44. Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Three
Jake
Jake leaned down and rested his elbows on the railing at the edge of his patio, gripping his coffee mug tightly with both hands. The beach stretched out below him, the familiar arc of sand teased by gentle waves. The midmorning warmth should have been uplifting, and normally it probably would have been. But his earlier video appointment with his therapist had Jake feeling . . . grumpy.
Nothing was wrong, per se, and his appointments usually left him feeling hopeful. He’d work on whatever she’d suggested, and sometimes it would feel like he was making progress. Hell, at least he could usually walk up to the edge of the stairs now. But for the last week, after he and Rye had gotten back from Reno, the most recent approach his therapist had him working on—visualizing walking down the stairs with Rye next to him, happy and healthy and safe—had started him on this awful backslide.
His brain seemed intent on playing tricks on him, forcing something horrible to happen just as the two of them would step down onto the first step. Initially, it was just that the rest of the stairs suddenly vanished, replaced by a dark, swirling sea. That had been fun and all too reminiscent of the fears he still had from his accident years ago. Then it progressed to other awful things, like Rye tripping and falling down the stairs in front of him or a storm appearing out of nowhere, a flood washing down the steps, pulling them both under.
It was like his imagination was out to get him.
He’d talked it through with his therapist this morning, and she’d been great, as she always was, listening and offering him insights. But standing here now, looking down on the beach he’d once loved—the beach he still loved—Jake just felt hopeless.
Sure, he still got to visit the beach in town almost every day now, and that was wonderful, really. If Rye hadn’t suggested that months ago, he wasn’t sure where he’d be. And he recognized how much he’d gained that day, when he’d carried Rye up from his beach. He wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Yet, when he stood up here, looking down, as close as he could seem to get without some big, annoying jump in his heart rate and heavy pressure on his chest, he couldn’t help feeling like he was also losing a piece of himself. Another piece.
From the coffee table behind him, his phone buzzed with a notification, and he gazed out one more time over the bright sand, glistening as the waves receded, and sighed. Then he turned and limped over to the patio sofa, grumbling a few choice words under his breath.
God, he was grumpy.
His leg acting up the last couple of days certainly wasn’t helping either, but this just wasn’t like him.
He set down his coffee mug and sat heavily on the sofa, grunting as his hand moved to grip his thigh. Then he clenched his jaw and picked up his phone.
Rye (10:58 a.m.): See you soon?
A soft breath escaped him, and almost immediately, his grumpiness disappeared, replaced by a familiar flutter in his chest.
He almost laughed at himself for it.
He tapped on the phone screen and typed a short response.
Jake (11:00 a.m.): Yep! Is 12 still good?
Rye (11:00 a.m.): Yes :)
Jake (11:00 a.m.): I’ll be there
With another quiet sigh, Jake slipped his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. He stared straight ahead for a few seconds, his eyes unfocused as he remembered yesterday and the several days before that.
And that hug.
God, that hug.
“Can you . . . can you hug me?”
He could still hear Rye’s tentative question, sure but unsure, driven by a fragile courage. And he could definitely feel it, even almost a week later—Rye’s body pressed against him, his arms wrapped around Jake’s waist and his cheek resting on Jake’s chest. He could feel the shudder that had rippled through him as he’d held his breath, waiting for any sign that Rye wasn’t okay, even as every nerve ending in his body seemed to come alive. He could still feel it.
And it took his breath away again.
It had been the only hug they’d shared. Rye hadn’t asked again since. But the bursts of growth Rye seemed to have had in Reno continued to surprise him. He’d shown Jake two more origami sculptures he’d made—one a crane and one a humming bird—and when they were together and alone, like during their walks out on the beach, Rye continued to find his voice.
He’d told Jake how he wanted to study to get his GED and his driver’s license, hopefully before the end of the year, and how maybe in the fall, if he was ready, he wanted to volunteer at the school library or as a math tutor for the younger children. He had this glow about him, and it was brilliant.
And beautiful.
And Jake longed to tell him that.
He pushed himself to his feet slowly, the pain in his leg dull but distracting enough, and he turned one more time toward the stairs leading to the beach. Immediately, the pleasant flutter in his chest transformed into sharp, racing uncertainty, and a cold dread surrounded him. He frowned and blew out a breath, then shuffled around the side of the sofa and started toward the back door.
