Pieces of Home

54. Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Three

Jake

Jake drove just below the speed limit along the winding mountain highway. They were maybe a half hour or so from home, though they’d planned to stop at the general store first so Rye could see his mom. She didn’t get off work until late—after nine—and she wanted to see Rye sooner rather than later.

The drive had been pleasant, mostly. They’d made a few stops along the way—once at a gas station and then twice more just at scenic spots along the route so they could get out of the car. Rye had insisted that they walk a bit, and Jake hadn’t complained, especially when Rye had taken his hand as they’d walked.

He glanced sideways at Rye, who was sitting with his chin resting on his hand, staring out the window. His other arm was tucked around his midsection, and his shoulders looked tight and tense. He’d been quiet a lot of the drive, and when Jake had asked if he wanted to talk, Rye had shaken his head. Something was obviously bothering him, though, and Jake had a guess as to what it might be.

Well, he had two guesses actually.

In reality, it was probably a combination of the two. And if he was right, Jake understood why Rye wouldn’t be so keen to talk, which was fine, of course. Only, if he was right, Jake also didn’t want to chance making Rye uncomfortable again with an unwanted touch, like he had unknowingly the night before.

Tentatively, he shifted his left hand on the steering wheel and then reached out to set his other hand, palm up, on the center console, craving some of the closeness they’d shared early that morning. He kept his eyes ahead on the road, but when Rye’s hand slipped into his, his heart nearly leapt in his chest and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to lift Rye’s hand to his lips, to place a soft kiss on Rye’s knuckles.

God, all these new feelings and sensations . . .

He only wished he knew what Rye was feeling and how to navigate everything .

“Sorry I’ve been quiet,” Rye said, breaking Jake’s train of thought. Something like shame in Rye’s voice made Jake shake his head.

“No, it’s fine. I never mind when it’s quiet,” he reassured, and he squeezed Rye’s hand. “I just like this.” He lifted their joined hands slightly.

“I do too.” He felt Rye shift in his seat. “But I mean... um, sorry I didn’t want to talk earlier. It’s... it’s just that there’s a lot on my mind. And it’s all... not happy stuff. I’ve been thinking about Arizona too much. I’m... scared, a-and trying not to be. But...”

Fear seemed to shiver through Rye and into Jake, and he imagined young Rye, how terrified he must have been, how much Raymond Hirsh must have hurt him. Jake wanted to just push the thoughts away, but they wouldn’t go.

God, how devastating it must be to Rye to get such an unwanted reminder that that awful, disgusting man was still out there, along with the terrifying news that he was stalking a new victim.

And Rye hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about it—if he even could or wanted to. Maybe in the car wasn’t really the best place to talk, either, especially if things got emotional, which they were bound to.

“You’re amazing and brave to have been able to do what you did yesterday after that news,” Jake said softly. He squeezed Rye’s hand and was glad when Rye didn’t pull away. “I’m here to listen if you want to talk about it—or about anything. But it’s also fine if you’re not ready yet.”

When he glanced briefly at Rye, he saw Rye’s eyes closed, his chin dropped and a single tear slipping down his cheek. Rye quickly pulled his hand away from Jake’s and wiped it away.

“I-I keep thinking that if—if he steals another child, if he does that before the police can find him—” His voice became so small that he couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, and he pulled his feet up to the seat and wrapped both of his arms around his knees. “S-sorry,” he stuttered. “Sorry I’m so scared. I’m... I’m not as brave as you think.”

Jake wished they weren’t driving, because all he really wanted to do in that moment was gather Rye up in his arms and kiss his forehead and hold him—to show him just how loved he was, remind him just how strong he was, and promise him Jake wouldn’t let anything hurt him. Especially not Raymond Hirsh. But he couldn’t do all of that right then, and he worried his words wouldn’t be enough. So instead, he kept driving for a few minutes, silently, as all the things he really wanted to say and do swirled around and around in an unorganized mess of incomplete thoughts in his head.

He made a turn as they got even closer to town, moving his free hand back to the steering wheel, then he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “You’re right. You’re not as brave as I thought. You’re even braver. And even stronger,” he said, hoping his conviction came through in his words. “I’m amazed by you, every single day, and how you’ve handled yourself the last couple of days, what you were able to accomplish, even under the circumstances, has been no exception to that.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Rye shake his head. “No, n-no... no, if I was that strong, I wouldn’t have been sitting here worrying the whole drive about what happens when you drop me off at home. I wouldn’t be—I wouldn’t be—”

Rye shook his head once more as his hands flew up to cover his mouth, like he’d said something he wasn’t allowed to say. A soft, strained whimper escaped him, the sound tugging at Jake’s heart, and again, Jake had the urge to pull over and hug Rye and prove to him just how strong and brave he really was.

