38. Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jake
Jake startled from the thud next to him as the box Rye had been holding crashed to the floor. He stumbled sideways slightly, holding back a curse as pain shot up his leg. There was another dull thud and then some sort of quiet, muffled whimper, and he shook himself and turned toward Rye.
His heart leapt up in his chest.
Shit.
The younger man’s face was pale, all the color drained, and his eyes, which had been so expressive earlier, so eager and happy when they’d been enjoying the rain together, were now wide and wild. Rye had backed into the door, his hands reaching behind him, grasping frantically as though he needed out now .
“Rye, hey, you’re okay,” Jake said, but it seemed like Rye didn’t hear him. Or maybe Rye couldn’t hear him.
The wild in his eyes, the pure terror—it was something Jake remembered all too well from the first few days Rye had been at his house. Only now, it had some different meaning to Jake. Something deeper and more awful.
“Rye?” he said again, softly still, but Rye continued to scramble, and then he turned, his hands flattening against the glass door, and he pushed it open and staggered outside, his legs obviously shaking and unsteady.
“Shit,” Jake hissed.
He stepped forward to follow Rye, leaning heavily on his cane, and he hobbled as fast as he could outside, his heart aching as he watched Rye stumble and trip and then fall to the ground in his panic. The younger man crawled a few feet on the pavement, some frantic panic still driving him, and then he stopped and covered his head with his arms, cowering on the ground. His body shook and shuddered, and when Jake took a few slow, careful steps toward Rye, he could hear Rye’s sobs.
“No, no, no, no, no . . . ”
Jake’s stomach dropped—the feeling sharp and uncomfortable—and he stayed back a few feet, almost scared to move closer. The door behind him made a quiet sound, and he heard Nancy’s voice.
“Oh my. Is he . . . ?”
Jake shook his head slowly in response to the question Nancy hadn’t quite asked, but he didn’t turn around. “I’m not sure what happened, but I don’t want to scare him more. So stay back and quiet, okay?” Jake said, keeping his voice low.
Nancy murmured, “Of course.” And Jake heard her take a couple of steps backward.
“Thanks,” he said. Then he bit his lip, holding back the string of curses running through his head as he replayed the last few minutes. Dammit. He had no idea what had triggered Rye.
Moving as slowly as he could, Jake stepped out from under the building’s awning and toward his friend. Rye’s repetitive mumbling had quieted, but he seemed to curl in on himself more, his strangled breaths raspy and short. Jake’s stomach twisted in a painful knot.
“Hey, Rye. Hey, you’re okay now,” he said, infusing his words with every ounce of softness he could. Rye’s arms tightened over his head, and he made another awful whimper that sounded so... pained. Jake tried not to react—at least not outwardly—and he took another small step toward Rye. “Rye, it’s just me, Jake. Can you hear me?”
Rye’s whole body tensed, and Jake stopped and waited. Then he took another step forward and another, slowly. And even though they were in the middle of the walkway and the rain was still falling, making little puddles form on the pavement, Jake lowered himself down to the ground next to Rye.
He was so close now that he could almost feel Rye shaking, and he could hear Rye’s uneven breathing and the sound of Rye’s jeans scraping the ground when Rye shifted to curl his knees under himself even more. God, it was awful, and it broke his heart.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay. Can you hear me, Rye? I’m here... Take a deep breath, okay? You can do it...” He kept talking quietly, encouragingly, sitting there next to his friend as rain soaked his hair and his jeans. And it took several minutes—several long, agonizing minutes—but Rye finally managed a longer breath and then another. “There you go. You’re doing great. Long, slow breaths, okay? You’re safe, Rye. You’re safe.”
Jake had no fucking clue whether he might be doing the right thing, but he scooted even a little closer and continued speaking softly. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay. ”
God, how he wanted to hug his friend—wrap his arms around Rye and rub his back and comfort him, whisper gently into his ear just how important he was to Jake. It almost hurt, how much he wished he could do that. And when Rye finally turned his head and glanced out from under his arm at Jake, his eyes red-rimmed and full of fear, the feeling only intensified.
Jake managed a small, kind smile. “Hey, Rye,” he said.
Rye’s expression tightened, but at least Jake saw recognition in it, and that seemed like a win. Rye closed his eyes again, and his whole body shuddered. “J-Jake.”
