Pieces of Home

10. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Jake

It was easily much longer than twenty minutes before Jake was even able to consider getting up. His own toast and eggs still sat uneaten on the kitchen counter, no doubt now cold.

He pushed himself up off the couch, clenching his teeth the whole time, and then he hobbled, somehow, from the couch over into the kitchen, using any furniture he could grab onto along the way. God, he wished he had his cane. Maybe it would help him move around easier. But at this point, knowing that the tides had been in and out more than once since yesterday morning, he figured it was probably long gone by now. Another thing he’d have to replace during his trip into town after the road was fixed.

The man still hadn’t come out of the bathroom, although Jake had heard the shower shut off several minutes ago. The whole time he’d been sitting on the couch, resting his leg—after having to get down on the ground yet again to clean up the partially whisked eggs he’d spilled—he hadn’t been able to get the image out of his mind. The poor man trembling, cowering, covering his head with his hands, tears sliding down his cheeks as Jake had stepped into the doorway.

He’d felt the man’s fear, and he’d wished so much that he’d been able to stay there and reassure the man he was safe. But it’d been enough of a struggle even to stand. As it was, Jake had barely made it back into the living room and to the couch before his leg had basically given up.

Shit, he was in bad shape.

Keeping one hand on the counter to support himself, he turned on the heat on the stovetop, placed the pan over it, and then managed to crack two more eggs into a clean bowl and mix them without spilling. He stuck a piece of bread in the toaster as the pan finished heating, and then poured the eggs in, salted them, and stirred until they were cooked .

The whole process took much longer than he thought it probably should have, although by the time he was finished, there were still no sounds or movement from down the hallway. He put a kettle on the stove to heat up water for his tea, and then, carefully, since he really didn’t want to trip or stumble or drop something again , Jake moved his plate and the man’s plate to the table.

It wasn’t until the table was set and the water had heated and the tea had steeped that Jake finally heard the bathroom door open.

He tried to ignore the relief he felt, but it hit him anyway, and he couldn’t stop himself from twisting to get a glance down the hallway. The man stepped out of the bathroom slowly, his head bowed and his eyes on the floor in front of him. His hair was still wet, but he’d obviously washed and attempted to comb it, the blond locks framing his face and beginning to curl at the ends. And he’d gotten dressed in the clothes Jake had given him the day before—the same gray sweats that were much too large on his small frame.

For a short moment, Jake stared, watching as the man shuffled hesitantly toward him, and it wasn’t until the man reached the end of the hallway that Jake shook his head in embarrassment.

“Oh, man, I’m sorry. I should’ve—” He cut himself off as he forced his feet to move—regardless of the pain lancing up his thigh and into his hip and back. Ahead of him, the man’s eyes darted up, their deep blue dark with fear.

Jake just smiled the softest smile he could manage. “I should’ve gotten you something clean to wear. I’m a lunkhead sometimes—or at least, that’s what my sister says. I, uh...” He stopped a few feet from the man, his stomach sinking as the man, once again, shrunk back away from him. He frowned and motioned down the hallway. “I can grab you some clean clothes from my bedroom. I should’ve thought of that sooner. I’m sorry.”

The man shook his head, his eyes downcast, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped to the side slightly, just out of Jake’s way, and reached up to tuck his hair back behind his ear as Jake gave him a quick nod and then limped past him toward the bedroom.

It seemed like it took him much too long to get there, find some more clothes that he hoped would be comfortable and warm, and return to where the man still stood at the end of the hallway. But it really wasn’t more than a few minutes later that they were both finally seated at the kitchen table to eat breakfast, the man now wearing clean clothes.

The tea was still warm, and Jake hoped the man’s food wasn’t cold, although he had no expectations for his own. He watched unobtrusively, sneaking quiet glances up from his own plate, as the young man sat staring at the food in front of him. He held back some silly comment about how unimpressive his cooking must be—there was literally just a single piece of lightly buttered sourdough, cut in half, and then the portion of scrambled eggs and a few halved strawberries.

But something told him the man’s reaction was not because the food seemed unappetizing.

The man looked up at him, and when their eyes met, Jake could almost feel the man’s gratitude, though he still said nothing. Jake just gave him a small smile and a nod. “I hope you like it. It’s nothing fancy.”

