Lied. “Yeah.”
He didn’t press. Just stood slowly and offered his hand to help her up.
The movement made her dizzy. Her head spun, her limbs heavy as she leaned into him, letting him guide her back to the bed like a ghost of herself. He helped her sit. Propped pillows behind her. Tugged a blanket up over her legs.
Then he left the room.
She stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, trying to breathe. Trying not to cry. God, she was so tired of crying. Tired of feeling like her body belonged to someone else. Like her insides were betraying her by the hour. Jesse was here—but it still felt like she was carrying this alone.
A few minutes later, he came back with a steaming mug and a small plate of dry toast.
“Tea,” he said simply. “And carbs.”
She took the mug with both hands, fingers wrapping around the ceramic for warmth. It smelled like ginger. He’d remembered. Of course he had. Jesse noticed things, remembered details. He just didn’t talk.
“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.
He didn’t answer. Just sat on the edge of the bed and handed her the toast like it might break in his hands.
Hayley took a bite. One chew. Two.
Her stomach flipped again.
She set it down.
“I can’t,” she whispered, swallowing hard.
Jesse nodded once. Said nothing.
And that was worse than if he’d gotten frustrated. Worse than if he’d tried to fix it. This version of him—calm, quiet, helpful—felt like a stranger sometimes. Like he was playing the part of the boyfriend, the dad-to-be, checking boxes without letting her see what was actually going on inside him.
She glanced at him sideways. He was staring at the carpet. Shoulders tense. Hands braced on his thighs.
“Do you…” she started, hesitating. “Do you ever think this is too much?”
His head snapped up.
“What?”
“This.” She gestured to herself. “Me. The pregnancy. Everything. It’s a lot.”
He didn’t answer right away. His jaw flexed. His brow pulled tight.
But still—silence.
Hayley looked down at her lap, her chest tightening like a vise. She couldn’t keep doing this—talking into the void. Asking for honesty and getting these careful, measured silences in return.
“I just…” She trailed off, voice raw. “I don’t want to feel like I’m dragging you into something you’re not ready for.”
A long beat.
Then—finally—he spoke.
“You’re not.”
She looked up at him.
“You’re not dragging me,” he said, voice firmer now, but still soft. “I’m here because I want to be.”
“Then say something real, Jesse,” she whispered. “Please.”
He exhaled. Looked away.
The silence returned. Not angry. Just… unfinished.
Hayley leaned her head back against the pillows, tears prickling at the backs of her eyes. She didn’t cry. Not now. Not in front of him.
She just held the tea close to her chest, let the steam rise against her face, and wondered how it could be possible to have someone beside you and still feel so alone.
* * * * *
A few hours later, Hayley lay stretched out on the couch, one leg draped over the back cushion, her body half-tangled in the soft throw she’d pulled off the armrest. She was wearing one of Jesse’s old Navy PT shirts, soft from a hundred washes, and the fabric draped loose over the small swell of her belly.
Outside, she could hear him.
The occasional clink of tools. The soft grunt when something didn’t cooperate. A brief muttered curse, followed by the purr and cough of his motorcycle engine turning over before cutting again.
He was out there in the driveway, shirtless under the sun, working on the bike like it was the most important thing in the world.
This is what Jesse did when he needed space.
She let her eyes drift shut, the rhythmic clinking strangely soothing.
Until her phone buzzed against her stomach.
Hayley groaned, grabbed it, squinting at the screen.
Zoe.
She thumbed it open and pressed it to her ear. “Hey.”
“Babe,” Zoe said, her voice already buzzing with adrenaline. “You ready?”
Hayley blinked. “Ready for what?”
“Black Coast. It’s Sunday.”
A beat of silence.
Hayley sat bolt upright. “Shit. It’s tonight?”
Zoe laughed. “Girl. Where the hell have you been?”
“I don’t even know what day it is to be honest.”
“Well, hate to break it to you, but tongiht’s show’s sold out. Like, wall-to-wall packed. People are buzzing about your Aus tour.”
“Fuck.” Hayley rubbed her temple. “I thought I had another week before this.”
“Nope. And tomorrow—L.A. Label meeting. They’re throwing big numbers around, Hay. This is it. This is when you get rich. Rockstar rich.”
Hayley stared at the ceiling.
She should’ve felt elated. Excited. The kind of buzz that used to shoot straight through her spine before every show.