It wasn’t a question or even a statement, really, but Jake nodded. “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. You’re okay.” Slowly, Jake glanced back over his shoulder toward the building. Nancy still stood outside, just under the awning, her arms hugging her body as she watched the two of them. He gave her another tight smile and a nod, then turned back to Rye, who had started to push himself up off the pavement with shaky arms that suddenly seemed too weak to hold him up.
“Are you okay now?” Jake asked quietly, and it wasn’t what he really wanted to ask, but he couldn’t form all the words he wanted to anyway.
Rye was biting his lower lip, and he resettled himself on the ground with his knees bent up, facing Jake. Then he buried his head in his knees, and his body shook even more. “N-no. No, I’m... I’m not okay.”
Something rough and uncomfortable rippled through Jake, and he shook his head lightly. “I’m so sorry, Rye. I have no idea what happened,” he admitted, “but I’m here with you now, and you’re safe. Okay?”
“I... I can’t...” Rye lifted his eyes then, and he stared at Jake, the deep blue of his irises holding so, so much pain.
It forced all the air from Jake’s lungs.
He softened his expression and shook his head ever so slightly. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
Rye’s gaze shifted up a little and over Jake’s shoulder, and that wild look flickered in his eyes for the briefest of moments before he grimaced and buried his head back into his knees.
. . . Nancy?
“Do you know Nancy?” Jake asked slowly. But as soon as he said Nancy’s name, Rye sucked in a harsh, sharp breath and covered his head with his arms again.
And a quiet sob escaped him.
Unsure of exactly how to interpret that, Jake swallowed thickly and glanced back at Nancy. She hadn’t moved, and he assumed she hadn’t heard Jake’s question .
“I... don’t know h-her,” Rye said in between rough, shuddering breaths.
Jake shifted his focus back to Rye and nodded, even though he knew Rye wasn’t watching him. Rain dripped down Rye’s forehead, and Jake reached up and wiped it away before it could fall into Rye’s eyes, making sure to keep his movements slow and measured. He frowned as the rain began to fall harder, the skies opening up in a sudden downpour that drowned out even the sound of his own heart pounding in his chest.
Rye seemed to tense up, but didn’t move.
And Jake squeezed his eyes shut for a second, pushing away memories of another rainy morning, a mad dash across a beach, a young man’s nearly lifeless figure, cold and wet and unmoving. Before he realized what he was doing, he was unzipping his coat, and he carefully slipped his arms out.
“Here, Rye, I don’t want you to get sick. It’s cold,” he said, speaking just loud enough that he hoped Rye could hear him over the rain. Then, biting back a grunt of pain as he scooted over, he slowly reached out, settled his coat over Rye’s back, and lifted up the hood to cover Rye’s head.
Rye shook his head, though he didn’t move. “You’ll . . . be cold. I-I shouldn’t . . .”
“It’s okay,” Jake reassured him, and he let his hand linger on Rye’s back. “Can we move under the awning or back inside, though?” He heard his own voice shaking, and he hoped Rye didn’t.
Rye kept his head down, his forehead pressed against his knees, but Jake saw him nod, and he sucked in a sharp breath against the wave of relief that hit him.
“Okay, great.” Jake knew he wasn’t going to be graceful in any way when he stood, so he just reached for his cane and tried his best to push himself to his feet without making any sudden movements or noises. He didn’t really succeed, but Rye didn’t seem to react one way or another, and when Jake had stood and straightened up, Rye still hadn’t moved.
“Rye? Please, I...” Fear rattled him, and when Rye looked back up, Jake couldn’t hide it anymore. “Please come out of the rain. I’m worried about you. Please.” He wanted to reach out and offer Rye his hand, but he felt too unsteady on his feet, and so he just motioned to the building. “Please, let’s go inside.”
Rye blinked and looked past Jake again, and then he squeezed his eyes shut, nodded, and slowly pushed himself to his feet. Jake’s stomach lurched as he noticed Rye’s ripped jeans—a new tear just above the knee—and a faint splotchy redness on Rye’s palms. Rye quickly stuffed his hands under his arms and limped slightly as he and Jake made their way toward the building. Nancy had propped open the double doors, and by the time Jake and Rye stepped under the awning, she was back inside, picking up the box Rye had dropped .
