Pieces of Home

36. Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Jake

Friday morning was overcast and quiet, the heavy clouds layered over the ocean bringing another late-December chill that had Jake bundled up, his heavy coat over a thick sweater. He stood at the railing overlooking the water, his mug of hot tea steaming in the cold air.

His leg ached, but it was that dull, deep throb that often came with the cold weather, not the sharp acute pain of the muscle strain from two months ago, and for that, he was thankful. But it reminded him of that day, which in turn made him think about Rye. And that made his heart race, in both a good way and a not-so-good way.

He’d try today, he’d decided. He’d try to take the stairs down to the beach. He had the phone number his sister had given him for her therapist, but maybe if he forced himself to go just once, maybe if he forced himself to work past that fear and panic, then he’d be okay. Hell, maybe if he even forced himself to just take the first step down, then whatever part of his brain it was controlling that reaction would realize it was being dumb.

But even as he promised himself to do it, he felt the twisting in his gut and the churning in his stomach. He tightened his hands on his mug, turned around, and walked slowly back to the patio sofa, trying not to limp. His cane sat up against the armrest, and he picked it up as he took the last sip of his tea. Then he set his mug down on the table in front of the sofa.

Eight steps over to the stairs. And then the fifty-three steps down. One at a time. He could do this.

The churning in his stomach worsened, adding nausea to his list of reasons to back off. But he clenched his jaw and took the first of the eight steps toward the stairs with as much intention as he could muster. Then he stopped.

God, now he couldn’t even make himself go over to the stairs ? Slow breaths in and out. He closed his eyes .

And his phone buzzed in his pocket, followed almost immediately by the start of his ringtone.

He laughed without humor and then shook himself and stuffed his hand into his pocket. His phone continued to ring, the sound echoing out over the open beach below. His sister’s name came up on the screen, and he frowned, glanced one last time at the stairs, and then sighed with resignation as he swiped up to answer the call.

“Hey, Kris.”

“Shit, what’s wrong?”

Jake groaned. He couldn’t even say two words without his sister hearing everything he hadn’t said. “It’s nothing, really. What’s up?”

“Uh-uh, nope. Spill it.”

He could hear rustling on the other end of the line and then what sounded like a door shutting.

With another sigh, Jake turned and started limping back toward the house, not bothering to grab his mug or smooth out his walk this time. “It’s really nothing. I was just outside and thinking about trying to go down to the beach again. It, you know, didn’t really work. That’s all.”

His sister was quiet as he reached the back slider door, and he paused and breathed in deeply, the salty ocean air soothing him. Another day. He’d do it another day. And he could go to the beach in town today with Rye, too.

His hand tightened on his cell phone, and he let out a long breath.

“I’m sorry, little brother,” his sister said softly, her voice full of concern and sympathy.

“It’ll be okay, really.” He had to force the words out, just like he had to force away that urge, once again, to call Rye up and check on him. Or text him. Now Jake could text him. He coughed and shook his head. He’d do that later. Then he slid the door open and stepped out of the cold as he continued. “So, uh, it’s early for your daily check-up-on-Jake call. What’s up?”

“Right, um, soooooo...” Krista let out a long, exasperated sigh of her own. “My brilliant, gifted, and also highly forgetful child just discovered that he’s missing his gym bag—you know, the one I told him to leave at home before we came to visit, and then told him to leave in the trunk of the car because he didn’t leave it at home, and then reminded him to grab before we left your house because of course he’d ignored the first two things I told him?”

Jake laughed as he closed the slider behind him. “Ah, poor kiddo.”

“No, not poor kiddo. Poor me !” Krista let out a frustrated whine, and Jake shook his head, trying not to laugh again as she went on. “Now he still has to go to practice today, but I’m going to have to explain to his coach why he won’t be able to do multiple events since he won’t have his grips or his wrist supports. His coach isn’t the easiest person to talk to.”

“I think you’ve mentioned that.” Jake let himself lean on his cane, ignoring the aching in his leg, and started limping slowly down the hallway toward the extra bedroom, where Krista and Phil had stayed during their visit.

“So, my most wonderful little brother who loves me, and more importantly, loves his nephew oh so very much—”

“I’m checking the bedroom right now, Kris,” he interrupted with another laugh, pushing the door open. Sure enough, as soon as he switched on the light, he saw a black backpack with the logo of Phil’s gym sitting in the far corner of the room.

“Please tell me it’s there. Otherwise, we’re in much worse trouble.”

“Yeah, it’s here. I can drop it off at the post office for you when I head into town today. Maybe it’ll get there Monday.”

