EMMA

I tried to focus, to make sense of what was happening, but all I could feel was the cold.

The snow crunched beneath me, each flake biting against my skin like shards of glass. My limbs felt numb. I felt numb.

It didn't help that cold steel was biting into my wrists, binding them together behind my back.

I lifted my head slowly, my eyes frantically searching the scene around me. So much was going on.

Blue and red lights flashed all around, making me squint against their glare. Voices shouted over each other, throwing orders and threats I couldn't quite comprehend.

I ignored them, and my gaze kept searching until it finally landed on him.

He stood a few feet away, his badge catching the harsh glow of the lamppost.

His face was stoic, unreadable. But his green eyes—so familiar, so warm—were cold now, sharp with something I couldn't quite name. Was it betrayal? Disgust? Hate?

"How could you?" he asked, his voice low and cold, but cutting through the commotion sharper than any shout.

I tried to explain, to speak—to beg—but no words came out.

Rough hands then grabbed me, forcefully pulling me to my feet and dragging me away.

The last thing I saw was him walking away, leaving me behind. And all I could feel was the bitter cold closing in, swallowing me whole.

***

Gasping, my eyes flew open, my chest was heaving like I had been underwater too long. The room was dark, except for the faint glow of city lights seeping through the curtains.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to steady my breathing, but it didn't work. Behind my eyelids, the snow kept falling, the handcuffs kept digging, and Jake...

"Emma?"

His voice cut through the haze—soft, warm—but it still made me flinch. I couldn't look at him, terrified I would crumble the moment I did.

But then, his hand landed gently on my arm. Slowly, I turned toward him, my breath hitching as our eyes met in the dim light.

I tried to remind myself that whatever I saw wasn't real. This was real. He was looking at me with brows furrowed with concern, hair mussed from sleep, and his voice a gentle tether pulling me back to reality.

Sitting up, he moved closer, his gaze searching mine while his thumb brushed my arm. Then he leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead before pulling me into his arms.

The steady system of his heartbeat against my ear was soothing, and gradually, my breathing began to even out.

Jake's hand moved in slow circles on my back, his voice breaking the silence after a while. "Em... talk to me. What happened?"

I swallowed hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. I straightened my position and looked him in the eye. "It was just a stupid dream," I mumbled, shaking my head as if that could erase the images burned into the back of my mind. "Nothing worth worrying about."

"Em, it's not stupid if it's got you shaking like this."

I opened my mouth, then closed it again, because what was I supposed to say? That I dreamed of him arresting me? Of my world crashing down, and me powerless to stop it?

Instead, I forced a smile. "I'm fine, Jake. Really. It was just... one of those weird dreams that makes no sense once you wake up."

He didn't buy it. I could tell by the way his lips pressed into a thin line. But after a moment, he let out a small sigh and brushed a strand of hair away from my face.

"Alright," he said. "But if you ever want to talk about it... I'm here. Okay?"

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

Jake's lips twitched into a small smile, though I could still see that some of the worry and concern hadn't fully left his eyes.

"I know what will cheer you up."

I arched an eyebrow, trying to match his energy. "Oh yeah?"

"Breakfast," he said, his smile warming. "My mom used to make these ridiculously good chocolate chip pancakes on weekends. I think it's time I shared her secret recipe with you."

I couldn't help the small, genuine smile that crept onto my face. "Jake, you don't have to—"

"I want to," he said softly. "So brace yourself for the best pancakes you'll ever have."

Before I could argue, he was up and out of the room, his footsteps fading down the hall.

The silence Jake left behind felt heavier than it should have.

Letting out a shaky breath, my fingers reached for the delicate chain around my neck, clutching it tightly. Since Jake gave it to me, the necklace had become a quiet comfort—something to hold on to when the world felt like it was slipping away. And that seemed to be happening a lot lately.

With a sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Jake's sweatshirt was draped over the armchair—a soft navy blue one that still faintly smelled like him. Without thinking, I pulled it over my head and made my way to the bathroom.

The light flickered on with a quiet hum. My gaze landed on my toothbrush sitting next to Jake's on the edge of the sink. It was such a small thing, almost insignificant, but it still made something tighten in my chest.

I had a toothbrush here. In Jake's apartment. In Jake's life.

I shook my head at my reflection in the mirror. Get it together, Emma.

After splashing cold water on my face and brushing my teeth, I padded barefoot into the kitchen.

Jake stood at the stove, spatula in hand. Sunlight poured through the window, casting a golden glow over him. A faint smile played on his lips as he flipped pancakes with an ease that felt almost unfair, like he was good at everything without even trying.