The rain still fell hard, loudly, and the sound was even louder under the awning. But Rye stopped there anyway, his eyes dark as he stared at the door to the building.
“We can stay outside if you need to,” Jake said. “Or, um, we can—”
“Can w-we leave?” Rye cut in. He shuffled backward a step. Not far, not much, but something about the prospect of going back inside obviously had him starting to panic all over again. He dropped his hands from under his arms and clasped them together in front of him. “I-I want to... I want to go home. Please.”
“Of course, of course, yeah,” Jake said immediately. “Whatever you need, okay?” He shifted his focus to Nancy for just a minute. She was standing, holding the box, watching the exchange, and Jake gave her a tight smile. “I’m going to take Rye home. I prepaid for the shipping online. Priority Express.”
Nancy nodded kindly, and her gaze lingered on Rye for another second before she spoke. “Got it. Thank you, Jake, and take care!”
Soaking wet and cold, Jake turned back around toward his car. Rye was already on his way, still limping slightly, Jake’s coat hanging over his shoulders and halfway down to his knees. With a shuddering breath, Jake followed.
“Oh, sweetie, this is going to sting a little. I’m sorry. Hold still, okay?”
Jake sat across from Rye and his mom at the kitchen table, his jaw clenched as he watched Rye flinch when Shirley gently wiped away the blood from Rye’s palms. Jake had apologized at least five times already, but it was hard to not speak up again, especially when Rye screwed his eyes shut and held his breath.
He still had no idea what he was apologizing for. He still had no idea what the hell had happened. And Rye hadn’t spoken since they’d gotten in the car at the post office. God, Jake felt completely useless and awful, especially when Rye flinched again and pulled his hand away, shaking his head.
“Okay, sweetie, all done. Why don’t you go change out of those wet clothes, okay?” Shirley suggested, and although she was obviously trying to sound upbeat, Jake heard the worry in her tone.
Rye didn’t respond, but he stood stiffly and then limped off toward the hallway and disappeared into his bedroom.
Jake just stared after him, the last thirty minutes replaying over and over in his head as his chest ached. He hadn’t even noticed he was shivering until Shirley laid a light blanket over his shoulders .
“You’re just as sopping wet as Ryan,” she said, and Jake huffed a small laugh and shook his head.
“Shirley, I’m—”
“If you say you’re sorry one more time...” Her tone was light yet serious at the same time, although she trailed off without finishing whatever threat she’d been about to make. Instead, she sank down into the seat next to Jake with a long sigh. “What happened, Jake?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Honestly. He was fine one minute, helping me—” Jake’s voice caught, and he closed his eyes and reached up to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “He was helping me carry a box into the post office because he—because he’d seen my leg was hurting, I think. And the next thing I knew...”
Tension coiled in Jake’s gut, and he glanced back down the hallway. He could just see Rye’s door, cracked open a few inches, a beam of light streaking out into the hallway.
“Something made him scared. Really, really scared. He couldn’t tell me what it was.” Jake shook his head and turned back to Shirley.
“I’m glad you were there with him,” she said quietly. “Whatever happened, I’m glad he wasn’t alone.”
And Jake could only nod his agreement.
Shirley stood. “I’m going to make us all some tea. Tea’s a good idea, right?”
“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”
He knew he should probably leave, give Rye some space so he could settle back down. But he didn’t want to go; he didn’t really think he should go. Not yet. So he accepted Shirley’s invitation to stay and have tea, and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he closed his eyes.
Immediately, images of Rye curled in on himself, lying on the ground in the rain, wet and cold, forced their way back into his head, and he felt nauseous.
“Good afternoon, Nancy!”
That had been all he’d said.
“Good afternoon, Nancy!”
He’d lifted his hand to wave, but... that had been just before. Right?
He replayed the scene over and over and over, trying to figure it out, trying to understand how things had turned so sharply and so quickly. Still, he couldn’t seem to make sense of it.
Trauma could be complex; he knew that. And although he didn’t understand the extent of Rye’s trauma, he knew things as simple as a particular smell or a certain color or texture or even just a single word could all be triggering .
What had triggered Rye? What was it that had made Rye panic and take off so quickly?
