Echos of Jake -A Life Reclaimed
Chapter One: The Name Returns
The screen door creaked shut behind him.
The diner smelled like fryer oil, pine-scented cleaner, and strong black coffee. Ceiling fans turned slow above chipped linoleum, and the tables were all lined with faded red vinyl. Jake Bennett—the real Jake—stood just inside the entrance, boots planted, body still.
Matthew Kane, wearing Jake’s uniform, was at the counter ordering to-go.
Jake’s heart didn’t race. Not anymore.
He watched the man move—shoulders confident, voice calm, the brim of the trooper hat tilted at just the right angle. Kane even wore Jake’s little smirk when he thanked the waitress. It was uncanny.
He had the role down cold.
Jake walked forward.
Kane turned at the sound of his boots. Their eyes met.
For a moment, no one else existed.
The waitress behind the counter blinked. “Y’all know each other?”
Jake kept walking. Stopped two feet from Kane. Calm. Level.
He extended a hand. “Name’s Bennett.”
Kane didn’t move.
Jake’s voice didn’t rise. “No need to lie anymore, Kane.”
Kane’s lips parted just slightly. “Jake’s dead.”
Jake gave a slight smile. “That’s funny. He’s looking you in the eye.”
The air around them seemed to freeze.
Kane didn’t take the hand. “You’re trespassing in something you gave away.”
Jake lowered his hand. “I lent it. You forged the return receipt.”
Kane’s jaw flexed.
Jake stepped closer; voice low. “You might be in the uniform. You might have the badge. Hell, you might even have my name on paper. But I built this life. I served this badge. You just slid into it like a parasite.”
Kane’s posture didn’t falter. “And whose fault is that?”
Jake didn’t flinch. “Mine. I gave you the keys. Doesn’t mean I can’t change the locks.”
The waitress cleared her throat, confused but sensing something wrong. “Is there a problem, Officer?”
Kane turned to her; tone flawless. “No problem, ma’am. Just an old friend.”
Jake didn’t look away. “Not your friend. Not anymore.”
Kane picked up the coffee cup the waitress had set down and handed her a bill. “Keep the change.”
She nodded, then stepped into the kitchen, eager to be out of earshot.
Kane turned back to Jake. “You sure you want to play this game?”
Jake’s stare didn’t break. “It’s not a game. You took my life.”
Kane stepped closer, voice cold. “No, Jake. You gave it to me. On your knees. In your uniform. In your house. I became you because you couldn’t stand being you anymore.”
Jake’s breath came out slow. “I couldn’t stand being alone. I let you in. But you stayed like a squatter.”
Kane leaned in. “Then evict me.”
Jake smiled again. “Already started.”
He reached into his jacket and laid a folded piece of paper on the counter between them.
Kane looked down.
West Virginia State Police Internal Affairs – Inquiry Intake.
Subject: Identity Misappropriation / Badge Abuse Allegation.
Filed by: Jake Bennett.
Kane’s face changed—barely, but enough.
Jake stepped back. “See you soon.”
He walked out.
Didn’t look back.
Not once.
Chapter Two: Tension Under Glass
The streets outside the diner glistened in post-rain reflections, neon signs rippling like ghosts in puddles. Early afternoon traffic muddled softly along Main Street, but it was inside the diner where the real battle unfolded.
Jake Bennett stepped out of his car with a deliberate calm born of long nights spent wrestling with memories. Every step he took felt like reclaiming territory. He paused by a window, watching the rain’s fading streaks against the glass, and felt the steady thump of his own heartbeat.
Inside, Matthew Kane had barely recovered from the earlier encounter. He sat in a booth, head bowed over a half-empty cup of coffee, staring at the same folded inquiry form Jake had left on the counter. His fingers trembled around the paper—the incriminating evidence of a move he hadn’t expected. His uniform, still neatly pressed, seemed too perfect, like a costume he’d grown too accustomed to wear. But it was more than a costume now. It was his life, his claim to a stolen identity.
Kane’s eyes flared as he read the printed words. Without warning, he rose from the booth and stormed toward the counter. The clatter of his boots on the tiled floor echoed his rising anger.
