Chapter 18
Jake
The penthouse is too fucking quiet.
It’s been four days since Emilia left, and I still can’t fix it.
I’ve tried everything that usually works. Back-to-back donor calls. Foundation meetings I let run two hours longer than necessary. A full kitchen deep clean I didn’t need, because standing still wasn’t an option.
None of it helps. Not even close.
On the first night without Emilia, I put Poppy to bed and she asked for two extra stories, then a cup of water, then whether Emilia was coming tomorrow. I told her probably. She accepted that and went to sleep.
Night two she asked again.
Night three she stopped asking and just got quiet, which was worse. Four-year-olds aren’t supposed to be quiet. They’re supposed to be loud and relentless and impossible to redirect. When Poppy goes quiet like that, it means something is wrong and she doesn’t know how to say it.
I know the goddamn feeling.
Day four, I walk through the kitchen in the morning and stop.
A new bottle of her coffee creamer is in the fridge. I bought it for her two days ago and never thought twice about it. I stare at it for longer than any sane person should stare at a container of coffee creamer.
Then I walk to the entryway and look at the hook by the door.
Empty.
Shit.
The charm isn’t working anymore. There’s no one left to pretend for, and I’m sick of trying.
I’ve run the same play my whole life: keep it light, keep it moving, make the room laugh before anyone looks too close. It worked on donors, board members, even my brothers when things got heavy.
It doesn’t work on this.
I’ve been awake at two in the morning for four nights straight, and it still feels like shit.
My mother calls Tuesday morning.
No greeting. That’s never a good sign.
“How long are you planning to do this?” she says.
“Do what?”
“Jake.”
That’s it. Just my name, in that tone that has ended arguments since I was nine years old.
I lean against the counter and don’t say anything.
She pushes.
“Your father showed up,” she says. “That’s what people forget about Richard Hale. Not the buildings. Not the money.” Another pause. “He showed up when it was hard. He let us see him scared sometimes. That’s how he held this family together.”
“Mom…”
“I’m not finished.” Her voice is calm, but there’s steel underneath. “He didn’t protect this family by controlling everything. He protected it by being present.” She lets that sit. “Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
Yeah. I understand.
I’ve understood it for three days and been ignoring it because showing up honestly means Emilia might say no. Means she might look at me and decide the risk isn’t worth it.
That’s the scariest damn thing I’ve ever considered.
“Yeah,” I say. “I got it.”
“Good.” Her voice shifts back to normal. “Sunday dinner. Six.”
She hangs up.
I stand there holding the phone.
My whole life I’ve been the Hale brother people liked but didn’t need.
Dane runs the empire. Noah locks it down.
Lucas keeps it honest. And me? I’m the one who makes it feel easy.
The one who shows up and charms the room and makes sure nobody’s too uncomfortable.
I’m useful, but not essential. I’ve spent years being everyone’s favorite fucking person in the room and nobody’s first call when things actually fall apart.
Emilia changed that. Poppy changed that.
And I handled it by shutting them both out, like an idiot.
Emilia already saw it. She sat on those cliffs with me. She promised Poppy she wasn’t going anywhere.
And I paid her back by shutting her out because I was too proud to let her see me losing control of something.
My mother’s right.
It’s time to show the hell up.
I drop Poppy at preschool and drive to Makiki in the start of a rainstorm.
By the time I park, it’s coming down hard, the kind of Honolulu rain that shows up without warning and turns every street into a river. I sit in the car for about thirty seconds.
Then I get out.
I’m soaked through by the time I reach her building door. I hit the intercom buzzer and she lets me up without asking who it is, which means she saw me on the camera. I take the stairs two at a time.
She opens the door before I knock.
Gray T-shirt. Shorts. Hair loose. Barefoot. She looks at me dripping rainwater onto her hallway floor and says nothing, just watches me like she’s waiting to see which version of Jake Hale showed up.
“Jake.”
“I know.” I push a hand through my wet hair. “I know I should’ve called. I know you probably need more time. I know every reason this is a bad idea.”