Another day. And maybe... maybe he’d tell Rye about it. His therapist had reminded him, as she did every time they spoke, that they weren’t just dealing with this “recent” event. He’d also never really worked through the trauma after his accident, and that fear was part of him. Maybe... he’d tell Rye about that.
He wondered, too, if being closer with Rye as their friendship grew wasn’t helping, in a way. It was maybe making him more terrified, because the closer they grew, the more awful it would be if... if anything ever happened.
Like the sea swallowing them up.
Cold dread and darkness buzzed beneath his skin, and he shook his head to push it away as he stepped into the house and closed the patio door behind him.
“You never take your shoes off. Don’t you like to feel the sand between your toes? It’s one of my favorite things about walking on the beach.” Rye dropped his shoes at the end of the boardwalk and closed his eyes as he stepped out onto the sand ahead of Jake, grinning.
“I do like to feel the sand, but, uh, I can’t take off my shoes,” Jake admitted. He followed as Rye led the way out toward the water, the start of their familiar route that would take them about a quarter mile down the beach and back.
Rye paused to let Jake catch up, and then, when they were walking alongside each other, Rye asked, “You... can’t?”
“Well, I can. It’s just harder to walk then, so I usually don’t.”
“Oh.” Rye was quiet for a minute, and Jake glanced over, worried that maybe he’d upset his friend. But Rye was just looking up and out toward the ocean, thinking, maybe. He seemed to sense Jake was watching him, and he dropped his chin. “Then we should... Tomorrow, if it’s warm enough like today, I’ll bring a big blanket and pack sandwiches for lunch. And we’ll walk out”—he paused and looked back over his shoulder for a second—“yeah, to about here. And we can sit here on the blanket and eat, and... and when you’re sitting, you can take off your shoes and feel the sand?”
The suggestion was so thoughtful that Jake couldn’t answer right away. He just stared at Rye, who was now looking up at him, his bright eyes hopeful and understanding. Jake blinked and nodded, clearing his throat. “That sounds amazing,” he said. “I’d love that. Um, tomorrow? Should I bring anything?”
They started walking again, and Rye was quiet for a moment. Then a smile burst onto his face.
“Definitely cookies! You can bring cookies. Do you have more of Krista’s?”
“I do.”
“Chocolate chip?”
“Yeah. And I think... snickerdoodles. Oatmeal raisin probably too.”
“Chocolate chip.”
Jake laughed. “You got it.”
They continued on down the beach silently for a few minutes. Jake watched his own feet landing in the sand, and he hadn’t even realized that other... disconnect. When was the last time he’d walked on the beach without shoes on? Not for years, he thought. Not since maybe a year after the accident, when he’d moved to Rocky Cove. He’d tried once or twice then, but the uneven ground and the way the sand shifted under his weight had made him feel unsteady.
And since he didn’t trust his leg . . .
From next to him, Rye suddenly said, “Oh...”
Jake waited as they kept walking, but Rye’s steps had slowed even more. “Hmm?” he prompted after another few feet.
“Does that mean... you haven’t gone in the water, either?”
“Oh, um, yeah, but—” He stopped abruptly, his shoes scuffing into the sand, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t have planned the opportunity better if he’d tried, and he was pretty sure he would have just continued avoiding otherwise. He heard Rye stop just in front of him.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah, just...” Jake groaned and forced his eyes back open, but instead of looking at Rye, he let his gaze drift out to the ocean, vast and beautiful and blue, sparkling with sunlight. His stomach lurched. “I told you about my accident, right?”
He looked over to see Rye nod, his expression now serious and concerned. Jake’s stomach churned again.
“After that, it’s been hard to, um... I haven’t been back out on a boat since, and if I go into the water more than just a few inches, more than just, uh, the waves along the shore, if it gets any deeper... I... get, um...”
“Oh,” Rye breathed, his eyes growing wide with understanding.
“It’s okay,” Jake said quickly. He huffed a small laugh, though there was no humor in it. “I mean, I wish it was different, but it’s...”
“But you love the ocean,” Rye said, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
With a nod, Jake said, “Yeah, I do. But it’s... it’s okay, you know. I still get to... see it.” Almost immediately, he shook his head, and at the same time, Rye’s expression tightened.
