Pieces of Home

46. Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Five

Jake

“Yeah, that’s right. The formula will be right there.” Jake pointed to the computer screen. “Click here.”

Jake scooted his chair a little closer to Rye’s at the small dining room table at Rye’s house and watched as Rye followed his instructions, frowning. A window popped up showing a bunch of math formulas, and Rye scrolled a bit until he found the one he needed.

“I guess I should be happy they aren’t making me memorize them all.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be fun,” Jake said.

Rye huffed a small laugh that didn’t really seem to have much humor to it. Then he picked up his pencil and started working out the math problem, the second one on the math portion of his GED practice test. They’d been working since that morning, and Rye had successfully completed and passed the three other practice test sections for English, science, and history. They’d left math for last. And though Rye said he liked math—numbers had always made sense to him—he seemed more tense now than he had during his last exam.

Jake figured maybe he was just tired. Or rather, that was what he hoped.

Quietly, not wanting to distract his friend, Jake pushed his chair back and stood, then moved around the table into the kitchen. The late September sunlight was just starting to fade in the early evening sky. Shirley wouldn’t be home for another couple of hours at least, and Jake knew Rye was hoping to be finished by then, and with good news that he’d passed all his practice exams in preparation for the actual exams next week.

Rye wanted his mom to be proud of him, he’d said, although Jake could sense there was something more to it than that. Rye didn’t need the GED for anything—not really anyway. Yet, Jake had seen the pressure Rye had been putting on himself the last couple of months as he’d studied for the exam .

The summer had been rough enough anyway, tourists flocking in not even halfway through May. Rye had only lasted a few days at the bookstore once things had gotten busy; he’d been unable to handle when the store was too busy and too many random customers came in. He’d taken to spending more time at home, which hadn’t been much easier because his mom’s hours had also increased at the store as the summer went on.

Being alone was almost as hard for Rye as being around strange people was. And not long after he’d quit at the bookstore, he’d admitted to Jake that he’d started having nightmares again—usually ones that involved him being alone, walking alone on a quiet, deserted road, then grabbed, forced into a car, taken back to that hellhole... left alone in the dark and cold for hours, days, weeks, months, years...

They’d eventually found a good medium, with Jake visiting on days when Jon or Tanya couldn’t be there. And they’d kept busy. All summer, Jake had helped Rye study for his exams, and they’d gone on walks on the beach a few times in the early morning, before the crowds had shown up. They’d gone a few times during the day, too. And they’d spent time hanging out at Jake’s house on occasion—having lunch out on the patio or hanging out inside and playing video games online with Phil. Sometimes they’d stood at the railing on the patio together, watching for dolphins and whales out in the ocean or trying to identify the birds chirping in the forest or on the cliffs above the beach.

But overall, Rye had been more reserved and quieter than he had just before summer had started. In fact, some days had been very quiet, and some days—the worst ones—Rye had barely been able to get out of bed. And when he had, it had been only for a few minutes and only to apologize for how tired he was.

Every few days, there’d been a good day, too, full of smiles and laughs and joking. Those had been fewer and farther between, however, and usually followed by apologies that every day couldn’t be good.

Regardless, Jake had kept showing up, kept being the friend he knew Rye needed. And he would continue to show up, even for the days of relative silence. Because even those days, he wouldn’t trade for anything.

Jake snuck a quiet glance at Rye, who was squinting down at his pencil and paper, his face taut with concentration. Rye shook his head and blinked, then reached out, picked up the pair of reading glasses he had sitting on the table, and slipped them on.

And Jake’s chest was suddenly quite warm.

He tore his gaze away, feeling his cheeks heat up, too, and with a quick but deep breath to reset himself, he opened the cupboard, pulled out two mugs, and started heating water for tea .

A few minutes later, Jake took his spot at the table again, setting Rye’s tea just next to the laptop. Rye’s shoulders were tight, and he set his pencil down and rubbed the bridge of his nose just under his glasses.

“Thanks,” Rye said, and he seemed to attempt a small smile as he picked up the mug.

Jake tipped his head in acknowledgement, taking a cautious sip of his tea. “Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

Rye just nodded and then took a sip of his own tea and picked his pencil back up to continue working.