For a moment, I just... watched him. He looked so peaceful, so at ease.

I caught myself smiling too before I shook off the thought and pulled out a chair, sinking into it at the kitchen table.

Jake set a perfectly golden stack before me. The smell made my mouth water. "You weren't lying about those pancakes, huh?"

Jake smirked, clearly satisfied with himself. He then poured coffee into a mug and slid it over. "Cream, no sugar. Just how you like it."

I couldn't help but smile, and my heart did a little flutter. "Careful, Parker. You're setting the bar dangerously high."

He chuckled, shaking his head as he turned back to the stove. "Trust me, this is a special occasion. I'm usually more of a cereal-from-the-box kind of guy."

"So I've heard," I teased. "Apparently, Luke thinks you have an unhealthy relationship with your job. Should I be jealous?"

Jake glanced over his shoulder, smirking. "Well, you're the only one I make breakfast for. Work doesn't stand a chance against you."

It was such a simple line, but it left me speechless.

Jake grabbed his own plate and coffee, settling into the chair across from me. He leaned forward slightly, his green eyes sparkling with anticipation.

I took a bite and... wow.

"So." He raised an eyebrow. "Thoughts?"

I pretended to think, tapping a finger against my chin. "Hmm... well, they're almost perfect. Maybe a little more butter next time."

Jake's jaw dropped in mock offense. "Almost? Are you serious?"

I couldn't hold back my laugh. "I'm kidding, Jake. They're amazing. Honestly."

He beamed at me, shaking his head and quietly muttering something about ungrateful breakfast critics under his breath.

We slipped into easy conversation—about everything and nothing all at once. Jake told me about the time he nearly set the kitchen on fire trying to bake a cake for his parents' anniversary as a kid, and I admitted that my version of cooking usually involved toast and instant noodles.

It felt... simple. Natural. Like we were just a regular couple spending a quiet morning together.

And God, how I wished that was true.

But even with the lighthearted banter, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was weighing on Jake the whole time. There was a certain hesitation in his smile, a heaviness in the way his eyes lingered on me—just a second too long, like he was afraid I would disappear if he looked away.

And now, as we stood side by side at the sink, washing dishes together, that same weight lingered in the air between us.

I let the silence stretch for a moment before deciding to break it.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to notice tiny details for a living, you're not hiding whatever's bothering you very well."

Jake paused mid-wipe, his fingers gripping the plate just a fraction tighter before he set it down carefully on the drying rack. When he turned to me, his smile was there—but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone casual. "Well, I just feel like there's something stuck on the tip of your tongue and you can't quite bring yourself to say it."

His shoulders dropped slightly, and for a second, he looked like he might deflect with another joke or change the subject entirely. But then he set the towel down and leaned back against the counter, his eyes finding mine.

"You were calling my name, you know?"

I froze, the icy chill of my nightmare washing over me again. Did I say something in my sleep? Was he feeling suspicious?

My hands trembled, and my legs felt unsteady. I carefully set the dish down, terrified it might slip and shatter into a hundred sharp pieces.

"It just... it scared the hell out of me."

What? I looked at Jake with wide eyes, unsure where this was going.

"I'm used to dealing with danger, Emma," he said. "Guns, threats, high-stakes situations. But hearing you scared like that... knowing I couldn't do anything to help you. That's a different kind of fear."

I stayed silent, staring into Jake's eyes. They were so honest, so sincere, and it almost broke me.

He reached out and took my hands in his. "Emma, I just want you to know this. You don't have to carry everything on your own. Whatever happens—good, bad, messy—I'll be there. You've got me, okay? Always."

The words hung in the air, feeling like a lifeline I wasn't sure I deserved.

Jake's thumbs brushed over my hands before he let go, his fingers moving gently to my face. I hadn't even noticed the tear until he wiped it away, his touch so tender it made my chest feel as if it were wrapped in barbed wire.

I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but Jake stopped me.

"You don't have to say anything, Emma," he said softly. "Just... remember that, okay?."

That did it. Whatever fragile string was holding me together snapped, and I found myself throwing my arms around his neck, pressing myself against him as if I could somehow make this moment last forever.

Jake's arms came around me without hesitation, wrapping me in a hold so secure it felt like nothing could touch me here.

After a moment, I let out a breathless laugh against his shoulder. "You're really not playing fair, you know. Coming up with such heartfelt speeches and making me all mushy."

Sarcasm—my most reliable armor when words failed me. Because honestly, what could I possibly say to that?

