Chapter 13 Jake
Jake
Jake was already awake. He hadn't been sleeping much lately—not since the fire, not since Hannah had started looking over her shoulder like she was waiting for the next blow to fall.
But nothing prepared him for the way his stomach dropped when he saw the number flashing on his phone.
Crystal Lake PD.
His hands were steady as he answered. "Cooper."
There was a pause, then a voice he recognized—Officer Mercer. "Thought you'd want to know, Sugar & Spice got hit again."
Jake sat up so fast the blankets tangled around his legs. "What happened?"
"Brick through the window. No one's hurt." Another pause. "She reported it herself."
Jake was already on his feet, dragging jeans over his boxers, shoving his feet into boots. "When?"
"Quarter past four. Just got your name in the system now."
Quarter past four. She'd been alone for over twenty minutes. Too long.
"Who's responding?" Jake demanded, already grabbing his keys.
Silence.
His grip tightened on his phone. "Mercer."
The officer sighed. "She called non-emergency. Got told someone would swing by on their usual rounds."
Usual rounds. Meaning not soon enough. Meaning Hannah had stood there alone, sweeping up shattered glass while the town pretended it wasn't their problem.
Jake was out the door and in his truck before Mercer finished his next breath. "Cooper, it's not your—"
Jake hung up.
He threw the truck into reverse, tires screeching against the asphalt. His gut was a knot of rage and fear as he tore through the empty streets, barely slowing for the stoplights that blinked lazily in the early morning quiet.
A brick. A fucking brick.
He should have been there.
He should always be there.
Sugar & Spice came into view, and Jake barely managed to throw the truck in park before he was out of it, his boots hitting the pavement hard.
The sight of the shattered window made his blood boil. Glass littered the sidewalk, catching the first rays of sunrise. The brick sat where it had landed, right in the middle of the bakery floor.
And through the broken glass, he saw her. Hannah. Her hair was pulled up in a messy knot, shoulders set like stone.
Jake's throat tightened. He knew that stance. Knew the weight she was carrying.
She was holding it together by force alone.
He crossed the street, barely registering the glass crunching under his boots.
Hannah must have sensed him, because her movements stilled before he knocked. She turned slowly, meeting his eyes through the broken window.
Jake's stomach clenched.
She was exhausted.
But she wasn't broken.
And God, he loved her for that.
She didn't come to the door immediately. He saw the hesitation in the shift of her weight, the clench of her fingers around the dough in her hands.
Then, without a word, she wiped her hands on a towel and disappeared around the counter.
A second later, he heard the lock click.
The door opened.
She didn't speak.
Neither did he.
Jake stepped inside, shutting the door behind him, locking it again because she shouldn't have to be the one to do it.
The scent of cinnamon and flour wrapped around him, but it wasn't warm like usual. It was bitter. Tainted with the sting of cold air and shattered trust.
He looked at her hands. Tiny, barely-there cuts marked her fingers. From the glass.
Something inside him snapped.
"Hannah." His voice was rough.
She exhaled slowly. "Jake, don't."
He took a step closer. "Don't what?"
"Don't look at me like that." She turned back toward the counter, gripping the edge like it was the only thing holding her up.
"Like what?" His jaw clenched.
Her shoulders tensed.
Like I want to undo every mistake I ever made.
Like I want to hold you and never let go.
Jake inhaled sharply. He couldn't push her. Not now.
But she was in danger. And that, he wouldn't ignore.
"Who did this?" His voice was quieter now, but no less intense.
Hannah let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. "Does it matter?"
His gut twisted. "Yes. It matters."
She finally turned, meeting his gaze, something wounded in her eyes. "Michael."
It wasn't a surprise. But hearing it? Hearing her say it?
Jake saw red.
His fists clenched, rage curling in his chest like fire. He should have stopped this sooner. He should have—
"Jake." Hannah's voice was softer now. Still wary, but steadier. "Don't. I know that look."
His pulse thundered. "He's threatening you."
"He's angry," she corrected.
"That's not an excuse."
She hesitated, just for a second, and in that hesitation, Jake knew—she was scared.
He took a careful step closer, lowering his voice. "Hannah. If he's escalating, we need to stop him before it gets worse."
She exhaled slowly, her hands tightening around the dish towel she held. "And how do we do that?"
