13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
T he sky outside the C-17’s tiny window was a bleached, indifferent gray—clouds thick and low as they cut across California airspace.
Jesse sat rigid in his seat, arms crossed tight over his chest, his spine straight despite the thrum of exhaustion through his bones. Six weeks. That’s how long they’d been gone. South Pacific. Remote as hell. Jungle terrain so thick you couldn’t see your hand in front of your face half the time. No names, no backup, no digital footprint.
Just them.
Dom was asleep across from him—well, not asleep exactly. His eyes were closed, arms folded, head back, boots planted wide. But Jesse knew better. Dom didn’t sleep until it was safe. He just shut down, like a machine on standby.
Isaac sat beside him, black hoodie pulled up, earbuds in, legs sprawled like the plane wasn’t full of seventy pounds of gear and seven weeks of silence. He tapped out a rhythm on his thigh, eyes tracking the ceiling like he was scoring the soundtrack of the end credits.
Zach was talking—because of course he was. Lounged sideways on a bench seat like they hadn’t been crawling through bamboo and god-knows-what for the past month and a half. He had one boot kicked up and was telling a story Jesse was only half-tuned into, something about a bartender in Saipan and a machete. The kind of shit Zach always managed to make happen.
Colson stood near the rear bulkhead, arms crossed, head bent over a tablet. Classic LPO stance—always in control, even when his eyes looked half-dead. He didn’t say much, didn’t have to. If the rest of them were bones and blood, Colson was the spine.
Jesse sat still. Restless.
The noise of the aircraft was steady. Comforting, almost. Like white noise that could drown out thought if you let it. But Jesse couldn’t let it.
Six weeks. That’s how long it had been since he’d seen her.
Hayley.
He could still taste her on his lips. Still hear her voice in the dark. Still feel the press of her body against his, the way she’d looked at him that night like maybe—just maybe—there was still something left to fight for.
And then she was gone.
Tour started. She left the country. He deployed. Neither of them said goodbye.
He hadn’t heard from her. Not really. Just a few messages relayed through Heath when the signal allowed. One word, maybe two. She’s good. She’s singing again. Still sober.
That was the one that had hit hardest. Still sober.
Jesse clenched his jaw, the thick ache in his chest growing sharper with every mile. He wasn’t supposed to miss her like this. Wasn’t supposed to still hope.
And yet.
The pilot’s voice crackled through the headset above them. “Entering U.S. airspace. Touchdown in thirty.”
Dom shifted. Isaac popped an earbud. Zach sat up and stretched like he hadn’t just spent a month in hell.
Colson turned, gave a short nod, and Jesse felt something settle deep in his ribs. The mission was over.
They were going home.
Home.
If that’s what you could still call it.
The city lights shimmered below them, faint through the misted window. Jesse leaned forward, arms on his knees, hands clasped tight. His knuckles ached from the grip, but he didn’t loosen it.
The wheels slammed against the tarmac like a body hitting concrete. Jesse didn’t flinch. Just sat there, spine straight against the hardback of the C-17 jump seat, unmoving as the shudder rolled through the fuselage. Another landing. Another mission. Another fucking ghost-town welcome.
He unclipped his harness with practiced ease, movements mechanical, then shifted forward with the rest of the team as the ramp creaked and lowered, revealing the night-washed stretch of Naval Base Coronado.
Salt. Jet fuel. California air.
He blinked under the floodlights as his boots hit the ground—solid American soil beneath him for the first time in six weeks.
Home.
Whatever the hell that meant anymore.
The ride back blurred. San Diego outside the Humvee window looked like a different planet. Too clean. Too bright. Too still. Strip malls and gas stations. Palm trees and people walking around like nothing had shifted, like the world hadn’t cracked open while he was gone.
He sat behind the wheel of his truck in silence once the base dropped him off. Just stared out the windshield, hands on the steering wheel. Knuckles tight. Breath shallow.
Six weeks gone.
Six weeks of jungle rot and night sweats. Mosquitoes and silence. Flashbangs and gunfire. Six weeks of counting heartbeats in the dark, of tracking men through the trees like ghosts, of moving like his life depended on it—because it did.