“You get scared... like me?” Rye asked quietly, and before Jake could answer, he continued. “Where it’s painful, and your chest hurts and... you can’t move?”
Jake inhaled sharply, and he almost didn’t want to admit that it was true, but he couldn’t lie. “Yeah.”
“I’m . . . sorry.”
“My therapist—”
“You have a therapist?” Rye cut in, and Jake nodded.
“Just recently, yeah, um, the last few months,” Jake explained. He tilted his head in the direction they’d been walking, and they started back down the beach, Jake’s gait slow and maybe a little more uneven now than it had been earlier .
“My mom wanted me to see someone,” Rye said carefully. “She tried two different people with meetings on the computer and then one person who came to our house. They were all recommended by my social worker. But I... um, can’t... really talk. Except to you. And, um, they tried, but it was too stressful and I wasn’t ready and it... got really bad. I’m not sure... when I will be ready.” With a shuddering breath, Rye added, “I’m so glad I can talk to you.”
“Ah, me too.” Jake hesitated again, but when he glanced back out to the sea, he felt a pang of longing. He missed it—the cool breeze out on the water, the hum of the boat cutting through the waves, the splash of the salty ocean. And yeah, he even missed the squish of the sand between his toes, the crash of the waves against his feet.
His leg ached as he stepped slightly wrong, bringing him back to reality. And he sighed.
“Can I share a bit with you? About the accident and... after?” he asked. Then quickly, he added, “You can say no if you want. Um, it’s not pleasant, and I wouldn’t want—”
“You can,” Rye said softly. “It’s fine. I’d like to hear about it. And... maybe talking will help you?”
Jake nodded, and they stopped as they reached their usual turnaround point. He felt that tightness in his chest, but he pushed it away, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and turned around, limping slowly back the way they’d come. Rye followed.
After another few seconds, Jake started to talk. He told Rye about the accident itself, and then he told him about the months of recovery after. When they reached the boardwalk, Rye stooped down to pick up his shoes, and as they moved to sit on the nearest bench, Jake began telling Rye more. He talked about the nightmares—bad dreams that had haunted his sleep for months after the accident, ones where he was dropped in a swirling ocean, all of his friends drowning around him with no way out. And he talked about the first—and only—time he’d tried to get back on a boat, the debilitating fear and dread stopping him before he’d barely set foot on the dock. He told Rye how he’d sometimes had to call up Steve or his old PhD advisor or any of the others who’d been on the boat with him, because he’d had this overwhelming need to know they were okay. And he told Rye about the first time he’d gone down to the beach after the accident, hoping to just go in a few feet, to feel the water on his legs. He’d slipped off his shoes and hobbled out toward the surf, with the help of his cane, and as soon as the water had touched him—
He exhaled a shuddering breath, a heavy weight pressing down uncomfortably on his chest. And Rye shifted on the bench next to him .
“Sorry if that was too much,” Jake said.
“No, it wasn’t too much.” Rye’s voice was soft and smooth, and something about it reminded Jake of the very first time he’d heard Rye speak. Every word, even now, was a gift that Rye worked hard for and fought for. God, Rye probably understood him much, much too well. As if hearing Jake’s thoughts, Rye added, “I... um, I know that... panic. It’s... horrible. I’m sorry that’s how it is for you. Thank you... for sharing that with me.”
Then Rye stood up and stepped away from the bench a foot or so, his expression filled with concern and compassion.
Quietly, he said, “Can I . . . hug you?”
Jake’s heart leapt all the way up into his throat, and he held Rye’s gaze for a few long seconds, looking for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. There was only a mix of emotions so raw and real that Jake couldn’t begin to process what it all meant. He nodded, his heart still jumping, and he pushed himself to his feet, grimacing slightly at the ache in his leg. Once he’d steadied himself, Rye gave him a small smile, stepped up to him, and wrapped his arms lightly around Jake’s waist.
“I hope you find your way back to the ocean, Jake,” Rye said, his voice slightly muffled as he pressed his cheek up against Jake’s chest.
And Jake closed his eyes and returned the embrace. It held a warmth and promise to it, just like last time. And just like last time, it felt good and right, like there might be no better place in the world.
“Thank you,” he breathed. And he swore he felt Rye smile against him.