Chapter 26 Jake
Jake
Jake wiped sweat from his forehead, muscles aching from equipment drills.
The locker room smelled like smoke and heat, the late afternoon sun slanting through high windows, painting everything in shades of gold.
Just another shift. Just another day of pretending his world hadn't shattered when Hannah discovered his badge.
"Guess Everett's girl is still hanging on, huh?" Peterson's voice carried from around the corner. "Takes guts—or just plain stupidity."
Jake's hands stilled on his locker door.
Daniels laughed, the sound echoing off metal. "Think she's holding out for another rich investor? Worked out so well last time with daddy's money."
The metal creaked under Jake's grip.
"I mean, come on." Peterson's voice grew louder as he rounded the corner. "Her old man screwed half the town, and she's acting like—"
The rest of his words cut off in a choke as Jake slammed him against the lockers. His forearm pressed against Peterson's throat, not hard enough to hurt—not yet—but enough to make his point.
"You ever talk about her like that again—" Jake's voice was barely more than a growl.
"Jesus, Cooper!" Daniels grabbed for Jake's shoulder. "Let him go!"
Jake ignored him, leaning closer to Peterson's wide eyes. "Hannah Everett is off limits. You understand me?"
Peterson's face reddened. Whether from anger or lack of air, Jake didn't care.
"That's enough."
Chief Miller's voice cut through the tension like a blade. Jake's jaw clenched, but he stepped back, letting Peterson stumble away from the lockers.
"What the hell, man?" Peterson rubbed his throat, glaring. "You gone crazy or something?"
"Cooper." Miller's voice carried a warning. "My office. Now."
Jake's hands curled into fists at his sides, but he followed the chief, leaving Peterson and Daniels to their whispers. His blood still roared in his ears, rage burning just beneath his skin.
Miller shut the door behind them. The familiar smell of pipe tobacco and leather did nothing to calm Jake's nerves.
"Sit."
Jake remained standing.
Miller sighed, settling behind his desk. "You want to tell me what that was about?"
"No."
"Too bad." Miller's eyes were sharp. "Because from where I'm standing, I just watched one of my firefighters assault a colleague over town gossip."
Jake's jaw tightened. "It wasn't—"
"Save it." Miller held up a hand. "You think I don't know what this is about? Hannah Everett's been through hell. The town turned on her. Her father's in prison. And you—" He paused, studying Jake. "You're carrying enough guilt to drown a man."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"But this?" Miller gestured toward the locker room. "This doesn't help her. Throwing punches every time someone talks shit? That just confirms what they already think—that the Everetts are trouble. That violence follows that family."
Jake's chest felt too tight. Because Miller was right. God help him, he was right.
"So here's what's going to happen." Miller leaned forward. "You're going to apologize to Peterson. You're going to get your head on straight. And you're going to remember that the best way to protect Hannah Everett isn't by breaking jaws—it's by being the kind of man this town can trust."
Jake swallowed hard.
"Yes, sir."
Miller nodded once. "Dismissed."
Jake turned to leave, his hands still shaking with adrenaline.
"And Cooper?"
He paused at the door.
"Next time someone talks about her like that?" Miller's voice softened slightly. "Remember—walls have ears. And this town loves a redemption story more than it loves gossip."
Jake stepped into the hallway, letting out a slow breath. His rage still simmered beneath the surface, but Miller's words echoed in his head.
The kind of man this town could trust.
The kind of man Hannah deserved.
He wasn't there yet.
But by God, he was trying.
The bakery's windows glowed warm in the gathering dusk, and he could see Hannah moving behind the counter, closing up for the night. Alone. Always alone now.
His phone felt heavy in his hand as he dialed Martinez's number.
"Cooper." Her voice was clipped, professional. "Tell me you have something actionable this time."
Jake exhaled slowly, watching another shadow pass by Hannah's window. Just a tourist, heading home. This time.