An hour and a half later, Jake was settled on the couch and had just finished returning an email from his editor when he heard Rye blow out a long breath. He looked up as he closed his laptop. Rye’s hands covered his face, and his chin was tucked down against his chest.

“All done?”

Rye nodded, but didn’t otherwise move.

“How’d you do?”

“I don’t know. I . . . can’t look.”

Jake frowned, set his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, and then stood up slowly and made his way across the room. He grinned as he got close enough to read the numbers on Rye’s computer screen.

“Rye, you can open your eyes,” he said gently, stopping at the chair next to Rye’s and setting his hands on the back of it.

“It’s not awful?”

“Hah, no. Not at all.”

Slowly, as though he couldn’t quite believe Jake, Rye lowered his hands and blinked open his eyes. And then he nearly slumped down onto the table, obviously relieved. The computer screen showed all of his test scores, with the words “Likely to Pass” written underneath each score. His math score was the highest of all—a whopping one hundred ninety-two out of two hundred possible points.

Jake laughed lightly. “You’re ready for this, Rye.”

Rye took off his reading glasses, then buried his face in his elbow on the table and shook his head. He mumbled something, too, but Jake couldn’t quite hear him.

“You’re so ready,” Jake repeated. “You passed all the sections easily, and you still have a week if you think you need to brush up on anything else. We don’t head to Redding until next Thursday. And you said they approved all the accommodations you requested, right?”

Rye nodded into his elbow but didn’t otherwise say anything .

Jake took his seat next to Rye again, and Rye tilted his head slightly to look at Jake, frowning.

“There’s something else?” Jake guessed. “What’s worrying you?”

“I... don’t know,” Rye admitted. “It’s just...” A pained look flickered in Rye’s eyes, and he screwed them shut again and buried his head back in his elbow.

Jake had seen that look before, especially as he’d helped Rye study over the last few months. And every time it had come, Rye had seemed to need to shut down for a while. He’d go quiet, unable to speak, much like when they’d first met.

A sinking feeling landed in the pit of Jake’s stomach, and he shook his head lightly, even though he knew Rye couldn’t see.

“It’s okay. You can talk to me,” Jake reassured him, though he knew it wasn’t that simple. Whatever it was that had Rye anxious in the first place was probably the same thing that made it so difficult for him to talk.

Yet Rye seemed intent on fighting it today. He nodded and then propped both his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. The look of pain in his eyes was gone, but his jaw was still tight, his eyes uncertain. He stared at the computer screen for a minute, silent, and Jake just waited. Finally, Rye dropped his chin again with a sigh, sending a lock of his hair pitching forward over his forehead.

Jake’s fingers twitched with the urge to reach out and push it back, tuck it neatly behind Rye’s ear where it had been. But he didn’t move.

“I-I told you this before, back in April,” Rye started, his voice low and shaky. He didn’t look up at Jake, and his hands shifted to his lap, clasping together. All of his earlier tension came back, too. Strong and obvious in his shoulders and jaw.

Jake inhaled a short breath, his stomach sinking more.

And Rye continued.

“The man... he called me things, made me... believe things about myself. How I was a stupid child. How I was worthless. How no one... wanted me.”

An ache rattled Jake’s chest, and he shook his head slightly. “Rye...”

“It’s dumb. I know it’s dumb. I know he was wrong. I... know that. But I... I feel like I need to pass this exam. Or... or he’s right. He’s right and I am all those things and...” A sharp tremor seemed to race through Rye, and he sucked in a breath and then reached up, his hand shaking badly, and tucked that lock of hair back behind his ear.

Jake opened his mouth to say something—something he hoped could help combat all those awful words Rye was still fighting against, all those awful words that were so wrong—but before he could, the front door opened behind them. Rye flinched hard at the sound, twisting his head around as fear flashed in his eyes for half a second .

“Hi, sweetie, I’m home. Sorry I’m late,” Shirley said as the front door closed with a soft click.

Rye swallowed and seemed to force a smile. “Hi, Mom.”

Pushing away all of the worry he had about the conversation they didn’t get to finish, Jake swiveled around in his chair and gave Shirley a small wave in greeting. “Hi, Shirley. How are you?”

