Chapter 13 Jake #2
The irony wasn't lost on him—that his cover job had actually taught him the skills he needed now.
He'd been good at it too, fixing things around town.
But with Richard Everett's arrest, half the restoration projects in Crystal Lake had frozen.
No one wanted to invest in buildings that might be tied to laundered money.
The few remaining construction jobs wouldn't be enough to live on, and his FBI salary had ended with his badge.
He could leave town, find work elsewhere.
But the thought of leaving Hannah unprotected made his chest tight.
The fire department offered what he needed—steady work, a chance to serve the community honestly this time, and most importantly, a way to stay close enough to watch over her. Even if she never spoke to him again.
Miller set down the papers. "Crystal Lake's a small town, Cooper. Word gets around." He leaned back in his chair, studying Jake with sharp eyes. "People talk about how you were involved in the Everett case."
Jake's jaw tightened. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"You tell me." Miller's voice was carefully neutral. "Most people in your position would be looking for a fresh start. Different town. Clean slate." He paused. "Less complicated situation."
The suggestion hung in the air. Jake could leave. Should leave, probably. Find another small town that didn't know him as the FBI agent who'd spent the last months undercover. Start over somewhere his past couldn't hurt anyone.
But leaving meant not being able to drive past Sugar & Spice at night, checking the locks he'd installed himself.
Meant not being there if Michael Harrison's watching turned to something more dangerous.
Meant not seeing Hannah at all, even if only through windows, even if only to make sure she was safe.
"I'm not looking for a fresh start," Jake said finally. "I'm looking to do something that actually helps people."
Miller's eyes narrowed. "And this has nothing to do with Hannah Everett?"
Everything to do with her.
"I can't change what happened." Jake met Miller's gaze steadily. "But I can choose what I do next. I want to serve this community. Actually serve it this time."
"Even knowing how people will talk? How they might not trust you?"
"Especially then." Jake's fingers curled against his leg. "I owe this town something real."
Miller studied him for a long moment. Then he pulled out another form. "Two month trial period. You'll start at the bottom, work twice as hard to prove yourself, and deal with whatever comments come your way without starting trouble."
Jake reached for the paperwork. "I understand."
"And Cooper?" Miller's voice stopped his pen. "Hannah Everett's bakery is in our response district. You gonna be able to handle that professionally?"
The image of Hannah alone in that bakery, targeted by the town's anger, flashed through Jake's mind. "Yes, sir."
"Even if she doesn't want your help?"
Especially then, Jake thought but didn't say. He'd protect her whether she wanted it or not. Whether she ever spoke to him again or not.
"I can handle it," he said instead.
Miller signed the form with a sharp flourish. "Report tomorrow at six. And Cooper?" He fixed Jake with a hard stare. "Don't make me regret this."
Jake took the paperwork, already knowing that staying in Crystal Lake would hurt like hell. He'd have to watch Hannah rebuild her life without him. Watch her hate him. Watch her maybe even move on someday.
But he'd rather have that pain than the uncertainty of not being here to protect her.
Some things were worth the cost.
The firehouse kitchen smelled like burnt coffee and last night's chili. Jake methodically checked equipment, trying to focus on oxygen tanks and pressure gauges instead of the conversation drifting from the break room.
"—can't believe she's still running that bakery like nothing happened."
"My wife says business is way down. Serves her right, after what her father—"
Jake's hands tightened on the pressure gauge. Keep working. Stay professional. Don't—
"Yo, Coop. You really think she didn't know?" Roberts, a probationary firefighter, lounged in the doorway. "I mean, he held all those meetings at her bakery. My uncle might lose his hardware store because of Richard Everett, and she was there, slicing him a piece of pie—"
The gauge creaked in Jake's grip.
"You were undercover, right?" Roberts' voice carried a challenge. "She had to know something."
Jake set down the gauge with deliberate care. "The FBI cleared her of all involvement."
"Yeah, but—"
"But nothing." Jake's voice was flat. "Hannah Everett ran a legitimate business. Every transaction documented, every penny accounted for. She's innocent."
Roberts straightened. "Awful defensive there, Cooper. That why you quit the FBI? Got too close to—"
"Problems?" Chief Miller's voice cut through the tension. He stood in the doorway, coffee mug in hand, eyes sharp.
"No, sir." Jake turned back to the equipment check. "Just reviewing proper maintenance procedures with Roberts."
The chief's gaze moved between them. "Roberts, don't you have a hydrant inspection due?"
Roberts pushed off the doorway. "Yes, sir." But he paused next to Jake. "Must have been some fun undercover work," he said quietly. "Getting close to her like that."
Jake's jaw clenched so hard it hurt. He focused on the gauges, on breathing, on not grabbing Roberts by his pristine new uniform and—
"Cooper." Miller's voice pulled him back. "A word?"
Jake followed the chief to his office, the familiar smell of pipe tobacco and leather replacing burnt coffee. Miller settled behind his desk.