Jake swallowed hard. Because his way—his instinct—was to handle it the old-fashioned way. The way that involved breaking Michael's face against a wall and reminding him exactly who he was dealing with.
But that wasn't what Hannah needed.
What she needed was someone she could trust. Someone who wouldn't take decisions out of her hands. Someone who wouldn't hurt her more by trying to protect her without her permission.
He forced himself to breathe. To be the man she deserved.
"We document everything," he said finally. "We go through the right channels. I'll push Martinez, I'll get eyes on him. And if the cops won't handle it—" His voice dropped lower. "I will."
Hannah searched his face for a long moment.
Then, finally—she nodded.
Jake's chest eased—just a little. Just enough to know he'd done something right.
But it wasn't enough.
She thought she had to do this by herself. That no one was coming to help. That no one would fight for her.
Bullshit.
Jake exhaled slowly, forcing his fists to unclench. He wanted to hunt down Michael Harrison and make damn sure he never looked in Hannah's direction again. But that wasn't what she needed from him. Not right now.
She needed someone to keep watch. Someone to make sure the next brick didn't come flying through the window when she was standing in front of it.
Someone who would protect her—even if she never asked him to.
His hands curled into fists. He should have seen this coming. Should have known someone like Harrison wouldn't let things go.
Hannah shook out the dustpan over the trash, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn't going to leave. Wasn't going to back down.
And neither was he.
Jake knew what he had to do.
He was staying.
The town could turn its back on her. The cops could drag their feet. But Jake wasn't leaving. He didn't give a damn if she never forgave him. He didn't care if she didn't want his help.
She needed it.
And he needed her safe.
Hannah exhaled, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face before picking up her broom again. He could see the exhaustion pulling at her, the weight of everything pressing down on her shoulders.
Jake forced himself to step back, to move toward the door. If she caught him looking at her like this—like he was making an unspoken vow to keep her safe no matter what—she'd tell him to leave.
So he didn't say a word. He just turned, walked outside, and started planning. Michael Harrison had made a mistake tonight.
Jake wasn't going anywhere.
Jake stood in the pre-dawn darkness outside Sugar & Spice, watching Hannah through the window as she swept up glass. His hands were still shaking with rage—at Michael, at himself for not preventing this, at the whole damn situation.
A Crystal Lake PD cruiser pulled up, and Officer Luke Bennett stepped out.
Of course they'd sent Bennett.
All clean-cut professionalism and small-town golden boy charm. The kind of guy the town actually trusted.
"Cooper." Bennett nodded as he passed, his hand already on the bakery door.
Jake grunted in response, staying in the shadows. Through the window, he watched Bennett take Hannah's statement, saw the way she wrapped her arms around herself, the exhaustion in her shoulders.
Bennett was good at his job—thorough, professional. He photographed the damage, documented everything carefully. Probably went home at night with a clear conscience, knowing he'd done everything by the book.
Jake's jaw clenched.
Someone like Bennett would never let the woman he loved be looked down on by the town. Would never stand by while people whispered and judged. He'd be right there beside her, hand in hand, daring anyone to say a damn word.
But then again, most men wouldn't have lied to her in the first place.
Wouldn't have spent months living a double life.
Wouldn't have destroyed her trust while claiming to love her.
Jake pressed his palms against his eyes, exhaustion and self-loathing warring in his chest.
The door opened, and Bennett emerged, report tucked under his arm. He paused when he saw Jake still standing there.
"She's okay," Bennett said quietly. "Shaken up, but okay. You keeping an eye on things?"
Jake nodded once, not trusting his voice.
Bennett studied him for a moment, and Jake wondered what he saw. Probably a washed-up FBI agent who'd thrown away his career for a woman who couldn't even look at him.
Jake watched Bennett’s taillights disappear down Main Street.
Through the window, Hannah had gone back to sweeping, her movements mechanical, defeated.
And Jake stood in the darkness.
Jake sat across from Fire Chief Miller, watching the older man flip through his application. His FBI credentials were conspicuously absent from the paperwork—just his military service, his EMT certification, his experience with building codes and structural assessment.
"Former contractor?" Miller's eyebrows rose as he studied the carefully curated work history.
"Yes, sir." After all, he had actually fixed things around town for seven months. The fact that it had been cover for an FBI operation didn't make the skills any less real.