Her arms cross slowly.
“But I’m done managing this from a distance,” I say. “I’m done deciding what you can handle without asking you. I was wrong. That’s on me. I’m not going to dress it up or explain it into something cleaner than it was.”
She doesn’t say anything.
Rain hits the window at the end of her hallway. The apartment is quiet and I’ve got nothing left to hide behind.
So I just say it.
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly.” My voice comes out rougher than I meant it to. “But I know I love you.” Rainwater drips off my jacket onto her floor. “And I know losing you felt like somebody ripped the damn foundation out from under me.”
Her breath catches.
“You and Poppy became home before I even realized it was happening.” I hold her gaze.
“I’m not asking you to forget what I did.
I’m asking you to let me show you I understand it.
Not because it fixes the PR problem or makes the custody case cleaner or helps Hale Futures look good in the press.
Because you and Poppy matter more than any of that.
More than all of it put together. And I was a goddamn idiot for acting like protecting you meant keeping you out of it. ”
The silence stretches.
For one second I think I’ve blown it completely and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.
Then her expression breaks.
I close the distance and cup her face in both hands. Her skin is warm. She’s looking at me with nothing left between us, and I feel the thing that’s been missing for four days finally settle back into place in my chest.
She looks at me for a long second.
Then she grabs the front of my wet jacket and pulls me down.
Not a gentle tug, but a sharp, deliberate yank that closes the distance between us in one fluid motion.
Her mouth finds mine, and the contact sends a jolt through my system like I’ve touched a live wire.
Four days of silence, lying in bed staring at the ceiling and cursing myself…
they all evaporate the instant her lips part against mine.
I’m drowning in her, in the taste of her, red wine and something sweeter underneath, and the soft sound she makes against my mouth.
My hands find her waist instinctively, pulling her closer until there’s no space left between us.
She’s warm and solid and right here, and I’ve never been more grateful for anything in my life.
“Inside,” she breathes against my lips, and I’m already moving, walking us backward into the apartment as I kick the door shut behind us.
Her fingers are in my hair, tugging, and I’m making a sound I’ve never heard from myself before, something raw and desperate.
Her hands are everywhere. She shoves my jacket off my shoulders, and then her hands are on my chest, my shoulders.
I pull her T-shirt out of her shorts. Her fingers go to the buttons on my shirt, and I let her work them because watching Emilia Hart focus on anything with her hands does things to me I stopped pretending were casual a long time ago.
“Look at me,” I say. My voice comes out low, that alpha edge I can never quite suppress with her, but softer now. Careful. “Emilia.”
Those green eyes meet mine, and what I see there nearly undoes me. The careful composure she wears like armor has cracked open, revealing something vulnerable beneath. Something she’s trusting me with.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She nods once, a small, jerky motion, and I cup her face. My thumbs trace the line of her cheekbones as I kiss her again, slower this time, deeper. Telling her with my mouth what I couldn’t say with words. That I’m sorry. That I missed her. That these four days felt like four years.
Her T-shirt comes off first, and my shirt is discarded somewhere between the doorway and the bedroom.
When I finally lay her back on that plush queen bed with its mismatched pillows, she’s breathtaking.
The soft light filtering through the sheer curtains gilds her skin, and I take a moment just to look at her.
To memorize the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts beneath simple black lace, the way her chest rises and falls with each quickened breath.
I kiss the hollow of her throat, then lower, tracing a path down her sternum.
When I reach the edge of her bra, I pause, glancing up.
Her eyes are half-lidded, her lips swollen from kissing, and she arches her back in silent invitation.
I unhook the clasp with practiced ease, and the fabric falls away.
Her breasts are perfect, full and soft beneath my hands, nipples tightening the second my thumbs brush across them. The sound she makes goes straight to my cock, but I force myself to slow down.
This isn’t just about getting off. This is about showing her what she means to me.
