Chapter 30 Jake
Jake
"Fire at Sugar & Spice Bakery. All units respond."
The dispatch crackled over the radio, and Jake was already moving.
Hannah.
"Cooper!" Chief Miller's voice cut through the chaos as Jake sprinted toward his truck. "Wait for backup—"
But Jake was already gone, tires squealing against pavement as he floored it down Main Street. Each second stretched into eternity as orange light painted the sky ahead of him.
Please. Please let me get there in time.
Sugar & Spice was engulfed. Flames poured from the windows, black smoke billowing into the night sky. The front entrance was completely blocked by fire, the glass already shattered from the heat.
Protocol said wait.
Training said establish a perimeter.
Experience said the structure wasn't stable.
Jake didn't give a damn about any of it.
Because Hannah was in there.
Because he'd rather die than let her face this alone.
Because some choices weren't really choices at all.
He grabbed his breathing apparatus from the truck, muscle memory taking over as he secured it. The engines were arriving now, sirens wailing in the distance. He could hear Miller shouting orders, could see Peterson unrolling the hose lines.
But he didn't wait.
"Cooper!" Miller's voice carried over the roar of flames. "Don't you dare—"
Jake plunged through the bakery's shattered window. The heat slammed into him like a wall, even through his turnout gear. Smoke rolled across the ceiling in thick waves, reducing visibility to almost nothing.
Where are you, sweetheart?
He moved deeper into the inferno, staying low, scanning through the smoke. The flames were spreading too fast, eating through the old wooden walls like they were paper.
Then he saw her.
Crumpled near the kitchen door, her grandmother's recipe box clutched to her chest. Not moving.
No.
Jake's heart stopped.
Restarted.
Shattered.
"Hannah!"
He crossed the space in three steps, gathering her into his arms. She was so still. Too still. But when his fingers found her pulse, it was there—weak and thready, but there.
Thank God.
Thank God.
Thank God.
Another cabinet crashed down, closer this time. The whole building shuddered.
They were out of time.
Jake cradled Hannah against his chest, shielding her from the flames with his body. He'd burn himself alive before he let the fire touch her again.
"Stay with me," he whispered against her hair as he turned toward the exit. "Please, Hannah. Stay with me."
Because he couldn't lose her.
Because she was everything.
Because some loves were worth walking through fire for.
And Jake?
Jake would walk through hell itself to keep her safe.
Every step was a battle.
The heat pressed in from all sides, making Jake's gear feel like it was melting into his skin. Hannah lay limp in his arms, her face tucked against his chest, still clutching that damn recipe box like it was anchoring her to life itself.
Hold on, sweetheart. Just hold on.
The front entrance was completely blocked now, flames eating through what was left of the doorframe. Jake turned toward the back, remembering the path through muscle memory alone. He'd walked this kitchen a thousand times—fixing leaks, stealing kisses, watching Hannah dance while she baked.
Now it was disappearing in front of him, consumed by hungry flames that seemed to chase their every step.
The smoke was getting thicker.
The floor less stable.
The air hotter.
Jake's turnout gear could only protect them for so long. Already he could feel the heat seeping through, searching for vulnerable spots. His hands burned where they gripped Hannah, but he wouldn't let go. Couldn't let go.
A section of ceiling collapsed behind them, showering them with burning debris. Jake curled his body around Hannah, taking the brunt of it on his back. Pain lanced through his shoulder, sharp and immediate, but he kept moving.
The back door loomed ahead, barely visible through the smoke.
Almost there. Almost—
The door was locked.
Bolted from the outside.
"Son of a bitch." The words came out as a growl. Michael had planned this. Had trapped her here deliberately.
Jake's hands shook with rage, but there wasn't time for anger. Not when Hannah's breathing was getting shallower. Not when the building was literally falling apart around them.
He shifted Hannah in his arms, getting a better grip. Then he did the only thing he could do.
He turned and slammed his shoulder into the door.
Pain exploded through his too-hot skin. The door shuddered but held.
Again.
The wood splintered.
Again.
The frame cracked.
"Please," he whispered against Hannah's hair. Not a prayer. A promise. "I'm not letting you go."
One more hit.
The door burst outward, cool night air rushing in like a blessing. Jake stumbled through the opening just as another section of ceiling collapsed behind them.
"I need a medic!" His voice was raw, desperate. "Now!"
Emergency lights painted everything in stark reds and blues. Hands reached for Hannah—Peterson, Roberts, the paramedics swarming forward with a gurney.
But Jake couldn't let go.
Not yet.
Not until—
Hannah's eyes fluttered. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to see that flash of brown that had become his whole world.
"Jake?" His name was barely a breath on her lips.
He dropped to his knees, still cradling her. "I'm here." His voice cracked. "I've got you."
Her fingers curled weakly in his turnout coat. The recipe box was still clutched against her chest with her other hand.
"Knew you'd come," she whispered. Then her eyes slipped closed again.
Jake pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in through the smoke and ash. "Always," he promised, even though she couldn't hear him anymore. "I'll always come for you."
The paramedics were there then, professional and efficient, lifting Hannah onto the gurney. This time, Jake let them take her. His body screamed in protest as he tried to stand—burns and bruises making themselves known now that the adrenaline was fading.
But none of that mattered.
Because Hannah was breathing.
Because she was alive.
Because she'd known he would come.