Chapter 34 Jake
Jake
Jake watched Hannah settle onto his couch, something tight and unrelenting squeezing in his chest.
She looked so damn small wrapped in his fire department hoodie, her feet tucked under her the way she used to sit on his couch before. Before the lies unraveled. Before his betrayal shattered everything between them. Before he'd lost her.
And yet, she was here. In his space. Wearing his hoodie. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he could breathe again.
He cleared his throat, gripping the back of a chair like it was the only thing keeping him upright.
"Your apartment should be ready in a few days," he said, keeping his voice steady.
Professional. Detached. Like she wasn't undoing him just by being here.
"Peterson's overseeing the cleanup himself.
Smoke damage isn't too bad, mostly just needs a deep clean and some fresh paint. "
Hannah nodded, her fingers idly playing with the sleeve of his hoodie, her eyes cast downward. Like she was thinking. Deciding. Holding something back.
"Thank you," she murmured.
Jake swallowed hard. "You can stay here as long as you need." His voice came out rougher than he intended, but he pushed through. "I'll take the couch. Or if you're not comfortable with that, I can sleep in my truck. Keep watch from outside."
Her head snapped up. "Jake."
"I mean it." He kept going, ignoring the way his pulse thundered in his ears. "Whatever you need. Whatever makes you feel safe. I just—I need to know you're okay. That you're protected. That—"
"Jake."
Softer this time.
But the way she said his name wrecked him.
Like she wasn't angry. Like she wasn't trying to push him away. Like maybe, just maybe, she wanted him closer.
He forced himself to meet her gaze, bracing for distance. But Hannah didn't look guarded. Didn't look hesitant.
She looked…certain.
"I don't want you to sleep on the couch."
His heart cracked. But he nodded, already reaching for his keys. "Right. The truck then. I'll just grab a blanket—"
"No."
Hannah stood. Moved toward him.
And then—fuck.
Her hand cupped his face, warm and delicate and undeniably Hannah, and Jake went still.
Could barely breathe.
Could barely think beyond her touch, her scent, the weight of something impossible pressing between them.
"I mean, I want you to sleep in your bed," she whispered. "With me."
His pulse roared.
Hannah. In his bed. In his arms.
The very thought of it obliterated him.
"Hannah—"
"I never stopped loving you," she admitted, her voice fragile, but her eyes fierce. Her thumb brushed his cheek, just barely, like she was learning the shape of him again. "Even when I was angry. Even when I thought I hated you. I never stopped."
His hands trembled as they came up to frame her face, his thumbs brushing her jaw, memorizing every inch of her.
"I don't deserve—"
"You ran into fire for me," she broke. "You've been protecting me all along. Even when I pushed you away."
His chest ached, swelled, burned under the weight of everything unspoken.
"I'll always protect you." The words tore from his chest, rough and raw and so fucking true. "Always come for you. Always—"
"I know." She stepped closer, pressing into him, trusting him with the smallest, most important part of herself."That's why I trust you."
Jake's heart stopped.
Restarted.
Shattered completely.
Because this—this—was everything.
This was forgiveness.
This was home.
"Hannah." Her name was barely a breath against her lips, a prayer, a plea, a promise. "Are you sure?"
She answered by kissing him.
And Jake?
Jake surrendered completely.
Jake barely had time to shut the bedroom door before Hannah was on him.
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no space for the fear that had once held them apart. This was inevitable, as certain as the pull of gravity.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him down into a kiss that was not soft, not tentative—but desperate, claiming, a surrender wrapped in fire.
A groan ripped from his throat as her mouth parted for him, her tongue brushing his, the heat of her body pressing flush against his own. His hands shook as he cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, down the slope of her jaw.
No more lies.
No more distance.
No more pretending he could live without this.
Her fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, dragging it up, frustration hissing between her teeth when it caught on his bandaged palm. The burn. The price of saving her.
Hannah stilled, her breath coming hard, eyes dark with something deeper than lust.
Her fingers traced over the bandages, light as air, as if she could somehow erase the pain. "I'm sorry," she whispered, lifting his hand to her lips. She pressed a kiss to his fingers, then his wrist, then the inside of his palm, over the bandage. "I'm so sorry you're hurt."
Jake's chest clenched.