“Ohmigod, thank you, thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”

Jake shook his head. “Not a big deal, really,” he said, and he moved the rest of the way into the room, still limping slowly.

Krista groaned, and there was some rustling on the other end of the line again. “Shoot, work is calling. Sorry to run, but I’ve gotta take this. We’ll talk later?”

“Every night,” Jake said playfully, and he bent over and picked up the backpack.

Krista seemed to choose to ignore his little jab. “Thank you, thank you again! Let me know after you drop it off at the post office, so I can tell Phil not to worry?”

“Will do. Love you, sis!”

“Love you, too, little brother.”

The call ended, and Jake stuck his phone back in his pocket, then shouldered the backpack and headed out of the room. At the end of the hallway, he paused, his eyes lingering on the back door. It had just started raining outside, light raindrops blurring the view.

He felt his heart tugging him back in that direction, toward the stairs, toward the beach. His beach. But then his stomach did something uncomfortable, reminding him of the panic he’d been right on the verge of when his sister had called, and he took an involuntary step backward.

Not today. Not today when he needed to work and then head into town to meet with Rye for lunch and then run to the post office for his sister. No, he’d try again another day. Tomorrow, maybe.

Or maybe . . .

With a grimace, his hand went back into his pocket and grasped his phone. He limped over to the table, set the backpack down, and then pulled out his phone and scrolled through his text messages with Krista until he found the message she’d sent him on Christmas morning—the message with her therapist’s phone number. He stared at it for a few seconds, and then, with a sigh, he clicked on the number and lifted the phone to his ear.

Maybe it was time to get some help.

“I . . . like the rain.”

“Yeah?”

Jake glanced sideways at his friend as the two walked along the boardwalk back toward town. Their stroll down the beach after lunch had been cut short just a few minutes ago when the rain had picked up from a light sprinkle to something more substantial. They’d decided to turn back, but Rye definitely hadn’t been in a hurry. In fact, as the rain had started coming down harder, he’d smiled and laughed and pushed his hood back, like he’d been enjoying every minute.

And even now, Rye smiled and nodded and then tilted his head back and let the rain hit his face. His blond hair was soaking wet, the few strands that had escaped his low bun coming together to form messy curls. He blinked and then laughed a little as he reached up to wipe the raindrops from his face. “Yeah. I like it.” He paused and looked over at Jake, his eyes bright. “It... feels good. It’s cold. But...”

Jake laughed and tugged the hood of his coat down over his forehead a little lower. “It is pretty chilly. And I do wish I’d brought an umbrella,” he said. “But I like the rain too.”

He saw Rye’s smile tighten a little, and then Rye looked back down at the ground in front of them and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I... spent a long time... without it.”

The clear, awful implication of the words hit Jake square in the chest, and he couldn’t help it as his already uneven step faltered. He stopped walking, and Rye stopped a couple of steps later, his head hanging low.

“S-sorry.” Rye’s voice was quiet, wavering, and Jake immediately shook his head.

“No, no, it’s okay. Um, it’s just... that’s the first time you’ve mentioned anything about, uh, before. ”

Rye turned back around and faced Jake, all the light now gone from his eyes. He blinked and dropped his chin down again. “It... was really horrible. I... don’t like to think about it.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Jake said softly. He took a small step toward Rye, letting out a slow breath as he fought every urge to reach out and rest his hand on Rye’s arm or to brush his fingers reassuringly along Rye’s cheek.

Rye shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you to try,” he said, his voice still low and now filled with what Jake could only hear as pain. He kept his chin down but glanced back up at Jake and seemed to try to force a smile. That only made Jake’s heart ache more.

He still knew next to nothing about the time Rye had been away, although from what he understood, no one but Rye really knew anything. Rye hadn’t been able to talk to anyone about it, not even his mom, and not for lack of trying by everyone involved. He remembered how Roscoe from the FBI and Pamela and Craig from the county sheriff’s department had stayed in town for a couple of weeks after Rye had shown up. Shirley had mentioned they’d stop by nearly every day and try to talk to Rye, but any attempts at questioning him again had only caused Rye more pain and fear and made his difficulties with speaking even worse.

That had stopped weeks ago now—about the same time the constant police presence in the town and surrounding Rye had stopped. Jake no longer needed to let Rachel or Wayne know any time he went anywhere with Rye, and there was no longer a state trooper’s vehicle parked outside Rye’s home twenty-four seven.

Jake hadn’t ever asked anything of Rye, not after that one day at the police station. He figured if Rye was ever ready to talk or ever wanted to talk, he would. Though, Jake supposed maybe he should be sure Rye knew he was able and willing to listen.

