The thought hit him like another punch to the gut. Even now, even after everything, his brain cataloged her preferences, her comfort, her needs.
But it didn't matter anymore.
Nothing mattered except the fact that Hannah was sleeping in a cell, alone and scared and confused.
And he was letting it happen.
Jake satin his parked truck across from the Crystal Lake Police Station, knuckles white against the steering wheel. Dawn painted the sky in shades of gray, matching the hollowness in his chest. He'd been here for hours already, watching the building where Hannah slept in a cell because of him.
The bail had been posted anonymously. Martinez wouldn't be pleased, but he couldn't let Hannah spend another minute in that cell.
His phone buzzed. Martinez.
Don't even think about it, Cooper.
He ignored the message, eyes fixed on the station's front doors. Hannah would walk through them soon. She'd be processing outright now – getting her personal effects back, signing papers, trying to hold herself together while her world crumbled around her.
And he couldn't go to her.
Couldn't hold her.
Couldn't explain that everything – the investigation, the arrest, all of it – had been about protecting people. That he'd always believed in the system, in justice, in doing things by the book.
But now, watching the sun rise over the station where Hannah had spent the night alone and afraid, he wasn't so sure anymore.
Another buzz. Martinez again.
I mean it. Stay in your vehicle.
Jake's jaw clenched. He'd follow protocol. Stay hidden. Let Hannah believe the bail money came from a concerned citizen or a family friend. It was safer that way. Cleaner.
God, he hated himself for even thinking in those terms anymore.
Movement at the station doors made his breath catch. Hannah stepped into the morning light, and Jake's heart stopped.
She looked small. That was his first thought – horrible and immediate. Hannah had always been a force of nature, filling every room with warmth and light. But now she seemed diminished, her shoulders curved inward like she was trying to protect herself from the world's judgment.
She still wore yesterday's clothes, flour dust now smudged and gray. Her hair had fallen from its usual neat bun, strands framing a face that looked too pale, too tired, too hurt.
Jake's hands itched with the need to go to her. To wrap her in his arms and tell her everything would be okay. To explain that he'd fix this, that he'd make it right, that he'd?—
But he couldn't.
Because he was the one who had destroyed her world.
He watched as she stood on the station steps, squinting in the harsh morning light. Watched as she reached for her phone – probably checking for messages, missing his number among them. Watched as she squared her shoulders and began the long walk back to Sugar & Spice.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to her retreating form. "I'm so damn sorry."
His phone buzzed one final time.
Report to the office. Now.
Jake kept his eyes on Hannah's retreating form. He'd go face Martinez's anger about the bail money. He'd write his reports. He'd do everything by the book.
But watching Hannah disappear around the corner, something shifted in his core. A fundamental change in what he believed, in what mattered most.
Because if the law wasn't about protecting people like Hannah, then the foundation of his life was crumbling.