From across the diner, Jake noticed his approach. The cool, steady gaze he’d maintained earlier gave way to a burning glint as he straightened his posture. He had expected a response, but not this.
“Kane,” Jake called, his voice low yet resolute as he stepped from the shadowed corner where he’d been waiting near the window. “I told you earlier: give back the badge—or I burn the whole damn thing down.”
The words sliced through the murmuring of other patrons. A hush fell over the diner, as if time itself stuttered. Matthew Kane’s eyes narrowed. For a long moment, no one spoke, the charged air punctuated only by the steady drip of condensation on the window.
Kane leaned forward, his uniform collar tight against his neck. “You think you can just file a claim, Jake? Tell me—I paid for every inch of this uniform, every mile of duty. I wore your name like armor because you surrendered it.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t surrender to a man who stole my life. I lent you my pain and my honor when I thought I was drowning. But now that I see you, you’re not my savior—you’re my usurper.”
Matthew’s face contorted with anger and something quieter—a deep sadness that lurked behind his eyes. “I didn’t choose this. I was chosen. You handed it over, piece by piece, until I filled every void. I took your car, your house, your uniform… even your badge was free for the taking.”
Jake lifted the inquiry form again, his fingers brushing the printed words. “It wasn’t free. I made a choice in despair—a mistake, maybe. But it wasn’t an open invitation to erase me.”
The tension built. Through the expansive windows, the gray sky mirrored the turmoil inside. Outside, a car splashed past a puddle, sending ripples across the asphalt—a subtle reminder that life, once again, was shifting.
Kane slammed his hand against the counter, rattling the glass. “Maybe I should—the badge isn’t really yours anymore, is it?”
Jake stepped forward, face inches from Kane’s. His eyes held a piercing certainty that made even the other customers pause. “I have a name, Kane. I have a history. And I have a right to reclaim it all. I’m done being the shadow in your reflection.”
Kane’s lips twisted. “Reclaim it? You think you can just undo what you gave away?” His tone was both a question and a challenge.
“Maybe not undo,” Jake said. “But I can force you to show me what’s left of me that you haven’t consumed. I can demand answers. I can—”
A waitress hurried by, trying to defuse the situation with a tentative smile. “Gentlemen, is everything all right?”
Jake shook his head. “Everything’s exactly as it should be. I’m just taking back what was mine.”
Kane’s hands clenched into fists on the counter. “You’re making a mistake. You think I’m the villain here? You handed me your keys. You let me be in your life. I did what I thought was best.”
“That’s the difference, isn’t it?” Jake replied, voice rising. “You thought you were the best for me, but you didn’t understand what it meant to be me. I’m not some role you can assume for a season.”
There was a pause—a pregnant moment of silence thick enough to drink. The other customers in the diner shrank into their seats, eyes fixed on the two men whose words now cut louder than any shouts.
Kane sighed, his shoulders slumping just a fraction. “I acted out of loneliness,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I was desperate to be seen, to be wanted. And you—” He looked directly at Jake. “You looked away.”
Jake’s face softened, but his tone stayed steady. “I was drowning, Kane. I was numb. And you stepped in. I let you. But you chose to stay, and you began to erase everything that was me, piece by piece.”
Kane’s eyes flashed. “I never erased you. I built upon you. I thought that by wearing your life, I could make you whole again.”
“Was that what you really thought?” Jake pressed. “Or did you simply want to own everything I had—and more importantly, to own the man I was?”
Their conversation swirled around them, both a physical confrontation and an emotional reckoning. The glass behind the counter shivered as the tension mounted, echoing the fragility of both their lives.
Kane leaned in closer, voice low and trembling with conflicted emotion. “I do love you, Jake. I always have. But maybe I lost you the moment I took your name and wore your badge as if it were mine.”
Jake stepped back, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Then love is about letting go. It’s about knowing that some things, once given away, can never be reclaimed by force.”
Kane’s voice dropped to a whisper. “If you take everything back, who will I be then?”
Silence settled—a heavy, painful realization that neither could answer.