But he couldn’t do that right now. There wasn’t really any safe place to pull over, and he wasn’t one hundred percent sure Rye would welcome any touch right now anyway.

So instead, he tried to find the right words.

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” he started. “You’re safe here with me, and you’re allowed to say whatever’s on your mind. Or you don’t have to talk. That’s fine, too.” Jake glanced over very briefly, needing to keep his eyes on the road, but also needing to see whether Rye had responded nonverbally. But as far as Jake could tell, Rye hadn’t moved except to lower his hands back to his knees. So Jake continued, doing the best he could to try to reassure Rye. “You don’t need to worry, either. You can always come to my place instead of going home, or I can stay with you until your mom’s off work. Whichever you prefer. It doesn’t make you any less strong or any less brave to not want to be alone. Anytime, really, but especially right now.”

He thought he saw some movement, and he definitely heard a big sigh, and when he risked another quick glance at Rye, he was rubbing his eyes.

“You’re right,” Rye said, and although his voice was hesitant and unsure, he smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

God. So brave. So strong. He only wished Rye could see it for himself.

“So, uh,”—Jake looked back ahead to focus on the road—“if you want, how about maybe you come over to my place, and we can fix something for dinner together. It’ll be nice to spend the evening together, yeah?”

He lowered his hand from the steering wheel again, offering it to his friend, and though he didn’t say it, the words like a date popped into his head. It would have been too much right now, he knew, but he’d been thinking about it—thinking about when and how he might ask Rye on a date. It almost seemed funny, like a formality, since they already spent so much time together. But Jake couldn’t deny that he wanted the opportunity to treat Rye to something special, to show Rye how important he was.

For now, though, Jake left the extra words unsaid, and he waited with his hand outstretched, hopeful but not expectant.

When Rye’s hand settled on top of his and their fingers threaded together a moment later, Jake’s heart stuttered. He swallowed hard as the feeling traveled all the way down to his toes, a tingling warmth—just like when Rye had touched his thigh that morning.

“I’d like that,” Rye said, and it took Jake a moment to remember what they’d been talking about. He must have looked confused for a second, because Rye huffed what almost sounded like a laugh. “Dinner,” he clarified, and he squeezed Jake’s hand. “At your place.”

Another stutter in his heart had Jake blinking, forcing himself to refocus on driving. But he nodded. “Yeah, okay. Good, um...”

“I’ve got—” Rye’s voice cut off abruptly, but then his hand tightened in Jake’s, holding for several seconds that seemed both too short and too long. Jake glanced over to see him shake his head. “There’s a recipe I want to try,” he said finally, the words stilted as though he were struggling to force them out.

“Perfect.” Jake let his thumb brush lightly along the skin of Rye’s hand. “We can pick up what we need while we’re at the store? I mean, I’m assuming I won’t just have all the ingredients.”

He heard a chuckle, and then he saw Rye nod. “Yeah. It’s, um... called chicken marsala. My... my mom says it’s good.”

“Ah, my sister made that once when I visited. But you know, I might not be much help, I don’t remember there being too many veggies to chop.”

Rye laughed again, more freely this time, and when he spoke, there was no more hesitation to his words. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something to keep you busy.”

Rye gave Jake’s hand one more squeeze before letting go, and as Jake turned into the tiny parking lot at the general store, Rye took his phone out of his pocket. By the time Jake had parked and shut off the car, Rye had a recipe and list of ingredients pulled up. They spent a moment looking it over, deciding what spices and things Jake might actually have already, which was a pretty short list. Then Jake and Rye both climbed out of the car. Jake moved a little slower than he wanted, because he had this image in his head of him hopping out, jogging around to the other side to open the door for his date —even though this wasn’t a date.

Instead, Rye was out of the car well before he was, and Rye was the one who met him on his side of the car as he stood. The tiny bit of embarrassment Jake felt, however, disappeared completely when Rye smiled up at him and reached out to take his hand .

And they walked together like that toward the store’s entrance, Rye’s fingers staying intertwined with his the whole time.

