Chapter 14 Hannah
Hannah
The visiting room smelled like industrial cleaner and stale coffee. Hannah's heels clicked against concrete as she followed the guard, each step echoing in the sterile space. Her father sat at one of the metal tables, like this was just another business meeting.
"Sweetheart." Richard Everett's smile was warm, familiar. The same smile he'd worn at Sunday dinners, at town meetings, at countless moments Hannah had thought were real. "I was hoping you'd come."
She sank into the cold metal chair across from him. "Dad, I—"
"How's the bakery?" He leaned forward, that concerned father look she'd seen a thousand times. "Small minds in small towns, but it'll blow over."
Hannah's fingers twisted in her lap. "I need to understand."
"Understand what?" He looked genuinely puzzled.
"The charges. The evidence." Her voice caught. "They have to be wrong. You wouldn't—"
Richard's laugh cut her off. The sound was jarring in the institutional quiet.
"Oh, Hannah." He shook his head like she was still six years old, asking why the sky was blue. "Of course I did it. I'm just sorry they caught me before I could move the last accounts offshore."
The room tilted sideways.
"What?" The word came out strangled.
"The Harrisons were the perfect mark." Her father's voice took on that tone he used discussing business opportunities. "Medical bills, college funds—desperate people make careless investors."
Hannah's stomach lurched. "The Harrisons trusted you."
"Everyone trusted me." He smiled, pleased with himself. "That's what made it so easy. A few renovation projects here, some community investment there—" He waved a hand dismissively. "People see what they want to see."
"Mrs. Harrison can't afford her heart medication." The words felt torn from her throat. "Michael's sister had to leave college. They lost everything."
Richard's eyes hardened. "They should have read the fine print."
Hannah stared at this stranger wearing her father's face. Where was the man who'd taught her about integrity? Who'd shown her the value of community? Who'd made her believe in something bigger than profit?
"How can you—" Her voice cracked. "These people were our friends."
"They were marks, Hannah." His tone sharpened. "Business is business. Don't tell me you're getting sentimental about it."
"Sentimental?" She pushed back from the table, the chair scraping against concrete. "You destroyed people's lives!"
"I made a profit." He studied her like she was a disappointing investment. "And you helped me do it."
The accusation hit like a slap. "I never—"
"All those meetings in your bakery. All those papers you signed." His smile turned sharp. "You really never wondered where the money came from?"
Hannah's legs felt unsteady as she stood. "I trusted you."
"Then you're as naive as they were." He leaned back, unconcerned. "Sugar & Spice was the perfect cover. Who would suspect Richard Everett's innocent daughter with her quaint little bakery?"
The guard approached, indicating time was up. Hannah gripped the back of her chair to stay upright.
"You know what your problem is, sweetheart?" Richard's voice followed her as she turned to leave. "You're too much like your mother. All heart, no business sense."
Hannah walked out without looking back, her father's words ringing in her ears. Each step felt mechanical, disconnected from her body.
Her father wasn't innocent.
He wasn't wrongly accused.
He was exactly what they said he was.
And she had served coffee and smiled and never questioned a thing.
The town's hatred suddenly made terrible, perfect sense.
Hannah stumbled through the prison doors, sunlight harsh against her tear-stained face. She made it three steps before her legs gave out.
Then familiar arms caught her.
Jake.
Of course it was Jake.
"I've got you," he murmured, and the gentleness in his voice broke something in her chest.
Hannah let herself collapse against him, face pressed into his shirt. His arms came around her automatically, one hand cradling her head while the other held her steady. She breathed him in—smoke and coffee and that unique Jake-scent that still meant safety, even now, even after everything.
His heart beat strong and steady under her ear. The rhythm of it felt like home, like all the mornings she'd woken up tucked against his chest, like every time he'd held her through storms or nightmares or simple moments of peace.
Jake's fingers stroked through her hair, the gentle motion so achingly familiar it made her throat tight. His other hand spread warm against her back, holding her together as she shook.
She knew they probably looked ridiculous—wrapped around each other in a prison parking lot, her makeup smearing his shirt, his badge digging into her ribs. But she couldn't make herself care. Couldn't make herself pull away.
Because here, just for this moment, she could pretend.
Pretend he was still her Jake. Still the man who fixed broken things and kissed her awake in the mornings and looked at her like she was magic.
His arms tightened as a sob wracked her body. He pressed his lips to her hair, murmuring soft, soothing sounds that meant nothing and everything.
"It was all a lie," she finally whispered against his chest. "Everything I believed in. My father. His good heart. The way he helped people." A bitter laugh escaped. "You."
Jake's arms tensed, but he didn't let go. Didn't stop the gentle motion of his fingers in her hair. Didn't step away even though she was soaking his uniform with tears.
"Hannah—"
"No, it's okay." She pulled back just enough to see his face, managing a wavering smile. "I get it now. I'm growing up. Learning that feelings aren't real, that trust is just a fairy tale we tell children."
"That's not—"
"But maybe..." Her voice caught. "Is it okay if I let myself believe in the lie? Just for a minute." Her fingers curled in his shirt. "Just long enough for you to hold me and tell me everything will be alright."
Jake's hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing away tears she hadn't realized were falling. When he spoke, his voice was rough with emotion.
"Listen to me. The money was a lie. The investigation was real. But loving you?" His forehead pressed to hers. "Loving you was the truest thing I've ever done."
Hannah melted into his embrace, letting his warmth seep into her bones.
For just this moment, she let herself feel it all—the steady strength of his arms, the familiar calluses of his fingers against her skin, the way their bodies still fit together like they were made for this.
His heart thundered under her palm, and she remembered all the nights she'd fallen asleep to this rhythm, all the mornings she'd woken up feeling safe and cherished and whole.
Hannah closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. "Thank you," she whispered. Then, softer: "Your lies were always the nicest ones."
She felt him flinch, felt the way his breath caught, felt the tremor in his hands as she pressed her car keys into his palm.
"Take me home?"
The drive back to Crystal Lake was silent. Hannah watched the prison disappear in the side mirror, her father's dismissive smile fading with it.
Some lies were kinder than truth.
Some comfort was worth the cost.
The truth would be there tomorrow, but she would allow herself to believe the lie just for a moment longer.