“Oh, you know, tired,” she said, and she smiled, too, but Jake could see the exhaustion in her eyes. “I’m glad you’re still here, Jake. And sorry again for being so late. You wouldn’t believe what happened!”

Shirley hung her purse and keys up on the hanger near the door. Then she headed over toward them as she started explaining how Mary Tilsdale’s three-year-old daughter had pulled away from her mom and begun running all around the store, knocking over a display of cereal and several cartons of milk just before the store had been about to close. She stopped talking abruptly, though, as her eyes landed on the still-open laptop in front of Rye. Immediately, all the tension and tiredness in her expression vanished, and her gaze shifted to her son.

“You finished all four?”

Rye nodded, and Jake smiled softly up at Shirley. “He just finished the math portion a few minutes ago, actually. Here.” Jake pushed his chair back and stood, giving Shirley room to join Rye at the table.

She stepped a little closer and leaned in, and her hand came up to cover her mouth. “Oh, my. ‘Likely to pass’ for all four. And... Oh, sweetie, this is just so wonderful.”

Jake stood back and watched the warm exchange as Shirley hugged her son and gushed over how proud she was. But she was swaying on her feet. He reached out and pushed the chair a little closer.

“Here, Shirley. Sit.”

She pulled herself away from Rye and glanced up at Jake with tired eyes. “Oh, thank you, Jake. That’s kind of you. It’s been a long day.”

“I bet. Did you eat? We’ve got leftovers from dinner. Rye made stuffed pepper soup. It’s amazing. He tried to teach me how to make it, but I think all I was really good for was chopping up the veggies.”

Shirley laughed a tired laugh but shook her head, and Jake chuckled too.

“How about some tea, then?” he suggested. “Chamomile?”

This time, Shirley hesitated before nodding. “That sounds lovely, dear, thank you.”

Jake glanced at Rye, but he was staring at his hands again, his jaw tight. “Hey, Rye? How about you? ”

“Hmm?” Rye’s eyes darted up to meet his, full of mixed emotions Jake couldn’t quite decipher.

Jake just smiled as softly as he could. “Did you want some more tea?”

“Oh.” There was a hesitation, but then Rye managed a small smile. “Y-yeah. Yes, please. Thank you.”

Jake nodded. “Sure thing.”

Rye held his gaze for a moment, all of those emotions making his eyes look stormy, cloudy and unsure. But there was something else to them, too—something maybe not so dark, yet just as intense. Jake felt drawn in toward him, and he was unable to look away for several seconds, even as some of that pleasant warmth he’d felt earlier crept up into his cheeks. Finally, he managed to blink and nod and clear his throat.

“Chamomile, then,” he said with another nod. Shirley gave him a kind smile, and Rye lowered his eyes back to his hands. Then, Jake moved into the kitchen to start on their tea.

He half listened as Rye began talking quietly with his mom—most of his sentences somewhat stilted or incomplete—explaining that he had indeed finished all four of his practice exams and, he admitted, done much better than he’d expected. His mom was so, so proud of him. Jake could feel it, even from across the room. And when she said she wanted to celebrate—just a little party with them and Jon and Tanya, maybe Janice, too, since she’d also helped Rye so much—Jake watched as Rye didn’t hesitate.

He just nodded and said, “Okay, mama.” And Shirley wrapped him up in another hug.

Jake finished making their tea, steeping it for an extra minute because that was how Shirley liked it, and Shirley asked Rye a few more questions about the exam. He answered in more of those same stilted, half-formed sentences, and Jake filled in where he could. It started at 9:00 a.m. on Friday morning, and would take all day. Rye had gotten special accommodations to take the exam in a separate room, with the door open and a female proctor. And Jake would be allowed to sit in so he’d be there to help if Rye needed to communicate with someone. Shirley nodded at that last bit and then lamented that she had to work and couldn’t be there with them.

When Jake set down her tea, she looked up at him with a tired smile and then back to Rye.

“You know, I’m just tired enough that I think I’m gonna take this to my room and get ready for bed. Is that okay, sweetie? And I hope you don’t mind, Jake.”

“Of course not,” he said quickly, and Rye nodded too.

“Sorry you’re having to work so much, Mom.”