"Michael Harrison's been watching the bakery." He kept his voice low, even though he was too far for Hannah to hear. "Not just passing by anymore. Actually watching."
"Define watching."
Jake's jaw clenched. "Standing across the street. Showing up wherever she goes."
"That's not illegal." Martinez sighed, and he could picture her rubbing her temples. "Creepy as hell, but not illegal."
"The dead flowers weren't just flowers." The words felt torn from his throat. "They were a threat."
"Jake." Martinez's use of his first name made him still. "You know how this works. We need evidence. Real evidence. Not just your gut feeling about a guy who lost everything because of her father."
"So what?" Anger crept into his voice. "We wait until he actually hurts her? Until he—"
"No." Martinez cut him off. "We document everything. Build a case. Follow procedure."
Jake nearly punched the steering wheel. "Procedure won't keep her safe!"
"And what's your alternative?" Her voice sharpened.
The question hit like a physical blow. Because he was trying. God, he was trying. But Hannah didn't want his protection. Didn't want anything from him.
"She won't let me help her." The admission felt like glass in his throat.
Martinez was quiet for a moment. Then, softer: "You really love her, don't you?"
Jake watched Hannah turn off the bakery lights, her silhouette moving toward the back stairs. His chest ached with the need to follow her, to make sure she got upstairs safely, to hold her until she stopped looking so damn haunted.
"She's everything." The words came out raw, honest. "And I can't—" His voice caught. "I can't let anything happen to her. Not again. Not after what I did."
"Jesus, Cooper." Martinez exhaled sharply. "Look, I'll put some pressure on local PD. Get them to increase patrols near the bakery. Maybe run Harrison's contacts, see if anything pings."
"Thank you."
"But Jake?" Her voice turned serious. "You need to be careful. If Harrison is planning something, the last thing Hannah needs is you arrested for assault when he makes his move."
Jake's hand tightened on the phone. Because Martinez was right. Again.
He couldn't protect Hannah if he was behind bars.
"I hear you."
"Good." Papers rustled again. "And Cooper? Document everything. Times, dates, witnesses. Build me a case I can actually use."
Jake ended the call. Across the street, Michael Harrison stood in the shadows of his pharmacy, watching the bakery with that same hungry look.
Jake's fingers itched to do something. Anything.
But Miller's words from earlier echoed in his head: The best way to protect Hannah isn't by breaking jaws.
So he stood there, watching Hannah's windows until the lights went out.
Watching Harrison until he finally slunk away into the darkness.
Watching, waiting, documenting.
And praying it would be enough.
The bell above Sugar & Spice's door chimed softly as Jake stepped inside.
Like always, the familiar scent hit him like a physical blow—cinnamon and vanilla and Hannah and home.
His chest ached with the memory of countless mornings spent here, stealing kisses between customers, watching Hannah dance to that oldies station while she baked.
Hannah stood at the register, hair falling loose around her face, hands wrapped around a cooling cup of tea. For half a second, he almost went to her, almost took her in his arms—as if he still had the right.
Instead, he cleared his throat. "Just checking in."
Hannah didn't look up from her tea. "I don't need you to keep checking on me."
"I know." He took another step into the warmth of the bakery. "But I'm going to anyway."
That made her look up, eyes flashing. "Jake—"
Then he saw it.
An envelope on the counter, half-hidden under yesterday's receipts. The handwriting was familiar—precise, measured strokes that made his stomach clench.
Michael.
Hannah followed his gaze. Her hand shot out, snatching the envelope and shoving it into her apron pocket.
"What did he send?" Jake's voice came out rougher than intended.
"It doesn't matter." But her fingers trembled slightly as she picked up her tea.
"Hannah." He moved closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of sugar on her skin. "Please."
"Don't." She stepped back, putting the counter between them like a shield. "Just... Don't."
"You don't have to go through this alone."
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and the pain in her eyes nearly brought him to his knees.
