27. Chapter 27
Chapter 27
T he first thing Hayley registered was an arm wrapped low around her waist, palm splayed possessively over her stomach, fingertips barely moving, like they were tracing something he couldn’t name. Or didn’t know how to say.
She didn’t have to open her eyes to know who it was.
Jesse.
The breath at her neck came in slow, uneven waves. His lips hovered near her shoulder, brushing once—soft, tentative. Like a question he didn’t dare ask out loud.
Her heart slammed into her ribs.
It wasn’t a dream. He was here.
The clock’s red digits glowed from the nightstand: 3:12 a.m.
She turned before she could stop herself, too fast, knocking his hand from her body as she shifted to face him. The sheets tangled at her hips, and her body jolted with the sudden rush of movement—but she didn’t care.
Because he was there.
Jesse.
Lying next to her. Shirtless. In nothing but black boxers, his chest golden in the moonlight, curls damp and sticking to his forehead like he’d run through a storm.
He looked like something half-wild, half-ruined—and all hers.
His gaze met hers immediately, eyes dark and open. No shields. No mask. Just Jesse.
Raw.
Quiet.
Watching her like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
And then—her breath caught.
The gauze.
Just below his ribs, half-shadowed under the moonlight, a clean white bandage. Neatly wrapped. Tight.
A fresh wound.
She inhaled sharply. “You’re hurt.”
He swallowed. “It’s not bad.”
“Jesse…”
“I cleaned up in your bathroom.”
The words were so casual, so goddamn normal, they hit like a gut punch.
Her eyes traced the bandage, the curve of his side. She saw it now—the way his body shifted ever so slightly, the careful way he was breathing. Protecting the injury. Protecting himself.
Her fingers moved toward him on instinct, but she pulled them back before they could touch. Before they could betray her.
“What happened?” Her voice cracked.
Jesse didn’t answer.
“Don’t lie to me,” she whispered. “Not tonight.”
He reached for her hand—slow, cautious—but she pulled back.
His face tightened.
“I was on my way to you,” he said. “I ran into some trouble.”
Her stomach dropped. “What kind of trouble?”
“I walked down the wrong alley.”
“Jesus, Jesse.” She sat up slightly, sheets falling to her waist, her voice rising with disbelief. “Why would you do that? Why would you be out in some alley when you were supposed to be—” She broke off, swallowing hard. “You were supposed to meet me.”
He exhaled, the sound low, gritty. “I didn’t mean to disappear.”
“But you did.” Her voice was sharper now, more awake. “I called you. I waited.”
His jaw ticked.
She stared at him, heart pounding. “What happened to you out there?”
His hand flexed against the mattress. “I was looking for someone.”
The words stilled her.
“A friend,” he added, voice low. “Kwilé. He’s on the street. He’s an addict. He’s been using again. I hadn’t seen him in days—I thought he might be dead.”
That stopped her.
Because she understood.
Her breath left her in one slow, aching exhale.
“I would’ve gone with you,” she whispered.
He looked at her like that thought never even occurred to him.
And maybe it hadn’t.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. “Why do you always try to carry everything alone?”
Jesse shifted, wincing as the bandage pulled across his ribs. “Because I don’t know how not to.”
“Then learn,” she said, voice trembling. “Because I can’t keep doing this. I’m not that girl anymore. I can’t keep loving someone who disappears when I need him.”
The silence between them stretched wide and taut, pulling across the bed like wire.
He reached for her again. This time she let him.
His fingers ghosted along her jaw, brushing a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. His thumb stayed there, warm and rough and trembling ever so slightly.
“Hayley.” His voice was barely a breath. “I love you.”
Her eyes closed.
And when they opened again, they were brimming with tears.
“If that’s true…” Her throat bobbed. “Then let me in.”
Silence.
Thick and suffocating.
She could hear it—the beat of his heart in the quiet. Could feel how badly he wanted to say something. To fix this. To explain.
“I am trying,” he said.
She nodded once, swallowing. “I know.”
She lifted her hand, trailing her fingers along the edge of the gauze. Her touch was feather-light, but he flinched anyway.
Her eyes darted to his. “Who did this?”
“A junkie. Bad hit. He lashed out.” He paused, exhaled. “It wasn’t about me.”