I lower my head and take one nipple into my mouth, sucking gently while her fingers tangle in my hair. She arches beneath me with a broken sound that nearly undoes me.
“Jake—”
My name on her lips is a prayer and a demand.
I kiss my way down her stomach, sliding her shorts and underwear down her legs until she’s bare beneath me. I take a second just to look at her, beautiful and flushed and wet for me.
“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur against her thigh.
Then I put my mouth on her.
Her whole body shudders the first time my tongue slides over her. By the second pass she’s gripping the sheets, breathing hard, and completely ready for me.
“Please,” she gasps. “Jake, please—”
“I know.”
I slide two fingers inside her and feel her clench around me instantly, tight and hot while I work her slowly higher with my mouth.
Her thighs start trembling.
But I need to feel her come apart around my cock.
I strip off the rest of my clothes and settle between her thighs. The heat of her against the tip of my cock almost destroys my control completely.
“I need to be inside you,” I tell her roughly. “Need to feel you come for me.”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Please.”
I push into her slowly, watching her face the entire time. Her eyes close on a shaky breath, her body opening for me inch by inch until I’m fully inside her. Nothing in my life has ever felt this right.
“Mine,” I breathe against her mouth. “You’re mine, Emilia.”
“Yours,” she whispers back. “Always.”
I start moving, slow at first, then harder when she begs for it. Her nails drag down my back while the room fills with the sound of her moans and our bodies coming together.
I feel her tightening around me and reach between us, rubbing her clit until she shatters with a cry around my cock.
My orgasm hits me right after hers.
I bury myself deep and come hard enough to steal the air from my lungs while she holds onto me like she’s never letting go.
I’m dimly aware of her holding me, her arms wrapped tight around my shoulders, her lips pressed to my neck.
When I finally come down, I’m trembling. We both are. I roll to the side, taking her with me, unwilling to break the connection just yet. Her head rests on my chest, her breath warm against my skin, and I press a kiss to the top of her head.
“I’m sorry,” I say again, quieter this time. “I’m so sorry.”
She tilts her head up, pressing a soft kiss to my jaw. “I know. I know you are.”
We lie there in the fading light, tangled together among the mismatched pillows, and for the first time in four days, the ache in my chest eases. She’s here. She’s mine. And I’m never letting her go again.
The rain is still going when I roll onto my back and pull her against my chest.
Her hand settles flat over my heart.
I watch the ceiling and let myself have this for a minute. Her weight against my side. The rain. The fact that we are together.
Then she shifts and runs her fingers lightly across my jaw.
“I love you, too,” she says. Quiet as hell.
I close my eyes.
There it is.
Four words I’d given up on hearing.
I press my lips to the top of her head and keep them there. She settles into me like that’s exactly what she needed.
We stay like that for a while. Long enough that I think she’s drifted off.
Then she says, “The filing’s still out there.”
I don’t answer right away.
“I know.”
“They have a court date set already.” Her voice is careful. She’s not panicking. She’s doing the thing she does, running toward the problem instead of away from it. “We don’t know what the leak did to them. To how they see you.”
“No.” I look at the ceiling. “We don’t.”
The truth is the photo went everywhere. Diane sent me a link to one of the custody-optics pieces three weeks ago with three words underneath. Is this true. I talked her down once. I don’t know if I can again.
Emilia props up on one elbow and looks at me.
“Then we don’t get to relax yet,” she says.
“No.”
“Okay.” She lies back down. Her hand finds mine under the sheet and holds on. “Then we handle it. Together this time.”
She’s right. Nothing’s fixed. There’s a legal document with my daughter’s name on it sitting in a file somewhere, and two scared people in San Diego who handed me a grieving four-year-old on faith and then watched the internet tell them they’d handed her to a stunt.
I got Emilia back tonight.
I haven’t gotten anything else.
The rain keeps coming. Poppy’s at school until three. And for the first time in four days I’m not alone in this, which is the only part that’s changed.
It’s also the only part that matters.
I pull Emilia closer and start thinking about how to fix it.