And yet, she was here. Inhisspace. Wearinghishoodie. 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 beyondher 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."