The murmur of the diner returned slowly, as if the universe exhaled in relief that the showdown was over. But for Jake and Kane, nothing was over.
Jake finally straightened, his face hardening with determination. “I’m done letting you exist as my ghost. I have filed the report. You will either return my identity—or face the consequences. I will not be erased.”
Kane’s eyes glistened with tears and fury. He stepped back from the counter, his uniform jacket hanging loosely from his shoulders. “You really think you can reclaim it? My life? The trust I “
“You don’t get it, do you?” Jake interrupted, voice shaking with pent-up anguish. “I’m not asking for forgiveness. I’m demanding my existence. I am Jake Bennett. And I want my life back.”
Kane swallowed hard. “Maybe I thought I was saving us both. Instead, I ended up caging you.”
Jake’s eyes burned. “Well, now it’s time to open that cage.”
A long, heavy pause passed. Then, Kane’s voice cracked, “I… I never wanted to lose you completely.”
“You did,” Jake said softly. “And now I’m going to get myself back.”
Kane’s face fell, and in that moment, the confrontation softened to raw vulnerability. “So, what now?”
Jake pulled a breath and looked at the form he’d left—proof of the report filed to Internal Affairs—and said, “Now, I wait. I watch. And I rebuild.”
With that, Jake turned and walked out of the diner, leaving behind an unsettled, pained Matthew Kane. The finality in Jake’s tone was unmistakable.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The wet pavement shimmered beneath a clearing sky, mirroring the uncertainty of the future. Kane stayed behind the counter, head bowed, as he recalled every moment of the past years—the surrender, the domination, the painful exchange of identities.
The glass windows of the diner reflected both men—a fractured image of what had been and what might never be again.
And somewhere in the interplay of light and shadow, one fact became clear: the real Jake Bennett was not dead. He had been buried beneath layers of submission and stolen identity, but his spirit was stirring, ready to reclaim what was rightfully his.
In that quiet moment, as the diner’s bell jingled with the exit of customers and life resumed its unhurried pace, the battle for identity was far from over. It was only just beginning.
Chapter Three: The Hollow House
The house on Sycamore Drive hadn’t changed.
The porch light still flicked on at dusk, the lock still stuck halfway through the turn, and the sound of tires rolling over gravel still echoed just a little too loudly on the winding driveway.
But inside, the walls knew.
They felt different now.
Matthew Kane—Jake Bennett, as the state records still called him—stood in the doorway with the trooper hat in his hands. His uniform shirt was damp beneath the arms, sweat clinging from the confrontation hours earlier. He hadn’t changed. Not yet. He just stood there, staring into the hallway like something might jump out at him if he blinked.
He didn’t.
Instead, he stepped through and let the screen door slap shut behind him. He walked into the kitchen, dropped the hat onto the table, and slowly removed the belt and sidearm. His fingers hesitated on each snap. It all felt heavier now.
The confrontation in the diner had unraveled something. It wasn’t just about the badge or the name anymore. It was about history—and truth.
The man he’d once called Jake had looked him in the eyes and said, I am Jake Bennett.
And he had believed it.
Kane poured himself a glass of water, then dumped it without taking a sip.
He moved to the bedroom and stared at the dresser.
Top drawer: socks—mostly black. Some were his, but many were Jake’s. Still folded the same way he remembered. They’d been indistinguishable for a long time, but now they looked like mismatched puzzle pieces.
He opened the bottom drawer.
Old trooper photos. Jake in uniform. Jake on patrol. Jake before everything had shifted.
Kane picked up one and held it up to the light. Jake’s smile was small, reserved. He remembered how much Jake had hated posing. Always said the uniform wasn’t meant for cameras. It was meant for presence.
Presence.
That’s what Jake had, even when he was silent.
And now?
Now he was back.
Kane stared at the photo, and for the first time, he felt it: not guilt, not shame—but threat.
Jake wasn’t bluffing. The inquiry to Internal Affairs was real. And worse, Jake had reclaimed his voice—a thing far more dangerous than any badge or ID.
Kane dropped the photo and sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly exhausted. He thought about the first night Jake had let him try on the cap. The look in Jake’s eyes. The trembling consent. The admiration.