She was touching him like he was something precious, something fragile—when all he felt was whole in her hands.
He shook his head, voice rough. "What hurt?" He pressed his forehead against hers. "I can't feel anything but you."
A soft, broken sound escaped her, and then she was pulling at his clothes again, stripping away everything between them, piece by piece, as if she could drag him closer, as if it would never be close enough.
His fingers slid beneath the hem of her sweater, feeling the warm, smooth expanse of her stomach, and he wanted to take his time, wanted to memorize her all over again.
But Hannah was impatient.
She pushed his shirt off, guiding it over his head, her hands tracing old paths across his chest, his arms. Like she was remembering him.
Like she was finally letting herself believe he was still hers.
Her own sweater joined the pile on the floor, and Jake pulled her against him, skin to skin.
God, he'd missed this. Missed her.
The soft curves of her, the places where he knew she was sensitive, the way her breath hitched when he traced his fingers along her ribs, just beneath her breast.
"You're so damn beautiful," he murmured, voice thick.
Her lips parted, her pulse fluttering beneath his touch.
Jake took her hand in his, bringing it to his chest, right over his heart. "This has only ever belonged to you."
Something cracked open in her expression, something raw and vulnerable.
Then they were kissing him again—fiercer this time, hungrier, like she needed to devour the words instead of hearing them.
Jake kissed his way down her neck, tracing the places he knew made her gasp, the places that made her arch, made her surrender.
Her hands moved to return the favor, but he caught them, stilling her.
"Let me do this for you," he whispered against her skin.
Hannah sucked in a breath, her fingers twitching against his. But then—she let go.
She let him take control.
Let him worship her.
And Jake did exactly that.
She was finally in his bed. He took his time, learning her all over again, pressing kisses to the delicate hollow of her throat, the curve of her breast, the softness of her stomach.
Her breath hitched when his lips skimmed lower, her fingers tightening in the sheets as he took her apart, piece by piece.
Her taste, her shuddering gasps, the way she begged for more, for him—it was a kind of heaven he had no right to claim, but one he would never, ever take for granted again.
When his bandaged hand fumbled with the condom, she was there, steady and certain, fingers deft as she tore the packet open, rolling it down over him with a touch so sure it made him shudder.
Her other hand curled around his wrist, pulling him impatiently, desperately, needfully until he was pressed against her, his body covering hers, fitting perfectly into the space that had always belonged to him.
His hardness found her—warm and wet and soft—and she gasped, thighs tightening around his hips, her breath stuttering as she arched beneath him.
Jake groaned, his jaw clenched, barely holding on.
God, she felt so good, so right—like coming home, like belonging. The tip of him nudged against heat and slick and desperate need.
Their eyes met.
No hesitation. No uncertainty.
This was home.
He thrust inside her in one slow, deep motion, and Hannah cried out, her hands fisting against his back, pulling him closer, pulling him deeper.
Jake groaned, his forehead pressing to hers, barely holding on.
"God, Hannah…" He shuddered. "I love you. I swear to God, I love you."
Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, but she didn't look away.
She lifted her hips, meeting him, taking him deeper, surrendering completely.
"Then show me," she whispered.
And he did.
He moved slowly at first, letting her feel it, letting her feel him.
Every thrust, every rock of his hips against hers was a vow, a confession, an apology, a prayer.
He kissed away the tears on her cheeks.
He worshiped her with his hands, his mouth, his body.
She met him with everything she had, her nails scraping down his back, her gasps breaking into his mouth, her body tightening around him, drawing him deeper, deeper, deeper.
This wasn't just need.
This wasn't just heat.
This was love.
This was everything.
And when Hannah shattered beneath him—her body trembling, her mouth gasping his name like a benediction—Jake let go, following her into the abyss, coming apart in the only arms that had ever felt like home.
Their bodies remained tangled, their breaths ragged, hearts pounding in time.
Jake brushed her hair back, tracing her lips with his thumb, watching her, memorizing her.
"No more secrets," he murmured against her lips.
Hannah exhaled, soft and tired and so damn beautiful.
"No more lies," she whispered.
Jake pulled her closer, pressing a final, reverent kiss to her temple.
"Just us," he promised.
Hannah closed her eyes.
And for the first time in years—she believed him.