Shirley finished setting their tea on the table just as Rye came back into the room. He still limped slightly, and his hair was loose but freshly combed, the wet strands curling at the ends. He stopped a couple of feet from the table and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dark sweatpants. The thick blue sweatshirt he wore hung loosely on his thin frame, and his cheeks were still red, presumably from the time they’d been out in the cold.
“Here, sweetie,” Shirley said softly. “I made tea. It’ll help warm you up.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Rye lifted his eyes, but as soon as his gaze met Jake’s, he twisted away, his shoulders hunching even more.
And that hurt.
He... should go. Let Rye be. Or something. That was probably the best thing to do right now. Maybe Rye would feel more comfortable without him around, and he’d be able to open up to his mom. Or maybe Rye just needed time, and he’d want to talk to Jake more another day.
He had just about talked himself into getting up when Rye’s shaky voice broke the silence.
“Um...” There was a quiet sniffle and the sound of a mug scraping lightly across the table, and when Jake looked up, Rye was sitting down in the seat to Jake’s left, his hands wrapped tightly around his mug. He stared at the steam wafting up from the hot liquid for another second and then closed his eyes. “I n-need to... talk to Jake... for a few minutes. Alone. P-please.” He shook his head and added, “I-I’m s-sorry, mama.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got, um, some laundry to fold or something anyway. You two talk or whatever you need, okay? And you ate lunch earlier, right? I don’t need to make you anything? Are you hungry?”
Rye just shook his head once, and then Shirley stood up, gave him a brief hug and a quick kiss on the top of his head, and smiled weakly at Jake before disappearing with her tea down the hallway. The door shut with a click, which made Rye flinch.
Jake waited quietly, watching Rye’s fingers tighten around his mug. It was probably a minute or two before Rye started to talk, and when he did, his words came slowly, punctuated by his normal pauses and some new sort of anxious stuttering.
“I-I want to . . . to t-t-tell you wh-what happened. Is that . . . is that okay?”
“Of course, yes,” Jake answered softly, trying to keep his own voice level. “Whatever you need to say, I’m here to listen. ”
Rye nodded weakly and then stared at his mug for another moment before he continued. “I-I’m... really sorry about... um, what happened. I was fine, and then... then I heard you say ‘Nancy,’ a-and I—”
Rye let out a short breath, shook his head, and lifted his eyes to Jake’s. He looked so scared, so vulnerable, and Jake swallowed as he nodded encouragingly. Rye blinked and lowered his eyes again.
“The day I escaped... the man, he—he got a phone call, a-and he said—he said”—Rye’s voice dropped lower, barely a whisper, but the harshness of the words was still clear enough as he seemed to force them out—“‘ It’s probably fuckin’ Nancy again. ’”
With a sudden jolt, Rye pushed his chair back a bit, and it scraped the ground, the rough sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. Jake tensed, ready for Rye to take off, but he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his forehead to rest on the table, his blond curls falling down to partially cover his face, and he exhaled a shuddering breath.
Then, somehow, he continued. “The man told me... not to m-move or... or he’d kill me. But I think... I think he was... going to finally kill me anyway. Or—or soon. H-he was going to soon. And, um, so wh-when he... when he left the door open, I ran.”
God. Jake felt cold and nauseous.
A phone call.
A phone call from someone who might’ve been named Nancy.
And a door left open.
That was all that had saved Rye from... whatever his fate might have been that night.
It was terrifying. And awful. And suddenly many more of those little pieces fell into place: the state Jake had found Rye in; Rye’s aversion to closed doors; and yeah, his reaction to Jake greeting Nancy at the post office.
Fuck. What if... what if it had been Nancy—postal worker Nancy—who had called “the man” that night?
Jake’s hands tightened on his mug, and he let out a slow breath to steady himself as he studied his friend’s trembling figure.
God... A phone call . And a decision. Rye’s decision to run.
“You’re so, so brave, Rye,” he murmured softly, and Rye turned his head slightly to look at Jake. His eyes held that deep pain in them again, and Jake shook his head. “You’re so incredibly brave.”
He’d told Rye that before, and Rye’s response then had been to say, “I don’t feel brave.” But right here, right now, Jake knew just as surely as he had then that he was looking at the bravest person he’d ever met.