"You don't get to decide that, Jake." Her voice cracked on his name.
"I know I hurt you." The words felt torn from his chest. "I know I destroyed your trust. But Hannah—" He swallowed hard, the truth rising in his throat like a tide he couldn't stop. "You're the woman I'm going to spend the rest of my life with."
Hannah went very still. For a moment, neither of them breathed.
Then her walls slammed back into place.
"No." She wrapped her arms around herself. "You don't get to say things like that."
"Hannah—"
"Get out." Her voice shook. "Please, just... get out."
Jake's hands clenched at his sides. "I don't know how to fix this."
"That's the problem, Jake." She turned away, but not before he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes. "Some things can't be fixed."
He stood there for a long moment, memorizing the curve of her spine, the way her hands gripped the counter like it was the only thing holding her up. Then he forced himself to move, to walk away, to leave her alone like she wanted.
The bell chimed behind him, final as a gunshot.
Through the window, he watched her shoulders shake once, twice. Watched her press her hand to her mouth like she was holding back a sob.
And for the first time since he'd quit the FBI, since he'd chosen her over everything else, Jake wondered if love really was enough.
If anything would ever be enough to heal what he'd broken.
Jake sat in his truck, engine off, watching Sugar & Spice through the windshield. The bakery's windows glowed like warm honey against the darkening sky, each one a snapshot of the life he'd destroyed. Hannah moved behind the counter, closing up for the night, her movements achingly familiar.
God, he remembered everything.
The way she used to dance while she worked, letting him pull her close when no customers were looking. The sound of her laugh echoing through these rooms. The taste of her skin in the darkness of her apartment upstairs.
His hands tightened on the steering wheel until his knuckles went white.
He'd had no right to those memories. No right to touch her, to kiss her, to make her believe in him. He'd been living a lie and she'd given him everything—her trust, her body, her heart.
The nausea rose again, bitter as guilt in his throat.
Because even now, even knowing what he'd done to her, he couldn't stop watching. Couldn't stop wanting. Couldn't stop loving her with a desperation that felt like drowning.
Movement caught his eye.
Across the street, a shadow shifted in the darkened pharmacy. Michael Harrison stood at his window, watching Hannah with that same hungry intensity that made Jake's blood run cold.
Jake's jaw clenched as he remembered the envelope. The way Hannah's hands had trembled when she'd hidden it. The fear she wouldn't admit to.
You were supposed to protect her.
The words echoed in his head, twisted with memory. Because he'd failed her once. Failed her completely. He'd been the weapon that destroyed her world, the lie that broke her heart, the monster wearing a hero's mask.
But he wouldn't fail her again.
The lights in Sugar & Spice dimmed one by one as Hannah finished closing. Jake watched her check the locks—once, twice, three times. A new habit. Born of fear she shouldn't have to live with.
His eyes cut back to the pharmacy. Michael was still there, still watching, something dark and satisfied in his stance.
Fine.
If Hannah didn't want Jake's protection—if she couldn't trust him, couldn't forgive him, couldn't let him near her—then he'd do this from the shadows.
He'd document every threat.
Track every movement.
Build a case Martinez could use.
And if Michael Harrison tried to hurt Hannah?
Jake would end him.
Not because he deserved forgiveness. Not because he could ever make things right. But because Hannah Everett deserved to feel safe in her own damn town.
Even if that safety had to come from a man she hated.
Even if she never knew he was there.
Even if it meant spending every night like this—watching, waiting, drowning in memories of everything he'd destroyed.
The bakery's last light went out.
Across the street, Michael finally moved away from his window, disappearing into the darkness of his pharmacy.
Jake settled deeper into his seat, eyes fixed on Hannah's apartment windows.
He'd stay until her bedroom light went out.
Stay until he was sure Michael was gone.
Stay until the sun rose, if that's what it took.
Because he'd chosen duty over her heart once before.
He wouldn't make that mistake again.