It was positively wonderful.

“This is wonderful,” Rye said with a sigh as he leaned his head into the crook of Jake’s shoulder later that night.

“Mmm, yeah,” Jake agreed. His arm slid around Rye’s shoulders in a way that felt so natural and right, Jake couldn’t even imagine them sitting together any other way.

He felt Rye take a deep breath, and then Rye’s hand came to settle on his chest, right in the center. Rye’s palm pressed into him gently, and Jake closed his eyes as tendrils of fire spread through him.

God, this was different. And he was so warm. He tilted his head and let his cheek press into Rye’s hair. He smelled faintly of the hotel’s shampoo and of his aftershave. Something woodsy and masculine. And it was intoxicating.

“Mmm,” Rye hummed, and his hand shifted slightly lower on Jake’s chest. “I can feel your heart beating. I can hear it, too.” There was an awe to Rye’s voice, and his words were so clear and seemed like they came so easily.

Jake loved it. He’d loved the whole night so far—their light banter as they’d made dinner, Rye finding his words and his smile more and more as the afternoon and evening had progressed; the delicious food they’d created together, though, yes, Rye had done most of the actual cooking; the hour they’d spent playing video games.

By far, though, the best part had been the last half hour or so, when they’d just been lounging around and talking quietly, Rye alternating between leaning against him and sitting cross-legged facing him on the couch.

Jake let out the breath he’d been holding and brought his hand up, setting it carefully on top of Rye’s on his chest. Then he let his fingers caress Rye’s. Softly.

“So, the book club thing... you’re going to try?” Jake asked, a warm flicker of pride settling in his chest as he picked up their conversation where they’d left off.

“I’d like to.” Rye hummed again, and it sounded happy and content. “But it’s hard not being able to talk to anyone. Or, um, not being sure if I’ll be able to. I’d have to be able to communicate with the kids, and that’s the part I’m worried about. If I can’t do that reliably, then I couldn’t really do the job, could I?”

“You’ve been talking with Phil semiregularly, right?”

“Yeah, when we play games online.”

“And this would be a small group of young kids, up to what, ten years old?”

He felt Rye nod into him, though Rye didn’t otherwise move. Jake’s fingers still stroked lazily back and forth across the back of Rye’s hand. And it still felt wonderful.

“I’ve been texting with Mr. Brock—”

“He’s the principal at the school? I think I know him. I see him sometimes at the café.”

“Yeah, he, uh, was a teacher at the school when I was a kid.”

“Hmm.” Jake snuggled his cheek more into Rye’s hair and inhaled a deep breath.

“I texted with him earlier in the week and asked if it would be something he thought the parents would be interested in as an after-school activity. And Janice agreed to let me use the bookstore, so Mr. Brock said he’d send out an email to the parents of all the kids in kindergarten through third grade to try to gauge interest. He’s supposed to text me back Monday and let me know. Even if it’s just a few kids...”

Jake nodded lightly. “Then you’d host the program a couple of times a week, maybe?”

“Yeah, that would be the goal. Janice loves the idea. She’s been building up the children’s book section over the summer, I guess, because it’s been popular with the tourists. But she’d love for it to stay that way in the offseason too. And I think... I think I’d like to work with children. I think”—Rye’s head pressed into Jake’s chest a little deeper—“I’d be good at it.”

“God, I’m so proud of you,” Jake breathed the words into Rye’s hair and let his fingers drift a tiny bit lower to Rye’s wrist then back up. Rye made a quiet sound, something like another of those contented hums. “I think you’ll be wonderful at it.”

They were both silent for a few minutes except the soft sounds Rye kept making as Jake stroked his fingers along Rye’s hand and to his wrist. Finally, Rye sighed and said, “That feels so good. I... never thought I’d... like a touch like this.” Rye’s palm pressed into Jake’s chest again. “Can I try?” he asked hesitantly.

Jake inhaled sharply and paused with his fingertips just at Rye’s wrist. “You want to...”

“I want to touch you like you’re touching me. It feels good, and I want to know, um, if it would feel good for you too.”

A wave of want rushed through Jake—or at least, that was what he thought it had to be. He’d never felt anything like it before, and for several seconds, he was unable to respond. Then he managed a nod. “Yeah, of course,” he mumbled, and he lowered his hand down to his thigh. Rye’s hand tentatively covered his, lingering for a moment. Then Rye moved, running his whole hand up just past the braided dark-blue bracelet Jake wore on his wrist—the one Rye had given him on Christmas—before caressing back down. Rye repeated the motion with only his fingertips the next time, and it was more than a little overwhelming.