They’d completed the op. Clean. Precise. No team casualties. One of the few picture-perfect extractions they’d had in years. He should’ve felt something.
Pride. Relief.
But all Jesse felt was hollow.
By the time he pulled into his cracked driveway, the sun was long gone. The street was quiet, the air thick with coastal fog. The engine cut, leaving behind a ringing silence.
He just sat there.
The steering wheel under his hands, too familiar. His palms too used to gloves and rifle grips. His chest too used to the weight of a plate carrier.
He finally moved, slowly, every muscle aching in protest. The door creaked open. The ocean breeze hit him—warm, familiar—and did nothing to ground him.
He unlocked the door and stepped inside. The light flicked on. The house blinked back at him like it didn’t recognize him anymore.
Everything was exactly the same.
And completely wrong.
His jacket still hung on the chair. His guitar leaned against the wall, untouched. The coffee mug in the sink. The smell of detergent and wood polish that hadn’t quite faded. All of it frozen in time.
He dropped his ruck just inside the door. The clang of his gear hitting the floor echoed through the silence. Dog tags thumped against his chest.
His lungs tightened.
He walked through the room like it wasn’t his. Like he was breaking into someone else’s life.
Then, instinct took over—movement, action, something to do.
He pulled open a drawer. Grabbed his personal phone. It was still off. Still plugged in where he left it.
He powered it up.
The screen came alive slowly. Apple logo. Loading.
The second it blinked on, the notifications flooded in—calls, emails, texts, group threads, updates he didn’t want. But he wasn’t looking for any of it.
Just one name.
Hayley.
His stomach twisted.
But before he could even check—before he could open the thread—his mind turned on him.
Week five.
They’d found the camp after completing the primary objective. Small. Hidden. Burned out and reeking of blood. They weren’t supposed to find anything else. But they did.
Civilians.
Or what was left of them.
And one kid—small, dark-eyed, shaking, clutching a blood-soaked stuffed animal like it could keep the world out. He couldn’t have been more than seven. Eyes too old. Mouth clamped shut. The kind of silence Jesse recognized in his bones.
The navigator had said there was nothing they could do. Aid workers would be there soon. The kid was in shock. Best not to interfere.
So Jesse had walked away.
And he’d been hating himself for it ever since.
That look on the boy’s face—the disbelief, the detachment, the deep, echoing loss—that look had followed Jesse out of the jungle. It followed him still.
Just like his own reflection had the night he called 911 for his mother. The same expression. The same hollowness.
Survival didn’t mean a goddamn thing.
His phone buzzed.
He blinked. Focused.
A text.
Hayley.
His chest tightened. Hands still dirty. Still smelling like jungle sweat and death. He opened it anyway.
Hey.
Are you home?
Two lines. That was it. After all this time.
He stared at the words like they were a trap. Like they might disappear if he blinked too hard.
His thumbs moved before his brain caught up.
Yes. Come. Now.
He hit send.
Then set the phone down on the counter, its faint glow pulsing in the dim kitchen light.
Jesse leaned forward, gripping the edge of the counter like it could anchor him. His pulse was too fast. His skin still crawling with everything he hadn’t shaken.
He was back.
But he wasn’t fucking home.
He ignored every other notification streaming in. Ignored the thousand thoughts slamming through his head, ignored the way his hands itched for something, anything, to take the edge off.
Instead, he moved on autopilot.
Microwaved something frozen.
Didn’t even look at what it was—some leftover protein-packed, health-friendly, bullshit meal he had stashed before deployment.
When the timer beeped, he grabbed the plastic container, tore the lid off, and devoured the contents standing right there in the kitchen. Didn’t taste it. Didn’t care. Just shoveled it in like a machine, chewing, swallowing, chasing fuel.
His stomach felt tight, wrong, restless.
Nothing satisfied.
Nothing ever fucking satisfied.
He tossed the empty container, turned, and headed straight for the shower.
The bathroom was still dark when he stepped inside, the only light coming from the glow of the city pressing against the blinds.
He stripped down, leaving his clothes in a heap on the tile.
Then, he stepped under the water.
It was hot as hell, scalding, steam rising instantly, curling against the glass walls.
