And she would know.
She would know he never came for her.
She would know that the man she trusted—the man she loved—had left her to rot.
And she would never forgive him.
Jake's apartmentfelt like a tomb. Too quiet. Too dark. Too full of memories of Hannah curled up on his couch, stealing his sweatshirts, making his sterile living space feel like home.
The whiskey bottle sat unopened on the kitchen table. His badge lay next to it. The gold caught the dim lamplight, mocking him.He'd spent years earning it, and now it felt like a burning brand of shame.
She was sleeping in a cell tonight.
The thought hit him like a physical blow. Hannah, who loved soft blankets and warm spaces, who always ran cold and stole his body heat in the middle of the night—she was lying on a metal bench under harsh fluorescent lights.
Was she cold? Scared? Had anyone given her a blanket, or was she curled up in just that thin t-shirt, arms wrapped around herself like she'd been in the interrogation room?
His hands shook as he reached for his phone. Three missed calls. One voicemail.
He shouldn't listen to it. He'd already betrayed her enough today. But his thumb moved before his brain could stop it.
"Jake..." Her voice cracked on his name. A shaky inhale. A sound that might have been a suppressed sob. "Please call me. I don't?—"
She broke off, and Jake could picture her perfectly—pressing her hand to her mouth, trying to hold herself together. She always did that when she was trying not to cry.
"I don't know what's happening. I need you."
Silence stretched, heavy with everything she couldn't say. Then, softer, barely a whisper?—
"Please, Jake. I need you."
The phone slipped from his numb fingers.
She needed him. The way she'd needed him every other time something had gone wrong. The way she'd trusted him to fix everything from leaky pipes to her fear of thunderstorms.
But this time, he was the thing that had broken her world.
He grabbed the whiskey bottle. The alcohol couldn't wash away the image of Hannah alone in that cell. Hannah, who hated sleeping alone. Who always reached for him in the middle of the night, instinctively seeking his warmth.
Was she sleeping now? Or was she lying awake, wondering why he hadn't come? Why the man who had wormed his way into her world had abandoned her on the worst day of her life?
His chest felt like it was being crushed in a vice. He should be there. Should be holding her, protecting her, keeping her warm and safe like he'd promised a thousand times. Maybe not with words, but with actions. With the way he had held her, kissed her.
Instead, he was here, drowning in memories and self-loathing while she was left overnight in an metal cell.
In a few hours, she'd look at him with those trusting eyes one last time—the way she had the last time he'd kissed her goodbye. Before the betrayal, before he'd let federal agents drag her from her grandmother's bakery in front of everyone she loved.
And then she'd know.
She'd know that every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise had been a lie.
She'd know that the man who'd made her feel safest in the world had been the one to destroy it.
She'd know that while she'd been planning their future, he'd been planning her destruction.
Jake hurled the whiskey bottle against the wall. It shattered, amber liquid running down the paint like tears.
Hannah hated the smell of whiskey.
