25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
T he glow of the city lights flickered over Hayley’s face as she stared down at her phone, the screen casting a cold glow over her skin. The streets of downtown San Diego blurred past outside the Tesla’s tinted windows, a mix of neon reflections, distant laughter, and the hum of life buzzing along the Gaslamp Quarter.
Her thumb hovered over Jesse’s name.
She exhaled slowly, then fired off a quick text.
Hey, I’m back in town. Meet me at the usual spot?
She hit send, watching the message deliver.
Then waited.
Nothing.
Hayley tapped the screen, checking her service, checking if he was even receiving her messages. Jesse was always bad at texting, but something about this felt… different.
She glanced up as Zoe turned onto a quieter street, away from the chaos of the bars and the late-night foot traffic. The Tesla’s interior was sleek, spotless, the low hum of the electric engine barely audible under the sound of the playlist Zoe had put on—a slow, dreamy indie track that felt completely at odds with Hayley’s pulse hammering in her throat.
“Where to?” Zoe asked, eyes flicking toward her. “Home?”
Something about the way she said it—careful, casual in a way that wasn’t casual at all—made Hayley tense.
She shifted in her seat. “Yeah, my place is fine.”
Zoe hummed, her perfectly manicured fingers tapping the wheel as she switched lanes. “So, you’re actually staying there tonight?”
The way she phrased it sent a prickle of unease through Hayley’s spine.
Like she already knew the answer.
Like she was waiting for Hayley to slip.
Hayley forced herself to stretch, covering the way her pulse spiked. “Uh, yeah. I mean… I live there.”
Zoe didn’t say anything right away.
She just nodded, slowly, her gaze flicking to Hayley’s out of the corner of her eye.
Hayley felt it then—the shift. The unspoken weight in the air.
Had Caiden said something?
Had he told Zoe about the fight on Sunset? Had he thrown Jesse’s name out there?
A sick feeling curled in her stomach.
She needed to shut this down.
She let out a soft, tired laugh. “God, I’m exhausted,” she muttered, rubbing her eyes dramatically. “That drive was long as hell.”
Zoe finally smirked, the tension loosening just a fraction. “Yeah, I bet. Get some sleep. You have writing tomorrow with Caiden?”
“Yes, we sure do,” Hayley replied.
“I’m excited to see what you guys create this time. The band has more of a personality now. More of a unified voice.”
“Yeah, but—that said, we’ve got a lot of work ahead of us. Everyone has big concept ideas and we just need to start stitching things together.”
“Perfect. Time to get pen to paper,” Zoe said.
The Tesla rolled to a stop outside Hayley’s building.
She was out of the car before Zoe could ask another question, bag slung over her shoulder, boots hitting the steps too fast.
She didn’t breathe until the front door clicked shut behind her.
Then—silence.
She flicked on the lights. The apartment glowed softly, shadows slipping into the corners, but the air felt off. Not just still—hollow. Cold in a way that had nothing to do with temperature.
This wasn’t Jesse’s place.
There was no weight here. No warmth. No life.
This was just space. Walls and furniture. Somewhere to land, not somewhere to stay.
Hayley kicked off her boots and dropped her bag by the couch, arms folding tight around herself. Her phone buzzed in her hand—but it wasn’t him. Just junk. Spam. Nothing that mattered.
She stared down at his name in her contacts.
Thumb hovered.
Fuck it.
She hit call.
The line rang. And rang.
And went straight to voicemail.
Her stomach dropped.
She tried again. Same thing.
And that’s when it hit her—the silence.
She pressed the phone to her chest like it might steady her heartbeat. But it didn’t. Her pulse galloped.
Her body moved before her brain caught up—feet dragging toward the kitchen, like maybe he’d be there. Like maybe he’d show up with that crooked smirk and a dumb excuse and she’d be so fucking relieved she wouldn’t know whether to kiss him or scream.
She made a bedtime tea, not because she wanted it, but because it gave her hands something to do. Something to hold. Something that didn’t feel like breaking.
Shower. Tea. Bed. That was the plan. Go through the motions. Take care of yourself.
In the bathroom, the water steamed around her, warm and cozy. She stood under the spray, head bowed, fingers splayed over her belly.
Eight weeks.
Still barely a bump. Just enough to make her jeans tight, just enough to make her wake up sick, just enough to make everything feel heavier.
She stepped out, dried off, pulled on pajamas with hands that trembled more than she wanted to admit.
In the mirror, she caught her own reflection and paused.
Lifted her shirt. Just enough to see.
The curve was subtle. Barely there. But she saw it. Felt it. Knew what it meant.
This wasn’t a maybe. This wasn’t a dream.
She was pregnant. Alone. In love with a man she couldn’t trust. Again.
And God help her—she still wanted to believe in him.
Hayley’s hand splayed across the curve of her belly. Her eyes closed.
Her voice came out quiet, rough.
“Please be okay.”
She wasn’t sure if she was talking to the baby. Or to Jesse. Or to herself.
Then she turned off the light and crawled into bed, pulling the baby book off the nightstand.
Flipping through pages. Trying to absorb information.
The baby book was open in her lap, but she hadn’t read a single word.
She blinked at the page, barely seeing it.
Week 8. Raspberry-sized. Heartbeat at 150 to 170 bpm.
She exhaled slowly, fingers resting over her lower stomach.
She wasn’t ready for information.
She needed comfort.
Something real. Something to fill the silence.
So instead, she sang.
No guitar. No piano. Just her voice—soft, steady, breath-warmed. The lullaby had no name, no chorus, just a melody she’d written weeks ago, long before she even admitted to herself she was going to keep the baby. It lived in her ribs, in her throat. A little patchwork tune she hummed while folding laundry or staring out windows too long.
Now, she sang it into the quiet.
Her hand splayed over her stomach as her voice floated out into the room. Slow and low. A whisper wrapped in a tune. A promise she wasn’t sure she knew how to keep.
She sang it just once.
Then again.
By the third time, her voice broke on the last note.
Her eyes stung.
She curled forward, gripping the edge of the baby book until her knuckles went white.
Where was he?
Why hadn’t he called?
The lullaby faded, and the silence that followed was unbearable.
She grabbed her phone again.
Her thumb hovered over Jesse’s name, jaw tight, heart cracking open in her chest.
One more try.
Just one more.
She pressed Call.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Then—voicemail.
And this time, she didn’t stop herself.
Her voice cracked as soon as she spoke.
“Jesse…”
A shaky breath.
Then—
“I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if you’re okay. I don’t know if you’re hurt or if you’re just… gone. But I can’t do this. I can’t do this if it’s going to be like this.
I need you.
I don’t care what’s happening, I don’t care if you think it’s better to stay away—I need you.
I can’t do this alone.”
The line went dead.
Just like that.
She stared at the screen for a long time, the quiet in her apartment pressing in around her, heavier than ever.
She turned off the light.
Slipped under the covers.
Wrapped her arms around her belly like that would stop the ache.
And somewhere in her chest, the lullaby kept echoing.
A song for someone too small to hear.
And maybe—maybe—a prayer for someone who should’ve been here by now.