Her heart twisted.
Her fingertips slid higher, grazing the curve of his shoulder, his collarbone. He was warm. Tense. Solid. His eyes dropped to her mouth, then lower—to the swell of her stomach, hidden beneath his t-shirt.
“You’re still trying to save everyone but yourself,” she said.
His lips curved. Not a smile. Not really. “That’s not true.”
“You need stitches.”
He shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“You’re bleeding and lying to me in the same breath.”
He winced at that—but said nothing.
She shifted closer, pressing her forehead to his chest, laying her palm flat over his heart. The beat beneath her hand was steady. Loud. Familiar.
“Are you clean?” she asked softly. “Really clean?”
“Yes.”
It came fast. Immediate. No hesitation.
She let out a breath, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I’m scared, Jesse.”
“I know.” His arms wrapped around her again, his touch firmer this time. More sure. “Me too.”
He kissed her head. Her temple. The curve of her cheek.
Slow. Devastating.
His mouth moved like he was afraid this might be the last time he got to touch her.
She tilted her face up.
Let her lips find his.
It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t lust.
It was something else.
A kiss full of sorrow and apology and every unsaid thing they were both too broken to speak aloud.
When it broke, she lingered there—nose to his, breath mingling. Her eyes opened to his, barely a whisper between them.
“Promise me something.”
His brow furrowed. “Anything.”
She searched his face like she was memorizing it. “Promise me the truth. Always.”
He didn’t flinch.
Didn’t look away.
“I promise.”
And for the first time in hours, her body eased. Not fully. Not completely. But just enough.
She curled into him again, the curve of her body fitting against his chest. His hand returned to her belly, splaying over it like he was guarding something sacred.
And beneath the silence, beneath the ache, beneath the wreckage—they held on.
To each other.
To the truth.
To the one thing they hadn’t been brave enough to name yet:
Hope.
* * * * *
Hayley woke to sunlight, warm and golden, sliding through the slats of the blinds and painting lazy stripes across the sheets.
She stirred slightly—and the first thing she registered was him.
Jesse.
Wrapped around her like a second skin. A furnace behind her. Solid muscle and slow, sleeping breath. One arm tucked possessively around her waist, the other palm spread low across her stomach, beneath the hem of his old t-shirt that clung to her like a whisper.
It hadn’t been a dream.
He was here.
And the second thing she registered was heat.
It curled low in her belly, thrummed through her chest, tightened everything inside her. His hand shifted—fingertips brushing up the slope of her ribs, slow and instinctive. And then—
His hips.
A subtle shift. The roll of his body against hers. The undeniable pressure of him, hard and insistent, grinding against the curve of her ass in a lazy, unconscious thrust.
Her breath hitched.
He exhaled behind her, a soft groan catching in his throat as he buried his face into her hair, nuzzling like he hadn’t been able to sleep without her. Like he hadn’t been able to breathe.
And then his lips.
God—his lips.
They brushed the line of her shoulder, barely there. Then again, firmer. Hot. Open-mouthed.
A kiss that wasn’t asking—it was claiming.
He kissed her like he remembered every inch of her skin. Like he’d dreamed of this—of her—every night for six weeks.
His stubble scraped against the delicate line of her neck, sending a rush of sensation through her bloodstream, sharp and electric. Her nipples hardened instantly, her thighs clenching involuntarily as heat spread between them.
“Jesse…” she breathed, voice raw, still half-asleep and thick with need.
He hummed low against her skin, his arm tightening, dragging her impossibly closer, until there was no space left between them. His hand flexed over her stomach, fingers splaying wide and possessive.
And then, his mouth brushed her ear.
“I’m so sorry,” he murmured, voice hoarse, wrecked with sleep and regret. “About last night. About everything.”
Her chest cracked open.
She turned—fast—twisting in his arms until she was facing him.
And then his mouth was on hers.
Hot. Deep. Desperate.
He kissed her like it had been years, not hours. Like the only way to speak the things he couldn’t say was to pour them into her mouth—tongue, teeth, breath—until she couldn’t remember where she ended and he began.
His hand slid into her hair, threading through it, angling her just the way he liked. He kissed her like he needed it to stay alive, like her mouth was the only oxygen that had ever mattered.
