She grabbed her keys, the invoice clutched in her hand like a weapon. The morning sun felt too bright now, too exposing, as she stepped onto Main Street.
A movement caught her eye. Michael Harrison stood in front of his shuttered pharmacy, watching. Always watching lately.
His lips curved in a bitter smile.
Hannah's fingers tightened on the paper until it crumpled.
She didn't need Jake Cooper's guilt money or his protection or his help.
She'd rebuild this herself, brick by brick if she had to.
But first, she was going to tell him exactly where he could shove his anonymous payment.
Her boots clicked against the sidewalk as she marched toward the firehouse, the sound sharp as gunshots in the morning quiet. Behind her, she could feel Michael's eyes following her movement. Could almost hear his smirk.
Let him watch.
Let him judge.
Let the whole damn town see.
She didn't need anyone's help.
Especially not Jake's.
But God, her hands were shaking.
The firehouse doorswung open with a force that rattled the hinges.
Hannah barely registered the startled faces of the firefighters clustered near the kitchen, their casual morning chatter cutting off as she strode inside. The air smelled like coffee and smoke and sweat, but all she could focus on was the man standing in the middle of the bay, his back to her, hands braced on a workbench.
Jake.
Her fingers curled around the invoice, crumpling it further.Good. Let him see what a mess he'd made.
"Cooper!"
Jake turned at the sound of his name, wiping his hands on a rag, brow furrowing as his gaze landed on her. He was in his uniform—navy blue t-shirt stretched across his broad chest, turnout pants slung low on his hips—but for half a second, she saw him the way he used to be.
Barefoot in her kitchen, stealing spoonfuls of cookie dough while pretending to fix her leaky faucet.
That image shattered under the weight of her rage.
She closed the distance between them, shoving the crumpled paper hard against his chest. "What the hell were you thinking?"
Jake barely moved from the impact, his gaze dropping to the paper, then back to her. He didn't even have the decency to look guilty.
"Hannah." His voice was low, careful.
"Don't you 'Hannah' me." She shoved at him again, harder. "You had no right."
Jake's hands clenched at his sides, but he didn't step back. "You needed help."
Her breath came sharp and shallow. "I needed to do it myself."
Something flickered in his expression—something too raw, too full of a grief she wasn't ready to name.
A chair scraped behind her. The other firefighters were watching. Peterson, Roberts, even Chief Miller in his office doorway.
