9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
J esse didn’t let go. Not even for a second.
The moment his body gave out, the moment the last pulse of pleasure dragged through him like a wrecking wave, he wrapped his arms around her and held tight. Too tight.
Like if he loosened his grip, she might vanish. Fade like smoke. Like this—she—was too good to be real.
But she was real.
He could feel her—warm, trembling, her bare skin slick against his, her heartbeat thudding beneath his palm. Still fluttering like it couldn’t catch up to what just happened.
God, neither could he.
He buried his face in her hair, dragging her scent into his lungs like it could anchor him. That scent—always her. Coconut. Salt. That sun-warmed sweetness that made him feel seventeen again. Before the booze. Before the burn. Before he’d blown it all to hell.
His fingers threaded through the waves of her hair, slow, reverent. Over and over again. Like maybe if he touched her enough, he could believe this wasn’t a dream. That she was here. That she chose to be.
His pulse hadn’t calmed.
His body still hummed, a low, wild current just under his skin. Not from the sex. From her.
From the way she hadn’t left.
From the way she curled into him, thigh hooked over his hip, her breath easing as her fingers traced lazy, absent-minded shapes over his ribs.
Like no time had passed.
Like she hadn’t shattered him.
Jesse stared at the ceiling, teeth clenched against the pressure building in his chest. This was dangerous. She was dangerous. Because he could feel the cracks in his armor—spreading, shifting.
So he spoke.
Soft. Quiet. Almost too quiet.
“I went home,” he said, voice muffled in her hair.
She froze.
Just for a beat. Then shifted to look at him, her eyes wide, green, searching.
“What?”
He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t. He just kept running his fingers through her hair, grounding himself.
“Last year. When I was getting clean. I went back to Pensacola.”
She didn’t say anything.
Didn’t push.
Didn’t try to fill the silence.
So he kept going.
“Walked past the old house. It still had the same cracked driveway. New paint, but same busted porch, same crooked fence. I could still hear her yelling, you know? My mom. Like the walls still held it.”
Her hand moved over his stomach. Slow. Soft. Holding him.
It gutted him.
He swallowed hard. “Went by the trailer we moved into after she finally left. Then the shelter. Then the projects.”
He let out a sharp breath, eyes still fixed on the ceiling like if he blinked, he’d lose control of it all. “Saw my old bedroom window. The one I used to stare out of while the neighbors fought or the cops lit up the street. Could still smell the mildew on the curtains. Could still hear her come home drunk, slamming things. Crying.”
Her fingers tightened on him.
He finally looked at her.
She didn’t speak. Her expression said enough—wide eyes, glassy with unshed emotion. Like she could feel it. Every word. Every wound.
Jesse let out a slow, shaky laugh. “I never told you any of this, did I?”
She shook her head.
“Yeah.” He swallowed. “Didn’t think so.”
“Why now?” she whispered.
He didn’t know how to answer that. Not really. But he said the only thing that felt true.
“Because you’re here.”
Her breath hitched.
And in that instant—he knew she understood. Not just the words. The weight of them. The cost.
She leaned in and pressed a kiss over his heart.
Just one. Soft. Steady.
It wrecked him.
He tightened his arms around her, burying his face in the curve of her neck, breathing her in like she was oxygen.
And then—his lips found hers. This time not wild. Not desperate. But slow. Deep. Real.
It said everything he hadn’t.
Everything he’d been too afraid to feel.
And when it ended—when they were still wrapped around each other, when her cheek rested against his chest, her lashes brushing his skin—he broke the silence.
“Stay,” he said. “Just stay.”
She didn’t answer right away.
But she didn’t pull away.
She didn’t move.
And for a breath, for one fragile moment, he let himself believe she would.
But reality wasn’t far behind.
His fingers brushed the back of her neck. “I have to go in the morning.”
Hayley lifted her head, just enough to meet his eyes. “Go?”
“Deployment.”
The word sat heavy between them.
He felt her still. Then exhale, soft and slow, like it physically hurt.
“For how long?”
Jesse shook his head. “They’re not saying yet.”
Her gaze shifted to the ceiling. She rolled onto her back, the absence of her touch sending a cold ache down his spine.
“Tomorrow,” she said.
He nodded.
Then she added, quietly, “Me too.”
He already knew.
He’d looked up the damn tour schedule the second she texted him that night. The second he knew she was coming.
Still, hearing it cracked something open.
“When?”
“Noon flight. San Diego to Auckland.” She swallowed. “First show’s in five days.”
Across the world.
He closed his eyes. Let the silence crawl up his throat.
Fuck.
“I gotta tell you something.”
She turned to face him, eyes cautious, still unreadable. “What?”
He hesitated.
But it was there—right in front of him.
And he couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“You’ve been drunk three times this week.”
She tensed. Every muscle in her body going sharp.
Then she rolled her eyes, brushing a hand through her hair. “Seriously?”
“I’ve noticed.”
Her voice turned defensive, hard. “You used to down a fifth before noon.”
“I know,” he said calmly. “Look how well that worked out.”
Her mouth opened. Closed.
Silence.
He didn’t let up. “You don’t drink like this. Not before.”
“Maybe I changed.”
“No,” he said, his voice lower now. “You’re running.”
Her chest rose. Fell. But she didn’t argue.
Because she knew.
He could see it. See himself in her.
She was slipping.
He reached for her, gently tucking her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing her cheek. “You leaving tomorrow… and you wanted to spend your last night here?”
She didn’t meet his eyes.
Didn’t have to.
The answer was already written all over her.
He nodded, letting the weight of it settle in. His touch lingered at her jaw, slow, reverent. Like maybe he didn’t want to let go either.
“Stay with me,” he whispered.
Her breath caught.
And for the first time since she’d shown up at his door, she didn’t say no.
She didn’t say anything at all.
She just curled into him.
And he held her.
Like she wasn’t going anywhere. Like this night was something they could keep. Even if it wasn’t. Even if it was already ending.