And she gave it to him.
Kissed him back, wild and open and hungry. Her hands gripped his shoulders, then slid lower—down his chest, over warm, bare skin, until her palms found the waistband of his boxers. She curled her fingers there, teasing, just for a second—then dipped inside.
Jesse groaned into her mouth, full-bodied and wrecked, hips jolting as she wrapped her hand around him.
God, he was hard. So hard. Her hand moved slowly at first, stroking him, testing, then firmer. She wanted to drive him out of his mind, to remind him exactly who she was, what she could do to him.
“Fuck,” he rasped against her lips, his forehead pressing to hers, breath ragged. “Hayley…”
She smiled, wicked and soft all at once, pumping him slow, watching his self-control start to fracture. Her other hand slid over his ribs—careful of the bandage—and curled behind his neck, pulling him back into another kiss.
His hand was already under her shirt, but now it moved with new purpose—down her side, over her stomach, then slipping lower. She gasped against his mouth as his fingers brushed over her underwear, cupping her through the thin cotton, his palm warm and insistent.
“Let me,” he whispered.
She nodded, biting her lip.
He slid his hand beneath the fabric, fingers finding her slick and ready. Her hips jerked as he stroked her, slow and deliberate, his touch expert, knowing. Like he remembered every single thing that made her lose control.
She rocked into him instinctively, moaning into his mouth as she kept her grip on him, matching every movement, every thrust of her hand with the rhythm he gave her.
It was slow. Messy. Addictive.
Their mouths barely broke apart—just enough to gasp, to groan, to whisper things neither of them would remember later. His thumb circled her just right and her whole body shuddered.
“Baby,” he murmured, kissing the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw. “I missed you. Missed this. Missed you.”
They were tangled in heat and breath and motion. Hands moving, hips grinding, everything spinning into something that felt too big to hold.
She tilted her chin, lips parted, ready to say it.
I missed you too.
I love you.
But then—
A sudden, violent lurch in her gut.
Her body stiffened.
“No—” she gasped, eyes flying open, breath catching on a wave of nausea that hit her like a sucker punch.
Everything inside her turned.
The heat, the rush, the pleasure—it all disappeared in an instant, swept away by the sick twist in her stomach.
She shoved at his chest, rolled fast—too fast.
Then she was up. Barefoot. Running.
She barely made it to the bathroom before she dropped to her knees, fingers gripping the toilet as her stomach heaved, the intensity of it knocking the breath right out of her.
Behind her, the sheets rustled.
And then—his voice.
“Hayley?”
But she couldn’t answer.
Not yet.
Because this—this was what love looked like now.
Lust. Regret. Need.
And morning sickness.
Her entire body shook, chills rolling over her as she braced her palms against the porcelain. Her eyes watered as she gasped for air, another wave of nausea threatening.
And then—
Warm hands pulling her hair back, fingers smoothing over the nape of her neck, his presence solid behind her.
She squeezed her eyes shut, embarrassed, weak. This was not how she wanted the morning to go. A deep inhale, slow, steady.
“Breathe, baby. Just breathe.” His palm swept up and down her back in steady strokes, his other hand gathering her tangled hair into a loose fist, holding it away from her face.
She sucked in a shaky breath, her body still trembling. Another deep inhale. Another wave of nausea. She heaved.
Jesse didn’t move. Just stayed right there, grounding her, holding her, taking care of her.
When the worst of it passed, she slumped forward, resting her forehead on her arm, completely drained.
Jesse’s hand trailed down her spine, slow, deliberate. “All done?”
She nodded weakly, exhaling. “Yeah.”
He was quiet for a second. Then, soft—“I hate seeing you like this.”
Her heart clenched.
She closed her eyes, swallowing past the burn in her throat. “I’m okay.”
Jesse huffed out a breath like he didn’t believe her.
Then—he moved.
Hayley barely had time to react before Jesse scooped her up, cradling her effortlessly against his chest. His arms were strong, steady—so damn steady—while she felt like a limp rag doll, weak and nauseous and weighed down by exhaustion.
“Jesse, I can walk,” she said, though her protest held no real conviction.
He ignored her, carrying her back to the bed like she weighed nothing, like it wasn’t even a question, and set her down with the kind of careful precision that made her stomach tighten—not from nausea this time, but from something else entirely.