A smile flickered around the corners of Jake's mouth as he pulled back just enough to meet my gaze. "What can I say? I like keeping you on your toes."

Oh, Jake, if only you knew just how true that was.

I hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "Listen, I know we were supposed to go out today—try that new Italian place, maybe grab drinks with your friends after..."

Jake raised an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.

"But honestly... I think I like this better. Staying here. Just... us."

I hoped he would agree because I didn't have it in me to pretend today. To smile at strangers, to make small talk at overcrowded tables.

Jake's smile softened, something warm flickering in his eyes as he nodded. "Yeah, I like this too."

And just like that, the afternoon melted into an easy blur of light-hearted moments. We played cards at the kitchen table, laughing when Jake tried—and utterly failed—to bluff his way to a win.

Soft music drifted in the background as we danced around the kitchen, tipsy and giddy. At some point, we ended up by the fridge, making a disastrous attempt to write poetry with those tiny magnet words.

It was simple, silly, and so achingly normal that it felt almost fragile, like it might vanish if I thought about it too hard. So, I didn't. I just let Jake work his magic of keeping me focused on the moment, pulling me into his orbit until everything else faded away.

As the sun dipped lower into the sky, Jake suggested ordering pizza. But something in me wanted to do more—wanted to give something back after everything he had given me today.

"You made breakfast. I'm making dinner," I said with finality.

Jake gave me a skeptical look but said nothing.

I rolled my eyes at his reaction. "Just because I told you I don't cook much doesn't mean I can't cook."

The truth was, I was a great cook. I had even spent a few months in France as a chef's apprentice during a long con Eric and I had pulled off. But Jake didn't need to know that.

I decided on quiche—simple, foolproof... or at least mostly foolproof. Jake stayed close by, leaning against the counter, sipping his beer, and tossing in unhelpful commentary like, "Is the dough supposed to look like that?"

But when the quiche finally came out of the oven, golden and perfectly set, I couldn't hide the pride in my smile as I set it on the table.

Jake took one bite, his eyes widening slightly. "Okay... this is actually really good."

I smirked. "I have a feeling you'd still say that even if it was burned to a crisp."

"Probably," he admitted with a slight grin. "But lucky for both of us, it's not."

I chuckled and sat across from him. We enjoyed our meal together, with conversation effortlessly flowing between bites and laughter. When we were done, I leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

"Well, dinner was a success. And now, I believe it's your turn to pick a movie."

Jake smirked. "Challenge accepted."

***

In hindsight, I wished I had just picked a rom-com.

Catch Me If You Can.

Jake grinned, oblivious to the way my stomach twisted into knots. "It's a classic. One of my all-time favorites."

I forced a smile. "Yeah, it's a good one."

And it was. Who didn't love seeing Leo in a pilot's uniform? But tonight, it felt like the universe was pointing at me and laughing.

Jake hit play, and the opening credits began to roll. I sighed, leaning into the cushions and pulling the blanket tighter around me as I rested my head lightly on Jake's shoulder.

It's just a movie, Emma.

But as the movie played on, every con, every narrow escape, every exchange between Frank and Agent Carl Hanratty felt like an invisible hand pressing down on me.

It was a little over halfway through when I couldn't stop myself anymore, and the words slipped out before I could stop them.

"Funny how sometimes the 'bad guy' isn't really bad. Just... lost."

Jake's brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to be running what I said through his head.

He finally said, "Well, I think everyone believes they're doing the right thing, even if they aren't. People often justify their actions to themselves, no matter how questionable they are."

The words struck something deep inside me. I looked down, unable to meet his eyes. I bit my lip before asking the next question.

"Do you believe in second chances, Jake?"

He paused, his voice softer when he spoke again. "Depends on what they've done, I guess. But yeah, I think most people deserve one. But they have to want it first, be willing to truly change."

Oh, how I wanted to believe that. In redemption. In second chances. But my list of sins felt impossibly long.

"And what if they don't think they deserve it?"

Jake studied me for a long moment before answering. "Then someone has to believe it for them."

His words settled over me like a quiet echo, and I didn't say anything else after that.

For the rest of the movie, I stayed silent, lost in the tangle of my thoughts, while Jake's arm rested lightly across my shoulders.

When the credits rolled, Jake had fallen asleep, his head resting against my lap.

I sat there in the stillness, watching him, my fingers brushing lightly through his hair, as a storm of emotions and thoughts swirled inside me.

But one thought rose above the rest, cutting through the noise.

If second chances had to be earned, I knew I was still carrying far too many debts to deserve one.