It had been real.
All of it.
But Kane hadn’t known when to stop.
Hadn’t known how to keep the line between play and power from blurring.
And now… that line was gone.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. For the first time since he’d moved in, the house felt hollow.
Not just empty.
Unstable.
Twenty miles away…
Jake Bennett sat on a rented mattress in a basement apartment that smelled faintly of paint and old carpet. His duffel was still unpacked. The air was cold, damp from concrete walls. The place had no windows, only a single bulb dangling from the ceiling, casting harsh light on the cement floor.
But it was quiet.
Safe.
His phone lay facedown beside the pad of yellow legal paper he’d been filling page by page. He had logged everything: names, badge numbers, locations, timelines. Every instance where Kane—his Kane—had introduced himself as Jake Bennett. The reports Kane had filed. The shifts he’d worked. The documents he’d signed.
There was no emotion in the writing. Just precision.
Jake needed facts now.
Emotion could come later.
He flipped to a fresh page and began to sketch out the next step: contacting the academy where Kane had claimed to train. Verifying certification records. Comparing signatures.
He paused halfway down the page.
The pen trembled in his grip.
A question formed in his mind, uninvited:
What if he never gives it back?
What if Matthew Kane fought this all the way to court? What if no one believed the man who had willingly given everything away, only to come crawling back with nothing but words and a ghost of a badge?
Jake clenched the pen harder.
He couldn’t afford doubt.
He opened the drawer beside the mattress and pulled out a small voice recorder—new, sleek, digital. He hit record.
His voice came out rough but steady.
“This is Jake Bennett. Badge 3496. If anything happens to me—if I disappear, if I’m discredited—I want it known that I was impersonated by a man named Matthew Kane. He assumed my name, identity, and uniform with my consent, but without legal transfer. I have filed a report. And I will not stop.”
He clicked it off and slid it under the mattress.
Then he leaned back, breathing hard.
Kane had expected him to vanish.
But Jake had come back with fire in his chest.
Not revenge.
Not even justice.
Just truth.
And once truth starts walking—it doesn’t stop.
Back at Sycamore Drive…
Kane woke sometime after midnight, startled by the silence.
He moved through the house barefoot, checking locks, flipping on lights.
Everything was in place.
But something had changed.
The air smelled different. Colder. Like someone had opened a window.
He moved to the front door and opened it.
Nothing.
Except on the porch, resting atop the old doormat, was a folded page from a duty logbook.
It was his handwriting—but he hadn’t written it.
He picked it up.
Only one line had been added:
“You live in my skin. But you’ll never wear my soul.”
No name. No signature. But he knew.
Jake Bennett had been here.
He wasn’t afraid to remind Kane that every inch of this house had once belonged to someone with a spine of steel.
And that the walls still remembered him.
Kane folded the paper. Closed the door. And for the first time in weeks—
He locked it twice.
Chapter Four: Internal Pressure
The letter arrived sealed in a plain envelope.
Kane slit it open with his pocketknife, the same one Jake used to keep clipped to his belt. The paper inside was stamped with an official State Police header.
Subject: Internal Review of Identity Claim – Jake Bennett / Matthew Kane
Issued by: Departmental Integrity Oversight Board
Action Required: Formal Interview / Statement of Origin
Kane read the lines again. And again.
His grip tightened.
He wasn’t just being watched.
He was being hunted.
He tossed the envelope on the counter, watching it slide to a stop next to the coffee pot, and tried to keep breathing. Across the room, the mirror above the mantel reflected his uniform—still pristine. Still his, for now. But his reflection didn’t feel solid anymore.
For the first time since he’d put on the trooper hat, he didn’t feel like Jake Bennett.
And that terrified him.
He checked the back door lock. Then the front. Then both windows in the bedroom.
Jake had been here once.
He might come again.
Kane sat down, phone in hand. His thumb hovered over Jake’s number, still saved under “Old Life.”
He didn’t press it.
Not yet.
Twenty minutes across town, Jake stood in the library’s archival records room, thumbing through microfiche printouts of training rosters and internal duty logs.
Matthew Kane wasn’t registered under any state trooper program.