“Stay here,” he said softly, brushing damp strands of hair from her face. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, his touch gentle, reverent. “I’ll get you some water.”
She blinked up at him, her chest tight, her emotions strangling her from the inside out.
Because Jesse had always been like this.
Rough, reckless, a storm no one could contain—but when it came to her, when it came to moments like this, he was something else. Something softer. Something steadier. A quiet kind of devotion, buried beneath all the sharp edges.
She curled deeper into the blankets as he left the room, her limbs heavy, the exhaustion pressing into her bones like lead.
A minute later, he returned, barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. His muscles flexed as he reached for her nightstand, golden hair tousled from sleep, his movements fluid, effortless.
And she was so damn tired she could barely admire it.
“Here,” he said, setting down a glass of water and a handful of crackers.
She forced herself to sit up against the pillows, her fingers curling around the glass, sipping slowly. Jesse sat beside her, smoothing a hand over her hair, watching her in that way he always did—like he was memorizing every detail, like she was something precious.
“You want coffee?” he asked.
She groaned. “God, no.”
He smirked. “Figured. What about toast? Yogurt? Something?”
Her stomach twisted at the thought. “Jesse, I love you, but if you make me eat, I might actually throw you out the window.”
She hadn’t even registered what she’d said until she felt him freeze beside her.
Then—
A slow chuckle, deep and warm, like she hadn’t just thrown a grenade between them.
“Who, me?” he said, feigning innocence. “You can’t be talking about me.”
“Yes, you.” She peeked up at him, eyes narrowing. “You’re enjoying this too much.”
“Baby, the only thing I’m enjoying is the part where I get to take care of you.” He stood, stretching, his abs tightening with the movement. “So, you’re getting dry toast and some ginger tea. Something easy to digest.”
She groaned again but didn’t argue.
Because the truth was—she loved this. Loved him like this. Soft and steady, completely in control, taking care of her in ways she never even asked for.
A few minutes later, he walked back in, a plate of toast in one hand, a steaming mug of tea in the other.
“Hospital food, right?” he teased as he sat beside her again.
She smiled, blowing on the tea, sipping it. Warm, honey-sweet, perfect.
He studied her for a while, just watching.
There was a calmness between them, an unspoken truce.
Then—Jesse tilted his head slightly, eyes dark, thoughtful. “You said you love me.”
Hayley blinked, realizing. “Yes, I did.”
He didn’t respond right away, just kept looking at her, like he was weighing something, turning it over in his mind.
She swallowed. “You did too, last night.”
His lips pressed together, just slightly. “I did.”
She sighed, shaking her head, smiling. “I have to admit, Jesse—I’ve imagined us saying those words a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. But never, ever, in my wildest dreams did I think it would happen like this.”
“So… casually?”
“Exactly.” She lifted a brow. “Like it was no big deal. Like, of course, I love you. Of course, you love me. Just words. Like we haven’t been through hell.”
Jesse smirked faintly. “I get your point.”
“We’ve gone from zero to sixty recently.”
“And that makes you scared?” he asked.
“Naturally.” She studied him. “Not you?”
His jaw tightened slightly before he exhaled. “I think you know the answer to that.”
She did.
But what she wasn’t expecting was what he said next.
“I made myself a promise… this last deployment,” Jesse said, running a hand over his jaw. “That I wasn’t going to run scared from this anymore.”
Hayley’s stomach flipped. “From what?”
His throat bobbed. “From love.”
The word hung between them, a living thing, fragile, waiting.
His lips curled slightly, but there was something sad in his expression.
“You know how many times someone has said it to me?” he asked quietly. “That they love me?”
Her heart clenched. “Jesse, I don’t think I want to hear that answer.”
He exhaled slowly. “I’ve spent my whole life learning how to survive. Learning how to fight, how to push through, how to keep moving forward even when everything inside me wanted to shut down. But what I’ve realized?” He lifted his gaze to hers. “Fear has driven so many of my choices. And I don’t want to be that kid anymore.”
Hayley’s fingers tightened around the warm ceramic of the tea mug, her throat tight.
“Who do you want to be?” she whispered.
Jesse held her gaze. “The man you need.”