“God,” he rasped as he closed his eyes.

Rye laughed quietly. “I guess that’s a yes?”

“Hmm? A what?”

“A yes that it feels good for you too.”

“God, yeah. It feels incredible,” Jake said.

And Rye chuckled again, snuggled into Jake’s shoulder more, and said, “Good.” Then he continued with the motion, his fingers so light and warm, inching a little more up Jake’s arm every few strokes.

He tried to stay still and quiet, but a low moan slipped out when Rye’s fingers brushed along his inner forearm almost at his elbow. Rye paused with his hand there, settled lightly on Jake’s arm, and Jake felt the heat spreading all the way into his chest now.

“Jake?”

“Hmm?”

“Was this... a date? Did we have a date tonight?”

The swoop in his stomach took his breath away for a few seconds, and then he straightened up a bit, lifting his head so he could look down at Rye. Rye had his eyes on the spot where his hand rested on Jake’s arm, but then he glanced up, tilting his head back slightly, his expression hopeful and bright.

And god, Jake wanted nothing more than to kiss him right now. The urge was stronger than any he’d had so far—than any he’d ever had in his life—and he took a long, slow breath to steady himself.

“Do you want it to be?” he asked carefully, and he searched Rye’s eyes, looking for any sign that Rye was reluctant or regretful or scared.

“It was pretty perfect,” Rye said, the corner of his lips twitching up in a half-smile.

“It was.” Jake held himself still, but he kept his expression soft. “I thought about it earlier, how I’d have loved to ask you on a date, but I didn’t want to rush you or, um, anything.”

“But did it feel like a date to you?” Rye asked again, and this time, Jake did see something in his eyes—just a flicker of uncertainty.

Jake smiled gently and nodded. “It did,” he said, and then added, “It felt like the best date ever. Perfect. Because it was with you. ”

It was cheesy and silly, but it was absolutely true. And the pink tinge growing in Rye’s cheeks was quite possibly the most adorable thing Jake had ever seen. Slowly, he brought his free hand up, pausing just before he touched Rye’s cheek.

“Can I?” he whispered, and Rye nodded and closed his eyes.

Jake didn’t hesitate, but he was still careful and slow as he cupped Rye’s cheek and let his thumb brush along Rye’s cheekbone. It was another perfect thing—how his hand fit right there so well, his slightly tanned skin contrasting with Rye’s paler complexion. He let his hand slide back a tiny bit more until his fingertips grazed low under Rye’s ear.

“Is this okay?” Jake asked, and when Rye nodded again, Jake breathed a quiet “Good.”

Rye settled his head back on Jake’s shoulder with another sigh that sounded contented and happy. Then he started caressing Jake’s forearm.

And god, it was almost too much.

This was a date. The most perfect date in the history of dates.

But then Rye’s hand stopped.

“If it’s a date,” Rye said, a slight tremble to his words, “do we have to... do we have to kiss or—or h-have sex? Because I-I don’t want to do that.”

Jake frowned and immediately shook his head. “No, no, of course not,” he murmured, and very gently, he tilted Rye’s chin back so he could see Rye better. His deep blue eyes were filled with uncertainty and tension, and his lips, so soft and pink, were pursed with worry. Jake lifted his hand away from Rye’s cheek and grazed his fingertips along Rye’s forehead, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen out of place. He shook his head again. “Why would you think that?”

“That’s what people expect . . . isn’t it? At least to . . . to kiss. But most expect . . . more.”

Maybe that was true in a way. Maybe most people would expect a kiss—or more, as Rye had put it. But that was definitely not Jake. He would love to kiss Rye, yes, and he’d thought about it, yes. But he had no expectations, no assumptions, no preconceived notion that they had to kiss—or more—for this to be a date. And he hated that Rye was worrying about it.

“Do you remember when I’ve told you that you can always say no?” he asked, and Rye nodded, but then looked away and buried his head back into Jake’s shoulder.