"Want to tell me what that was about?"
"Nothing I can't handle."
Miller studied him. "You know it's going to keep happening. Small town, big scandal. People talk."
"I know." Jake's hands curled at his sides. "It won't affect my work."
"See that it doesn't." Miller picked up a report. "Because right now, you defending Hannah Everett isn't going to help her. It's just going to remind everyone why they shouldn't trust either of you."
The truth of it hit like a physical blow. Jake's protection would only hurt Hannah more—paint her as the criminal's daughter who'd been under surveillance by an FBI agent. Make people question if she'd been cleared because of their relationship rather than her innocence.
"Understood," Jake said finally.
Miller's expression softened slightly. "Look, son. I'm giving you a chance here because I believe people can change. Can make things right. But you've got to let her fight her own battles."
Jake nodded stiffly and turned to leave.
"And Cooper?" Miller's voice stopped him at the door. "Next time Roberts runs his mouth, let him. Your reaction just proves to him he's getting to you."
Jake walked back to the equipment room, Miller's words echoing in his head. Let her fight her own battles. Don't defend her. Don't make it worse.
But God, it hurt. Every whispered comment, every suspicious glance, every casual cruelty aimed at Hannah felt like another betrayal. Because he'd helped cause this—helped destroy the town's trust in her, helped make her a target for their anger.
The alarm rang, cutting through his thoughts. Engine 12, medical response.
Jake moved automatically, pulling on his gear, falling into formation. He could do this. Could be professional. Could watch Hannah rebuild her life without him.
Even if every instinct screamed at him to protect her.
Even if staying silent felt like another kind of betrayal.
Even if his heart broke a little more every time he heard her name spoken with suspicion.
Some costs were worth paying.
Some silence was necessary.
Some pain just had to be endured.
For Hannah's sake, if nothing else.
Jake's hands moved with practiced efficiency, measuring the replacement glass. He'd waited until after closing. This wouldn't take long—he'd fixed enough of Sugar & Spice's windows over the past seven months to do it in his sleep.
The irony wasn't lost on him.
A sound behind him made him freeze, tools halfway to the frame. Hannah stood in the bakery doorway, silhouetted by the security light, still in her baking clothes. Flour dusted her black tank top, and his fingers itched with the memory of brushing it from her skin.
"What are you doing?" Her voice was quiet. Dangerous.
Jake set down his tools carefully. "Fixing your window."
"I didn't ask you to."
"No." He straightened, turning to face her. "But the glass company can't come until Thursday."
Hannah's jaw tightened. She moved into the light, and he caught the shadows under her eyes, the tension in her shoulders. She hadn't been sleeping. The knowledge hit him like a physical ache.
"I don't need your help." She wrapped her arms around herself, and he recognized the gesture—her way of holding herself together when everything was falling apart.
"I know." He picked up the measuring tape again, deliberately casual. "But it's supposed to rain tomorrow."
"Jake." His name was a warning.
He kept working, muscle memory taking over. "The moisture could warp the frame if—"
"Stop." Hannah moved closer, close enough that he could smell vanilla and cinnamon on her skin. "Just stop trying to fix everything."
Jake's hands stilled on the window frame. "Hannah—"
"You don't get to do this." Her voice cracked. "You don't get to show up here in the middle of the night, acting like... like..."
"Like what?" He turned to face her, and suddenly they were too close. Her breath caught as he took a step forward, backing her against the counter. "Like I care? Like I hate seeing your window broken? Like I still—"
"Don't." But she didn't move away. Her eyes dropped to his hands, roughened from years of doing exactly this—fixing things, building things, making them right.
"I can't stop caring, Hannah." His voice was low, rough. "I can't stop wanting to—"
"To what?" She tilted her chin up, defiant despite the tremor in her voice. "To protect me? To fix what you broke?"
"Yes." The admission felt like it was torn from his chest.
Hannah's lips parted on a shaky breath. They were so close now, her body heat seeping into him, awakening muscle memory of all the times they'd stood just like this in her kitchen. All the times he'd backed her against this counter and kissed her until they were both breathless.
His hand moved without his permission, brushing flour from her shoulder. She shivered at the touch, and seven months of remembered wanting crashed over him like a wave.
"Jake." His name was barely a whisper.
He could feel her pulse racing, see the way her eyes darkened as he leaned closer. Just another inch and he could taste her again, could remember what it felt like when she was his, when she trusted him, when—
Hannah's hand pressed against his chest, holding him back. "No."
The single word was like ice water. Jake stepped away immediately, his hands falling to his sides.
"I can't." Her voice shook. "I can't trust you. Not again."
She fled into the bakery's kitchen, the door swinging shut behind her with quiet finality.
Jake stood in the darkness, surrounded by tools and broken glass and everything he'd destroyed. After a long moment, he picked up his measuring tape again.
He couldn't fix what mattered. Couldn't repair her trust or earn back her heart.
But he could fix this one thing.
Maybe that would have to be enough.