The man screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. And this time, he looked almost ready to say something, but then he bit his lip and reached out to pick up his fork, his hand still with that slight tremble to it.

Jake tore his eyes away then, back to his own plate, and he took a short sip of tea and then started eating. His food was indeed cold, and the eggs were closer to over medium than he usually liked, he figured because they’d sat for so long. He’d also had no more fresh avocados, and he’d given the last of his strawberries to the young man. But food was food, and he wasn’t terribly hungry anyway.

So, Jake just ate what was on his plate and drank his tea, and he tried not to let his mind wander too much. He still stole glances now and then, happy to see his houseguest eating eagerly. The man ate the strawberries first, closing his eyes with each bite. When he got to the eggs, Jake couldn’t help the amused half-smile that grew on his face as the man very, very carefully pushed forkfuls of eggs onto the toast and then picked up the toast to eat it, like an open-faced sandwich.

The man ended up eating every crumb on his plate this time, not like the night before when he’d only been able to finish less than half of the portion Jake had given him for dinner. And when he was done, the man sat there for a moment, staring at the empty plate. Then he set his fork down gently, so it didn’t make a sound, and lifted his eyes to Jake.

God. Something rippled through Jake’s chest. And he knew that even if he tried, he couldn’t put a name to the feeling. It was some sort of intense protectiveness. Something deep and strong. He forced a small smile, and the man blinked and tried to smile back. Maybe. It was fleeting—some twitch of his lips and a shift in the tightness of his expression. But then he quickly dropped his eyes.

It was something. Or at least, Jake wanted to hope it was something—that small attempt at a smile. If that was what it had indeed been.

Another rush of emotion shuddered through him, and he sucked in a breath as quietly as he could. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to see the man smile. Somehow, he just knew it would be brilliant.

He took another breath to steady himself and then cleared his throat softly. The man’s eyes darted back up to Jake’s for just a second. Deep blue-and-gray irises framed by long, dark lashes. Stormy and intense. Like the tempest that had brought the man to Jake’s beach.

He wished he could be more reassuring or helpful or... something. He wished he could take away whatever it was that was hiding there in the man’s eyes. But he didn’t know what he could do any differently. He didn’t know what the man needed.

God, he still didn’t even know the man’s name.

“Do you want some more?” Jake asked gently, because that was one thing he could do. He could feed the man, give him a warm place to stay. Make sure he was safe.

It seemed to take a moment for Jake’s words to register, but then, the man’s expression shifted from unease to something else entirely. He bit at his lower lip and held Jake’s gaze for another second or two. His hands shifted up to the edge of the table, and he gripped it for just a moment as he glanced back down at his plate.

Jake thought maybe the man was about to say yes. He looked right on the verge of it. But instead, he frowned and closed his eyes and shook his head slightly.

And the dull tug at Jake’s heart—all that pent-up emotion he’d been feeling so strongly—turned a little sharper.

“That’s okay,” he said, and he carefully pushed his chair back, set his hands on the table to help himself, and stood. The move shifted his attention away from whatever he’d been feeling, and for several seconds, all he could do was stand there, leaning heavily on the table, with his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched tightly.

God, he hurt. He still hurt. So much.

When the immediate pain from standing up faded just enough, he let out the breath he’d been holding and opened his eyes. His hand was shaking—even just gripping the table, he could feel it. Ten feet. It was less than ten feet from the table to the counter. In fact, maybe it was just five feet. He could do that. He sucked in a breath through gritted teeth.

“I, uh, I’ve got plenty of food, you know.” With his shaking hand, he set his now-empty mug on top of his plate and then lifted the dishes. He kept talking, just as a distraction for himself. And maybe it worked. “Some of it’s in the deep freezer in the garage, and so if we’re stuck here for another few days, I might have to go thaw something. I’ve got a few casseroles from Kris. And more cookies. We could always use more cookies, right? I’ve got a lot of those, too.”

He managed to cross slowly to the other side of the table, stack his plate on top of the man’s empty plate, and then hobble the few steps over to the counter as he spoke. And he tried to keep his voice even and level .

Maybe he’d sort of succeeded, because the man didn’t really seem to shrink away from him this time, although he could have just missed it. The pain was distracting. More distracting than his talking. By the time he reached the counter, he was huffing.