Not officially.
Not even under his real name.
Jake knew it was a long shot, but it was enough. Enough to raise questions. Enough to justify a subpoena if the case advanced.
He folded the documents, tucked them into his jacket pocket, and walked toward the exit, face steady.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number. No message.
Jake stared at the screen. The silence between him and Kane had become part of the tension—like an empty space filled with unspoken threats. But now it buzzed with every step closer.
Jake silenced the call. Then opened his voice memo app.
“Week three. He hasn’t retaliated. But he’s been warned. Internal Affairs sent the inquiry. If he’s smart, he’ll back down. But I don’t think he will. I don’t think he knows how to be anything but me now.”
He paused.
“Neither do I.”
Then he ended the recording.
And stepped into the cold wind with purpose.
Chapter Five: Two Keys, One Door
The house looked smaller than he remembered.
Jake stood at the edge of the driveway at Sycamore Drive, half-shielded behind the hedgerow, watching the lights in the windows flicker with movement. Kane was home.
Jake took a long breath and stepped out of the dark.
No warning.
No invitation.
He walked right up to the porch and knocked—twice.
Inside, footsteps. Hesitation.
Then the door opened.
Kane stood in the frame, eyes tired, wearing a navy T-shirt and old jeans. He looked human. Deflated.
Jake didn’t wait. “We need to talk.”
Kane stepped aside slowly, letting him in without a word.
Jake walked through the familiar hallway, pausing at the table where the trooper hat rested beside Kane’s keys.
“You still keep it there,” Jake said.
Kane shut the door behind him. “It’s where you always kept it.”
Jake nodded. “And you still wear the badge?”
“I earned it,” Kane said sharply.
“No,” Jake replied. “You copied it. You wore it until it fit, and then you told yourself it was made for you.”
Kane leaned against the doorframe. “It became mine.”
Jake turned. “No. It became yours because I didn’t fight. But I’m fighting now.”
They stood ten feet apart, the room between them stretched like glass ready to crack.
“I got the letter,” Kane said. “Internal review.”
Jake said nothing.
Kane folded his arms. “They’ll ask questions. They’ll dig.”
Jake took a step forward. “I hope they do.”
Kane’s jaw worked silently. Then: “What do you want, Jake?”
“I want you to admit it,” Jake said. “I want you to say it wasn’t yours to keep.”
Kane looked down. His voice cracked. “You gave me everything.”
“I gave you trust,” Jake shot back. “You took identity.”
A beat.
Kane whispered, “You were lost. I gave you purpose.”
Jake’s voice lowered, raw. “You gave me a cage.”
He stepped closer.
“There are two keys to this house,” Jake said, quieter now. “But only one belongs in the door.”
Kane’s throat tightened. “So what—you're here to evict me?”
“No,” Jake said. “I’m here to reclaim the man you stole.”
Kane’s eyes flashed with pain, pride, and panic. “I don’t know who I am without this.”
Jake blinked. “Then it’s time you find out.”
Silence. Then Kane whispered, “I loved you.”
Jake closed his eyes.
“And I wanted to believe that was enough,” he said.
He turned to the door. “But love isn’t license.”
Kane didn’t follow him.
Jake stepped out onto the porch, into the cold night, and pulled the door closed behind him.
He stood there a moment, breathing the air that once felt like home.
Then he walked away.
Not as a shadow.
But as a man rebuilding his name—one truth at a time.
Chapter Six: The Prints Don’t Lie
It ended not with handcuffs, but with a phone call.
Jake Bennett stood outside the Internal Affairs field office, hands in his jacket pockets, watching the wind tug at the flag overhead. Cold sunlight stretched across the blacktop, but he felt none of its warmth.
Behind him, the door opened.
A tall man in a brown sport coat stepped out, folder in hand. His face was unreadable, but the silence spoke louder than words.
“Mr. Bennett,” he said. “You’re cleared.”
Jake looked up, blinking against the light. “They matched?”
The agent nodded. “Your prints are on file from the academy and your application at HR. Your ID. Training logs. It’s all there. We spoke with two senior instructors. They remember you.”