“Oh, it’s just for one more week until Campbell’s back from their family leave,” she said. “Just unfortunate timing is all.” She closed her eyes and lifted the mug to her lips to take a slow sip. “Mmm, this is perfect, Jake.”

“Glad you like it. And I should probably get going, too.”

Shirley stood, dropped a kiss on the top of Rye’s head, and told him one more time how proud she was. Then she said goodnight to Jake and disappeared down the hallway to her bedroom.

Jake moved to the coffee table to gather up his things, and by the time he was finished, Rye had joined him, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants and his eyes staring at the floor. He seemed lost in thought, and when Jake cleared his throat lightly, Rye looked up. His eyes were deep and expressive, still stormy, although there was maybe less of that sadness and uncertainty in them that Jake had noticed earlier.

“So, um, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Jake asked, and though he tried to keep the hope out of his voice, he was sure he’d failed quite spectacularly.

“Um, well, I think Mom’s actually only working a few hours tomorrow morning, so I should be okay. Unless...” Rye paused and shook his head a little, and Jake had to totally be imagining things because he swore he saw Rye’s cheeks flush slightly. “I mean, unless you just want to come over anyway?” Rye finished.

And there it was again—a flush of pink in Rye’s cheeks.

Jake swallowed hard, trying to hide his reaction, but the tingle of warmth spread through his chest anyway. He pursed his lips and continued to hold Rye’s gaze as he nodded. “Um, yeah. Yeah, sure.” Blinking, he shouldered his messenger bag and cleared his throat. “Uh, what time?”

Rye turned toward the front door, and Jake followed, gripping the strap of his bag a bit tighter.

“I think Mom works early tomorrow. Eight to noon, maybe? I’ll ask her and text you. Maybe... maybe we can grab coffee and get in a walk on the beach. It’s been a few days. But... um... is...”

“Is it still just as busy in town?” Jake guessed, and Rye nodded reluctantly. Jake frowned. “Yeah. Maybe another week or two until it really starts to slow down. But at eight, I think it should be okay enough?”

Rye opened up the front door and stood there silently for a few seconds. Then he said, “Okay, yeah. We can try that. I-I’m sorry. I... hate... that I can’t...” He didn’t finish his sentence, and he closed his eyes, suddenly looking small and defeated.

And Jake’s heart ached. “I know,” he said quietly. Give yourself more time , he wanted to add. But he kept silent, and he watched as the tension left Rye’s jaw again .

When the younger man blinked his eyes open, his small smile was more genuine than it had been earlier, but he couldn’t quite seem to meet Jake’s eyes. He motioned Jake outside ahead of him and then followed Jake down the walkway to where his car was parked along the curb.

They stopped just as they reached the driver’s side door, and Rye spoke, his voice soft.

“Thank you for today. For helping me. And... and for listening. You’re always here when I need someone. And I... I really appreciate your friendship.”

The words sent Jake’s heart racing. God, how he wanted to say something really, really stupid right then. But he didn’t. Kind of. Because he couldn’t help the words that did slip out.

“Anytime. Anytime at all,” he said. And it probably wasn’t the actual words so much as the way he said them. All low and deep and wistful, with a longing even he could hear. And then, since he was such a lunkhead, he felt the need to follow up and clarify. “You’re my friend, and I like you—”

Ah, fuck. Heat flooded his cheeks as he cursed inwardly, and he was thankful the sun had gone down some time ago, because he desperately hoped the darkness was hiding how red his face must be.

“I mean... I mean, I like... to help you,” he corrected. “I’m happy to help anytime. And if you want to talk more, I’m here to listen. Anytime. Whatever... whatever you need.”

Be patient. Wait for him , Krista had said. And he was . He was being patient. He was waiting. He would wait. He would continue to wait.

But god, he’d found it near impossible to keep his emotions in check sometimes, and whatever he’d just blurted out had definitely not been edited first.

Somehow, thankfully, Rye didn’t seem fazed. He just smiled. And nodded. “Thanks. And... and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Y-yeah.” And now he was stuttering. Wonderful. “Yeah, I’ll be here just before eight. Or, I mean, text me and let me know if that works?”

Rye nodded, and it would have made sense for both of them to say good night then, to turn and leave. But neither of them moved. Rye’s eyes had fallen to the ground, and his hands were still in his pockets.