But all she felt was…
Heavy.
Like her body hadn’t caught up with the rest of her life yet. Like her world was sprinting ahead while she stood still, barefoot in the living room, clutching a phone with cracker crumbs on her chest.
“Are you sick or something?” Zoe asked. “You’ve been off lately.”
“Yeah, I haven’t been feeling well,” she muttered. “The tour was a lot.”
“International tours are hard. Dont’ worry We’ll figure it out. Even if I have to slow the bookings down. You being on that stage tonight? It matters.”
Hayley nodded, even though Zoe couldn’t see her.
She looked out the window, and saw Jesse coming inside.
The sun glinted off his shoulder as he wiped grease from his brow, forearms flexing, curls falling in his eyes.
He had no idea.
She hadn’t told him about the label yet. About the kind of money they were talking. About what it might mean.
She didn’t even know what it meant.
Not yet.
Jesse walked inside, quiet studying.
“I’ll be there,” she said finally to Zoe.
“Hell yes, you will. Wear something hot”
The call ended with Zoe’s usual chaos, and Hayley set the phone down slowly.
Her fingers rested over her belly.
She exhaled, long and quiet.
Tonight, she’d be the Hayley they remembered.
Tomorrow, everything might change.
Jesse stood by the kitchen counter, one hand braced on the edge, the other holding a half-full glass of water. His bare chest glinted faintly with sweat, a faint streak of grease smudged along the slope of his shoulder. He looked calm, maybe even curious—but something in his stillness made her stomach twist.
“You got a gig tonight?” he asked.
Hayley nodded, pushing up to sit straighter, pulling the throw tighter around her legs. “Yup. Eight.”
Jesse sipped his water. Didn’t say anything at first.
Then—“You want me to come?”
The question hung there. Innocent. Open.
And her heart squeezed, because the answer should’ve been easy.
Of course.
Of course she wanted him there.
He was Jesse. Her Jesse. The only person who knew about the baby, the only one who’d held her hair back at three a.m. while she puked her soul into the toilet.
But…
She thought of Caiden. Of the way he’d looked at Jesse that one night they all ended up at the Holding Company. There was one thing for damn sure—Caiden hated Jesse. And if those two men were in a room together… there would be a murder.
And now, with label meetings and numbers on the table, with the band finally gaining serious traction—Caiden had been circling closer. Possessive in ways she didn’t want to name.
She couldn’t deal with that tonight. Not with Jesse watching.
Not with Caiden trying to start something.
Hayley kept her voice light. “It’s probably gonna be a packed house. You hate that kind of crowd.”
Jesse tilted his head slightly, that unreadable expression he wore when she was clearly full of shit but he wasn’t sure if it was worth calling her out.
“Don’t mind the crowd if I’m with you.”
Goddamn it.
She forced a small smile. “Honestly? I kinda just need to focus tonight. It’s the first one back since Australia. I don’t wanna be in my head about anything.”
Jesse’s jaw flexed once, subtle but there.
“Right,” he said after a beat. “So… you want space.”
“No,” she said quickly, too quickly. “It’s not like that. I just—tonight’s big. Zoe said it’s sold out. I haven’t played in over a month. I’m tired. And sick. And I feel like I’m two steps behind everyone else.”
She ran a hand through her hair, sighing. “I just need to… perform. Not think.”
Jesse nodded slowly, his thumb tracing the rim of his glass. “Okay.”
Okay.
But it didn’t sound like okay.
It sounded like Noted.
Hayley shifted on the couch, suddenly restless. “I promise it’s not about you.”
He met her gaze, steady. “You don’t have to explain. You’ve got your world. I get it.”
Her throat tightened.
But she didn’t correct him.
Didn’t say, Actually, I want you there more than anything. I’m just scared Caiden will look at you sideways and start some shit and you’ll throw a punch and I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.
She didn’t say, I’m protecting you.
She didn’t say, I’m protecting myself.
Instead, Hayley stood, barefoot on the warm floorboards, and walked toward him. Jesse turned just enough to meet her halfway, the grease smudge on his temple catching the light. She grabbed his jaw in both hands and kissed him—not soft, not casual. Fast. Hot. Needy.
His breath caught.
He responded instantly, his hand dropping the glass of water to the counter as his mouth crushed hers in return. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her against him. The kiss deepened, tongues tangling, teeth catching, all heat and pressure and tension that had nowhere else to go. For a second, she forgot everything—her exhaustion, the nausea, the gig. Forgot the baby. Forgot the fear. Forgot Caiden.