Jake nodded slowly, the wind knocking softly at his collar.
The agent hesitated, then added, “We also have... an understanding of how this happened. Or at least, part of it.”
Jake’s jaw tightened. “You mean how I let a man walk into my life and live it better than I could?”
The agent didn’t answer.
Instead, he extended the folder. “Your credentials. Reinstatement is effective immediately. You’ll be assigned quiet duty for now but you have appointments with the departmental psychiatrist. No public announcement. We’ll handle Kane quietly, with your cooperation.”
Jake took the folder.
“What happens to him?”
The agent’s gaze hardened. “Fraud. Impersonation. Felony-level identity theft. We could bury him. But…”
“But?”
“You asked for compassion and the department doesn’t want a scandal.” The agent glanced at him. “You said there was more to this than law could measure.”
Jake looked away. “There was.”
The agent handed over a second envelope. “Kane is being given a choice. He can disappear. New name. No charges. But his prints stay on file nationally in AFIS database. He won’t be able to live another lie again.”
Jake nodded. “And if he refuses?”
“Then he’s charged and prosecuted.”
Jake didn’t speak.
The agent said, “We’ll give you his answer in twenty-four hours.”
And with that, he left Jake standing on the sidewalk, holding two lives in his hands.
That night, Jake returned to Sycamore Drive for the first time as himself.
No tension.
No mask.
No questions.
Just Jake Bennett—with his name restored.
He knocked once.
The door opened.
Matthew Kane stood in the frame. His eyes were red. He hadn’t shaved in days. The house was dim behind him, like it already knew the ending.
Jake stepped inside. “They know.”
Kane nodded. “I figured.”
“They matched my prints,” Jake said.
Kane didn’t respond.
Jake held out the envelope.
Kane took it. He didn’t open it.
Instead, he looked up. “Are they going to ruin me?”
Jake shook his head. “Not if you take the deal. You vanish. You live under a new name. But they’ll have your prints forever.”
Kane stared down at the envelope like it weighed a hundred pounds.
Jake walked into the kitchen, stopping where the Kane’s trooper hat still sat on the table. He picked it up. Held it in both hands.
Kane’s voice broke behind him. “Do you hate me?”
Jake closed his eyes. “No.”
“Then why do you feel so far away?”
Jake turned around. His voice was steady. “Because I can’t trust you. And without trust, there’s no way back. You took more than I had to give and mangled my heart. You betrayed me. I wanted someone to trust. Someone to love. Someone to help me learn to carry the load. I never meant to become someone else or completely lose my identity. You destroyed me. When the line was crossed, it was too late for us.”
Kane stepped forward. “I didn’t mean to destroy you.”
“But you did,” Jake said. “And then you wore the wreckage like a crown.”
Silence.
Then Kane whispered, “Let me give you something back before I go.”
Jake stared, “I don’t want anything from you, Kane.”
But he didn’t stop him.
Kane stepped forward, took the hat from Jake’s hands, and set it down. Then he reached for Jake’s shirt, slowly, reverently, fingers undoing the buttons one by one. He kissed the skin beneath each new opening.
Jake stood frozen, breath shallow, letting him. That old feeling came back and he couldn’t help himself.
Kane knelt.
His hands slid along Jake’s hips, fingers tracing muscle, memory, shame, and need. He pressed his lips against Jake’s abdomen and whispered, “Let me give you this one thing—before I disappear.”
Jake didn’t speak.
Because his body already had.
He reached down, grabbed Kane’s head with both hands, and guided him.
Kane opened his mouth and took Jake in—slow, deep, desperate. It wasn’t a performance this time. It wasn’t a display of dominance. It was mourning. Worship. A final communion.
Jake let his head fall back. His knees weakened as Kane worked him to the edge, every pull of his mouth wrapped in apology and memory. When he came, he cried out—not in pleasure, but in grief.
Kane held him through it.
Then, slowly, Jake dropped to his knees beside him. They sat together on the floor in silence, breathing hard.
Kane finally whispered, “I loved you.”
Jake leaned in and kissed his forehead. “I believe you.”