“Good night?” Jake said finally, and although he’d meant it to be a statement, it almost came out more like a question.

Rye huffed a small laugh and looked back up. His eyes shifted from slightly amused to serious as they met Jake’s. And that flicker of pain Jake had seen not too long ago passed through Rye’s expression again .

“Yeah, sorry. I... I just...” Rye blew out a breath and shook his head, staring back down at his feet. “I’m... not... stupid?” he said, his words slow and hesitant. And the question in them was definitely intentional. “I’m not...”

It was the part of the conversation they hadn’t finished inside. The conversation where Rye had been telling Jake just how much that voice in his head still hurt. A rush of something warm and strong and intense hit him then, and he inhaled sharply and stepped a little closer to Rye, who lifted his eyes to meet Jake’s one more time.

“Absolutely not, Rye,” he said with as much conviction as he could. “Absolutely not.”

Rye closed his eyes, but Jake could see him shrink inside himself a little.

“That voice in your head... god, Rye, it’s so wrong. You’re brilliant. You’re clever and smart and thoughtful and kind. And you’re so, so much more than that.” He wanted to go on and on, because there was more he could say, but when Rye nodded and a tear slipped down his cheek, the words wouldn’t come.

He had to stop himself, again , from reaching up to brush his fingers lightly against Rye’s warm skin, to wipe his tears away. And even though he did stop himself, he imagined it all the same. He could almost feel the smoothness of Rye’s cheek on his fingertips.

“Th-thank you,” Rye stammered. With a deep breath, Rye looked back up at Jake, though he could only hold Jake’s gaze for a second before his eyes dropped. He hunched his shoulders in on himself and said, “When I’m struggling, sometimes I... I try to hear your voice instead of his. Instead of... mine. And it... helps.”

There was another tear slipping silently down Rye’s cheek, and Jake shook his head, his brow furrowing.

“You’re... you’re okay, Rye,” he murmured, not sure what else to say. His hand started to lift slowly, and Rye’s eyes rose at the same time, watching as Jake’s hand moved closer. Rye didn’t move. He didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, didn’t frown. But Jake paused when his fingers were just an inch or so from Rye’s cheek. “Your tears... can I?” he whispered.

And he held his breath, waiting for Rye’s permission. It was only a few seconds at most, but they seemed like impossibly long seconds. Then Rye blinked and closed his eyes, and he nodded just once, a very small nod.

Jake tried not to worry whether that was enough, and as carefully as he could, he let the pad of his thumb brush along the smooth skin of Rye’s cheekbone, just under his eye, wiping away that stray tear. He tried not to let his hand linger there, softly cupping Rye’s cheek. And he really, really tried not to let himself feel the warm tingle that spread up through his fingers and arm and all the way into his chest.

“There. There we go,” he said, though his words caught in his throat. He repeated the motion, ever so softly running his thumb across Rye’s skin. Then he reluctantly lowered his hand and took a tiny, tentative step backward.

Rye still didn’t move, but he let out a short breath and said, “Thank you.” And he lifted his eyes. They glistened with the rest of his unshed tears, and even in the low light, Jake could see the hint of pink in his cheeks, just as he had earlier.

Jake swallowed thickly and nodded. “Are you okay? Did you need to talk more?”

“No, I-I’m... I’m fine. Thank you,” Rye said quietly, trying for a small smile again. He sniffled and then reached up with one hand to tuck his hair back behind his ear. “I should get back inside. But I’ll text you. About the time. For tomorrow, I mean.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Good night, Jake.”

“Good night, Rye.”

With a final smile that Jake could see took a lot of effort, Rye turned and headed back toward the house. At the front door, Rye paused and twisted around to give Jake a small wave. Then he disappeared inside, leaving Jake alone in the dark, his fingers still tingling where he’d touched Rye’s cheek.

God, he was so, so gone.

He climbed in his car and started it up. Then he pulled out his phone and sent a short, quick text to his sister.

Jake (9:49 p.m.): Can I call? I need to talk.

Not less than ten seconds later, the phone rang through his car’s speakers, and he hit the button to answer.

“Hey, Kris . . .”