Jesse pressed his palms to the tiled wall, hanging his head forward, letting the heat seep into his muscles.
Six weeks gone.
Six weeks of being clean. Being sharp. Being the man Colson finally trusted again.
And now?
Now his brain was itching, writhing, screaming.
One drink.
One hit.
Just one fucking night.
He could handle it.
Could keep it under control.
He was different now. He was stronger now.
His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as the thought slithered through his head like poison.
His muscles twitched, remembering what it felt like to sink into oblivion.
To drink until the world blurred.
To snort until his brain went numb.
To fuck until nothing else existed but heat and sweat and breathless, mindless distraction.
The cycle.
It was always the fucking cycle.
Jesse exhaled harshly, fingers curling into fists against the tile.
His whole body was wound so goddamn tight he thought he might break.
And if he broke—
If he fell back in—
Who the fuck would pull him out this time?
He squeezed his eyes shut, chest rising and falling hard, struggling to control his breath.
The steam curled around him, thick and heavy, wrapping his body in heat, pressing against his skin. Jesse had his head bowed, water running in rivulets down his shoulders, his hands braced against the slick tile as exhaustion threatened to drag him under.
Then—
A shift.
Barely there. A whisper of air different from the steam.
His head snapped up. His eyes cut through the fogged glass, and—
Her.
A silhouette framed in the doorway. Auburn hair loose and wavy, her body swallowed by an oversized hoodie, bare legs peeking beneath the hem. She was just standing there. Watching him. Like she wasn’t sure he was real. Like maybe she’d dreamed this, too.
Jesse’s heart slammed into his ribs, his breath locking in his throat.
“Babe.” His voice came out rough, disbelieving.
She blinked, her lips parting, a slow exhale slipping through them. “You’re actually back.”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Jesse swallowed hard and reached for the glass door, sliding it open as steam billowed out between them. His fingers curled around the edge, holding onto something solid because fuck, was this real? Had he finally lost it?
“Come here,” he said.
She hesitated, just for a second. Then, she reached for the hem of her hoodie and pulled it over her head.
Jesse watched in slow-motion as the fabric dropped to the floor. Then her shorts. Then her bra.
His throat worked. His vision tunneled.
Fuck.
Her lips twitched. “That all you have to say?”
He exhaled, shaking his head. “I—”
But he didn’t have the words. Didn’t have anything but this—the raw, pulsing hunger flooding every inch of him as she stepped forward, stepping into him, stepping into the water, the heat, the space that had felt so empty for the last six weeks.
Water hit her skin, streaming down her bare shoulders, darkening her hair, curling against her mouth, her lips—
She was close enough now that her hands smoothed over his chest, fingers tracing the lines of him, spreading over the scars she knew like a map.
Jesse didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.
He hauled her against him, crushing her into him, hands gripping tight, pressing her flush against his soaked, burning skin.
Her gasp was swallowed by his mouth as he crashed into her, desperate, drowning, devouring.
Her nails bit into his shoulders. Her body curled against his, soft and slick, melting into him like they were made for this. Like she had always belonged here.
“I hopped in a cab as soon as you texted,” she said between ragged breaths. “I couldn’t wait.”
Jesse dragged his mouth down her jaw, breathing her in, fucking breathing again for the first time in weeks. “Couldn’t wait?” he rasped. “Either to kill me or—”
“To kiss you.”
She tipped her chin up, and fuck if she didn’t smirk, knowing exactly what she was doing to him.
Jesse growled low in his throat, dragging his tongue along the pulse pounding at her neck. “You missed me then.”
“Shut up.” She bit his lower lip, teasing, taunting, but her eyes—
Her eyes gave her away.
She had missed him. She hadn’t stopped missing him.
Jesse’s hands slid down, gripping the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up, forcing her to climb into him, to wrap around him, to let him hold her the way he needed to.
Her legs locked around his waist, her arms clung to his shoulders, her body molding into his like she had never been gone. Like she had never left.
He pressed her back against the tile, water crashing over them, his lips never leaving hers, never letting her go.
His hands found her hips, fingers pressing deep, like he had to remind himself she was real.
She was real.
And he was going to do everything.