“Rye,” he said quietly, and when Rye lifted his eyes again, Jake’s heart stumbled for another beat. He swallowed thickly and then gave Rye the softest smile he could. “I’ve never said anything, because I don’t want you to feel any pressure at all, but, you know, if you ever need to talk, if you ever need someone to listen, if you need to share anything about... about what happened or, you know, anything at all...” Rye had lowered his eyes back to the ground, and rain continued to fall, dripping off his hair and sliding down his cheeks. “If you ever need any of that, I’m here. I’ll never push you, ever. But if you want to talk...”

Rye sniffled and then reached up and brushed his wet hair back off his face with a short nod. “M-my mom a-and... a-and...” He hesitated and shook his head, then glanced over his shoulder toward where Jake’s car was parked along the curb next to the café. When he turned back to Jake, his eyes were downcast, and that same urge Jake had had earlier—the urge to move closer, to offer Rye some sort of comfort—that urge came again, this time accompanied by a wave of fierce protectiveness.

“We should get out of the rain?” Jake suggested gently, and Rye nodded. Together, they started walking, their pace still slow, which Jake was thankful for since the ache in his leg had grown to a dull throb in the last few minutes. Neither of them spoke the rest of the way, and after they both climbed into the car, Jake started it up and cranked the heater on. Then he sat and waited, unsure whether he should speak up first or just let Rye take the lead, as he’d always done.

Rye sat in the passenger’s seat, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his chin dropped, and his eyes closed. He seemed... lost. Lost and scared, and Jake desperately wished he had the right words and knew exactly what to say to help.

Finally, Rye blinked his eyes open, though he didn’t look up. “I can’t... I can’t talk to anyone like I can talk to you. Even... my mom. And if I try, it... hurts.”

“It hurts?” Jake asked quietly. “Physically hurts, or... ?”

Rye nodded. “I can’t breathe, and my chest . . . hurts. And—and s-sometimes I feel . . . more pain, like the same pain from when . . . he’d . . . hurt me.”

God.

Jake closed his eyes against the uncomfortable swoop of his stomach, and he swallowed hard and forced himself to breathe normally, even as anger boiled in his chest.

Softness. Rye needed him to stay soft and quiet and all those things, and he knew that. But all the pieces started to come together—all the suspicions he’d had, everything he’d known was true but had desperately hoped was wrong, all the little things that had really been big things.

Someone—some man —had kidnapped Rye. Some man had kidnapped him and imprisoned him for fifteen years and hurt him.

“You’re safe now,” Jake said, as softly and gently as he could. And he finally dared to reach over, setting his hand lightly on Rye’s upper back and then rubbing slowly back and forth. “You’re safe,” he repeated, “and when you’re here with me, you can talk as little or as much as you want. I won’t ever push you for anything more.”

Rye sniffled again, closed his eyes, and nodded. “My mom did in the beginning... She pushed a little. She just... she wanted to help. Like everyone. And there was even a social worker. He came to my house and was really nice. But, um, I just... can’t... and the words won’t come... and I get... so... so scared, and...”

A drop of water fell from Rye’s hair onto his cheek, and Rye reached up to wipe it away. His hands were trembling and red from the cold, and another uncomfortable wave spread through Jake’s chest .

“I’ve got a towel and a dry coat in the trunk if—”

Rye shook his head and then huffed what might have been a small laugh. “No, e-even with all this... um, I... still like... knowing that it’s rain. I’m... okay.”

“If you’re sure,” Jake said, and he slowly pulled his hand away from Rye’s back and shifted in his seat, ignoring the pain in his leg. He could already feel his muscles stiffening up the longer they sat there, though he hoped the heater would help.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Rye crossed his arms over his chest, and Jake watched Rye’s gaze drift out through the blurry windshield.

He couldn’t imagine what Rye was thinking just then, and like Rye had said, maybe it was best for him not to know. But his heart was still broken in some way, beating too fast and uneven. And it hurt. Not physically, not in the same way Rye had said he hurt when he tried to speak sometimes, but a different sort of deep ache like Jake had only ever felt in the last two months since meeting Rye.

The rain began to ease up outside as the two sat in silence in the warming vehicle for a while longer, and Rye seemed to slowly relax, leaning his head up against the window and continuing to watch the rain fall outside.

“I do... like the rain,” Rye said quietly after another few minutes.

Jake let out a long breath, and with a cautious smile, he said, “Yeah. Yeah, I do, too.”