There was just Jesse. Warm. Solid. Real.
She pulled back, breathless. “You taste like motor oil.”
He smirked, lips brushing hers. “You taste like crackers.”
“You wanna go for a walk?” he asked, voice rough, thumb stroking over her cheek. “Grab something to eat on the way? You can head into the city after.”
Hayley blinked. Nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.”
She didn’t want to think yet. Didn’t want to talk about her setlist or her outfit or the thousand people waiting to see her tonight.
She just wanted a little more of this.
They walked the short stretch down to the sand, the sun dipping lower in the sky but the heat still clinging to the pavement. Early spring in San Diego felt more like July. The ocean breeze was the only thing keeping it tolerable, and she tilted her face toward it as they hit the boardwalk, Jesse’s hand warm and firm in hers.
They didn’t say much for a while.
Didn’t have to.
There was something easy in the way they moved together. Familiar. His thumb brushing lazy circles against her palm. Her fingers laced tightly through his like she didn’t want to let go.
A few blocks up, they hit a taco truck posted near the dunes. Bright yellow paint. Cheap music spilling from a tinny speaker.
Jesse grinned. “Still got that disgusting carnitas obsession?”
“Only if there’s pineapple.”
He ordered for both of them, slipping the vendor a few extra bucks when he thought she wasn’t looking. They ate while walking barefoot along the edge of the surf, foil-wrapped tacos warm in their hands, the tortillas flaking apart in the breeze.
Hayley laughed when his second taco exploded all over his wrist. He cursed under his breath and licked hot sauce off his fingers. She swore he did it slowly, just to watch her squirm.
They talked about nothing. About the ocean. About his team. About a ridiculous reality show she’d started binging on tour.
But as they turned back, heading toward his place, the warmth in her chest started to twist.
She looked up at him. “Where do you see us when the baby comes?”
Jesse’s stride faltered. Just a flicker. Then he smoothed it over.
“Someplace better,” he said.
She stopped walking. Turned toward him. “That’s not an answer.”
He glanced out at the water. Then back at her. “I don’t know, Hayley. I’m not good at the five-year plan thing.”
“I’m not asking for five years. I’m asking if you’re even staying in San Diego.”
Jesse shifted his weight, his expression guarded. “I want to.”
“But are you?”
He didn’t say anything.
Just looked down at his empty foil wrapper and crumpled it slowly between his fingers.
The silence stung more than anything else.
“You’re here,” she said, “but it still feels like I’m doing this alone.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to shut you out.”
“Then what are you trying to do?” she whispered. “What are you so afraid of?”
His body went still.
The air changed.
He glanced at her—sharp, unreadable—then blew out a breath and offered a half-laugh that didn’t sound like anything but deflection. “Jesus, Hayley. Don’t go therapist mode on me.”
She stared at him. “I’m not.”
But he’d already shut down.
The wall was up. The one she hated. The one she couldn’t reach through, no matter how hard she tried.
Back at his place, the screen door slammed shut behind them. The light had shifted—long shadows casting gold across the wood floor.
Hayley paced toward the couch, then turned back toward him, arms folded tight.
She wasn’t trying to fight.
She wasn’t.
But it slipped out before she could stop it.
“I don’t even know how you were raised,” she said, her voice sharp, brittle. “How am I supposed to know what kind of father you’ll be?”
Silence.
A long beat of nothing.
Then Jesse looked at her—eyes hollow, jaw tight.
“You wanna know what kind of father I had?” he said, voice low and cold. “One who beat the shit out of me when I asked questions.”
The air left the room.
Hayley’s stomach turned.
She opened her mouth. “Jesse, I didn’t mean—”
But he was already walking past her. His movements clipped, his body tense.
He disappeared into the bedroom.
She heard the dresser drawer open. The quiet rustle of fabric. The unmistakable sound of his running shoes hitting the floor.
When he walked back out, he was in old Navy shorts and a black tee, his laces in his hands.
He didn’t say anything.
Didn’t look at her.
Just dropped onto the bench by the door and tied his shoes.
The silence ached.
Hayley sank slowly into the couch, her hands pressed flat against her knees, her throat burning.
He opened the door. The screen creaked.
“I’ll be back later,” he said.
And then he was gone.