Kane’s eyes shimmered. “But it’s not enough.”
Jake swallowed. “No.”
They sat in the quiet until Jake finally rose and dressed.
At the door, Kane asked, “Will you remember me?”
Jake turned. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop. I loved you and you turned me into an object, a thing. You betrayed me beyond your comprehension. Good bye, Kane.”
Then he stepped into the night and closed the door behind him.
Behind him, Kane stood alone, the envelope still unopened.
But the hat?
Jake had taken it with him.
Final Chapter: A New Watch Begins
Jake Bennett stood at the edge of the overlook on Route 33, his duty boots pressing into loose gravel as the mountain wind rose to meet him. Morning light spilled across the trees like gold dust shaken from the hand of something divine.
He hadn't stood here in uniform in over a year.
The fabric clung differently now—familiar, but no longer armor. The badge on his chest caught the sun, and for once, it didn’t feel like a weight. It felt like a choice.
The trooper hat was back where it belonged.
On his head.
His own.
He adjusted the brim and took a long breath.
He had spent the last three weeks quietly resuming patrol—no fanfare, no headlines. Just traffic reports, community calls, road closures. IA had done what they promised: no public scandal. Kane was gone. Vanished under another name, in another state. Jake didn’t know where.
He didn’t ask.
He kept the envelope from Internal Affairs sealed in his desk drawer, unopened. Proof, if he ever needed it.
But mostly, he didn’t.
There were nights he still felt it—Kane’s mouth on him, his voice in his ear, the weight of their tangled identities pressing against him like an invisible second skin. There was love in it. Real, devastating love.
But there was damage, too. A whole lot of damage.
And some fractures don’t mend. They just settle into silence.
Now, Jake watched the sunrise with clear eyes. There was hunger in him still—raw and aching. But it wasn’t for the past. It was for something simpler. Something cleaner.
Connection.
Not domination. Not roleplay. Just truth.
He heard the crunch of tires behind him. The cruiser. His partner that morning—new recruit from Elkins—pulled up slow. Jake gave a nod and walked toward the vehicle.
But as he passed the picnic turnout nearby, he noticed someone sitting alone at the table. Coffee in hand. Ball cap low. A book open, but ignored.
Their eyes met.
The man was maybe late thirties. Athletic frame. Eyes dark, serious, but not cold. He looked up just as Jake passed, gaze lingering a beat too long.
Not flinching.
Not fawning.
Just… curious. Steady.
Jake blinked, then offered a nod.
The man smiled.
Jake looked back once before stepping over to the cruiser.
“Everything alright, sir?” the recruit asked.
Jake fastened his seatbelt. “Yeah.”
He looked into the mirror. Touched the brim of his hat.
“Everything’s just getting started.”
—
That evening, Jake returned to the turnout.
The stranger was still there.
A different book this time. A second coffee across from him. Waiting.
Jake approached.
The man stood. “Figured you might stop by.”
Jake nodded. “You figured right.”
“Sit?” the man asked.
Jake slid onto the bench. The wood was warm from sunlight. The breeze smelled like damp pine and road dust.
“I’m Carter,” the man said, offering his hand.
Jake took it. “Jake.”
Their grip held just a beat too long.
Then they let go.
“I like this spot,” Carter said. “Quiet. Clean view.”
Jake looked out over the trees. “I used to come here when I felt lost. Back when I wasn’t sure I wanted to be myself anymore.”
Carter’s gaze didn’t falter. “And now?”
Jake turned, met his eyes. “Now I’m sure. But sometimes, I still feel it. That old ache. A need I’ve ignored too long.”
Carter nodded. “Me too.”
Jake smiled softly. “Maybe we stop aching if we sit with it. Instead of running.”
“Maybe we just need to stop sitting alone.”
A silence passed between them. Not awkward. Not heavy.
Just new.
Jake reached for the second coffee.
He sipped.
And for the first time in years, it didn’t taste like memory.
It tasted like morning and a new beginning for Jake. He was no longer weighted down by his needs or his uniform. He knew who he was and had become what he wanted to be.
He took another sip of coffee and smiled at Carter. “So what are you reading?”
END.