“I wasn’t allowed to,” Rye mumbled, and he shook his head once. “I wasn’t given any choice, for a very long time, I wasn’t given any choice. The man, he... he took what he wanted, when he wanted. He... did things to me, things that hurt. And he made me do things to him. He kissed me and touched me and... had sex with me. And it hurt. He never gave me a choice. He never... never allowed me to speak my mind. So it’s hard sometimes to... to believe it, even when I trust you.”

Jake’s stomach clenched with the reminder, the words Rye had never really said until now. He probably hadn’t been able to say them, and this was just another testament to how strong he was. Strong, brave, courageous. All those things.

Rye’s hand pressed into Jake’s elbow lightly. “I do... really like this... this closeness with you.”

Jake closed his eyes and rested his cheek back against the top of Rye’s head. “I do too.”

“I’m scared, though,” Rye said, his voice small. He seemed to shrink in on himself, curling up against Jake. “I’m scared because I don’t know whether I’ll... ever want to kiss or... or have sex.”

Jake frowned again, and he tightened his arm around Rye’s shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Why does that make you scared?” He almost didn’t want to hear Rye’s answer, but he knew he needed to.

Rye shuddered. “Because if I... if I can’t or if I never want to, what if you...”

Rye didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to, though; Jake heard the unspoken words. Two options, both equally awful.

...what if you get tired of waiting for me?

...what if you decide to take what you want anyway?

“Never, Rye,” he said, his voice both kind and firm at the same time. With a deep, slow sigh, Jake set his hand lightly on top of Rye’s and let his thumb stroke back and forth across Rye’s soft, pale skin. He wanted it again—to place the gentlest of kisses atop Rye’s head. But his desire was tempered now, knowing all of Rye’s reservations and finally having the clarity to understand where they came from. He really only wished he could show Rye everything he was feeling in his heart, all of his conviction and sincerity. So he kept stroking the back of Rye’s hand with as much tenderness as he could, and with a small smile that he hoped Rye could somehow feel, he said, “You can like me even if I snore, right?”

Rye’s body shook a little, like maybe he’d laughed. “Yeah.”

“So then I can—and I do —like you, even if we never do anything more than what we’re doing now.”

“This does feel really nice,” Rye said, and Jake nodded into him.

“It’s incredible. Just like this. I could stay here forever, I think.”

Rye was silent for a minute, or maybe two. And when he spoke again, his words had become slow and stilted, like they were when he was struggling sometimes. “How... do you know? What if you... get tired... of this? Or—or what if you get tired of me saying no? What if you ask to kiss me—a hundred times, a thousand times—and... and I’m... not... ever ready?”

Jake took a deep breath, not because he was unsure, but because he wanted the right words to come with the right conviction, and he wanted Rye to hear it. Softly, he said, “Then I’ll keep waiting until you’re ready. And if that’s never, then I’ll be happy just like this.” He let his fingers drift slowly, just up to Rye’s wrist, just to where he’d been given permission to touch and no farther. “This is already so much more than I ever thought I’d have.”

“Yeah . . . me too,” Rye said.

And Jake felt the weight of those words like a heaviness on his chest, holding him down. He exhaled a shuddering breath and pressed his cheek into Rye’s hair.

“You’re everything to me. This ”—Jake squeezed Rye’s hand gently—“is everything to me. Whether we ever do anything more, or whether this is as far as we go, it’s enough.”

“. . . Really?”

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “And you will always— always —have a choice. You can always say no.”

Silence filled the room, and Jake let it, figuring Rye needed a moment. After all, Rye had done more talking just now than maybe in the last several weeks combined, and all of it had been hard, more proof of Rye’s strength and resilience.

It was several minutes later when Rye finally shifted, nuzzling his head into the crook of Jake’s shoulder again. “So, then... um, yes. This can be a date,” Rye said, and his fingers drifted down, out from under Jake’s hand, stopping to fiddle with the bracelet on Jake’s wrist.

Jake breathed a sigh—one of both relief and contentment—and closed his eyes. “Our first date.”

“Our first date,” Rye repeated with a tiny nod against Jake’s chest.

The first of many, Jake hoped, and he let himself imagine what it would be like—having this. Every day. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Our second date—can it be tomorrow? That’s soon, I know. And you can say n—”

“Yes,” Rye cut in, and he leaned back a little and looked up at Jake, his eyes twinkling with what had to be a cautious joy.

It was beautiful. Rye was beautiful.

Jake’s breath caught in his throat, and he lifted his hand again to cup Rye’s cheek. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

And Rye smiled up at him and said, “Me too.”