“My sister sends them—the cookies. But I told you that already, didn’t I?” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a groan instead. Quickly, before he actually dropped something again, he set the plates and his mug in the sink. They clattered down into place, but nothing broke, and he moved both hands to grip the counter, supporting himself.

Dammit.

The urge to growl in frustration was strong, but when he looked up at the man, a pang of worry drowned out all that frustration, and he forced another small smile.

“I’m sorry. My damn leg is acting up, and—”

The man flinched. Hard. His chair scraped the ground as he pushed away from the table and then seemed to scramble backwards, not really seeing where he was going. He reached the couch, crawl-stumbled around to the other side, and then sort of... hid. Shaking. His eyes wide and fearful.

Dammit again.

Jake didn’t move for a count of five. Then another count of five. And when he finally did move, it was slow and careful, and he had to mentally school his expression and control his breathing.

Had it been the curse? It had to have been.

The man had closed his eyes, and there were more tears on his cheeks. And he was breathing hard, and when Jake got closer—still with the table and couch between them, though—the man let out some sort of strangled whimper that tore right through Jake’s chest.

“God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m not going to hurt you...”

What the hell else could he say? This man had no reason to trust him. Jake was a stranger, and something was obviously very, very wrong. Or... something had been very, very wrong.

He limped slowly around the table, holding onto the backs of the chairs as he went. Then, very much against his better judgment—and the voice of his sister echoing in his head—he shuffled the one step from the table to the couch, grabbed onto the armrest for support, and lowered himself down to the ground so he was on the man’s level.

He held back a grunt as he settled next to the couch, his bad leg stretched out in front of him and the other leg bent up slightly.

Fuck, it hurt. But he didn’t see any other way .

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he repeated quietly. The man shook his head and curled up a bit more, shrinking away. Trembling. Jake’s heart hurt for him.

Whatever had happened, it must have been bad. God, he knew that already. But the thought came to him again.

“Hey, shh,” he soothed, as gently and softly as he could. He fought another urge—this time to reach out and rub the man’s back—and he flexed his fingers into the carpet. “Shh, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here. It’s safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

He could hear the man’s ragged breaths, and it pained him even more. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Was it... Does it bother you when I curse?”

The man sucked in another breath and nodded twice, his eyes still closed tightly. His arms came up to wrap around himself, and then he nodded again.

“Okay, okay,” Jake said, still keeping his voice soft and low. God, he felt like a louse. A lunkhead. Of the worst sort. He swallowed hard and watched as the man’s frail body shuddered and shook, and more tears fell as the man seemed to squeeze his eyes shut even harder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll be more careful with my words. I didn’t mean to scare you. And I won’t hurt you.”

It was hurting Jake , though. Being on the ground in this awkward position, and seeing how much this poor man, this stranger, was absolutely terrified of him.

He wanted to ask. He wanted to know. If only so he could make sure whoever had hurt this man was brought to justice. Because someone had to have hurt him. Something had to have been terribly, terribly wrong.

But it was too soon for that. It was too soon to ask. And even if he did ask, he was pretty sure the man wouldn’t answer. Still, maybe he could get a few more nods or head shakes. Maybe.

With a quiet grunt and a curse that he made sure to say only in his head this time, Jake repositioned himself so he was a few feet away, his back resting up against the wall. The man was watching him, his deep blue eyes now rimmed with redness.

Jake’s expression softened as he gave the man a weak smile, and he chose his words carefully this time.

“I don’t know your story, or even your name, but I’ll listen if you want to tell me.” He paused, and the man screwed his eyes shut again but didn’t say anything. Jake ignored the pain in his leg as he continued. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. That’s okay. But I promise you, you’re safe here. You’re safe here. And I’ll be careful with my words. I won’t hurt you. Okay?”

The evolution of emotions in the man’s expression only took a second, but Jake easily saw the shift from terror to something softer, something worried but... accepting, maybe ?

He let out another breath and smiled, and when the man’s eyes met his, that fierce protectiveness he’d felt earlier seemed to flare up again—a pang in his chest and an aching in his heart.

God, whatever this all was, Jake had no idea. But the mess that was the last twenty-four or so hours had brought him here—with this man who seemed so innocent, so... so... He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

All he knew was how much he wanted to take away all the pain and uncertainty the man was feeling.

Unfortunately, he had no idea how to do that.