56. Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Five
Jake
Jake sniffled and blinked back tears, trying his best to ignore the sting in his eyes. A soft laugh from next to him had him shaking his head.
“I’m so glad you find my suffering funny,” he joked, setting the knife he’d been using down on the cutting board next to a heap of diced onion.
“I’m so glad you like me so much.” Rye shifted closer for half a second, bumping his shoulder into Jake’s arm, and Jake grinned and glanced down at Rye.
“Enough to chop onions for you.”
“Mm-hmm.” Deep blue eyes looked up at him, bright and eager. And beautiful. So beautiful.
Jake’s heart had been doing funny things all afternoon, since the moment he’d stepped into the bookstore and seen Rye talking with the small group of children. And then again in the office and then again standing outside the bookstore in the rain, when Rye’s gaze had darted down to Jake’s lips for that single, brief second.
And again now. In fact, now, Jake’s heart was thrumming wildly, and he couldn’t look away. Rye’s eyes held him, captivated him, and he wished so much that his hands weren’t covered in... onion.
He blinked and sucked in a breath before finally tearing his eyes away. “So, uh, the onions?”
“Right into the pan here with the chicken,” Rye instructed.
Jake scooped up the chopped onions and added them to the pan. Then he washed his hands, the cutting board, and the few other dishes they’d already dirtied while Rye continued cooking. When Jake was finished, he leaned against the counter, watching as Rye removed the chicken to a platter, added a big, heaping tablespoon of Hungarian sweet paprika to the pan, mixed in chicken broth and tomato paste, and seasoned the sauce with salt and pepper. He then added the chicken back into the pan and reduced the heat to a simmer .
And he had this air of confidence about him as he worked. He looked so comfortable and so sure of himself. It made Jake’s heart soar.
Jake pushed himself away from the counter and turned so he could slip his arm around Rye’s waist, slowly and carefully, as always. When his hand settled on Rye’s hip, Rye sighed—the sound happy and content—and leaned into him.
“So, it’s got about fifteen more minutes to cook, and the rice should be done by then. We just need to make the cucumber salad and then that’s it.” Rye twisted around in Jake’s arms and looked up at him with those big blue eyes, one hand coming to settle right in the center of Jake’s chest. And he was smiling lightly, a natural, easy smile.
It was beautiful. Rye was beautiful.
Jake bit his lower lip and nodded toward the fridge. “I, uh, chopped everything up for the salad already.”
Rye’s grin turned into a smirk. “You’re so useful.”
“I try.” Jake laughed, and Rye joined him.
It was silly and familiar, their teasing and banter and laughter, and more importantly, it meant Rye was in a good place today.
That wasn’t always the case, of course, and Jake didn’t expect it to be. More often than not, Rye still struggled. Things had been dicey enough over the summer, when Rye hadn’t been able to deal with the crowds of tourists who flocked to their small town for the beautiful beaches and gorgeous weather. But then, after he and Rye had gotten the awful news about the sighting of Raymond Hirsh in Arizona, things had gotten even more unpredictable.
Many days were perfectly fine. And it had been incredible watching Rye thrive as he’d grown his book club—up from two days a week to three now because more children had wanted to join. But going out—even just their little trips to the grocery store on Wednesdays or the few times a week they made it to the café for lunch and then to the beach for a walk—had proven be a huge challenge and sometimes triggered these mini panic attacks that would linger with Rye for the rest of the day or even the rest of the week.
Rye had tried therapy again; his mom had found him a new therapist up in Eureka who specialized in treating cPTSD, and Jake had even gone with Rye to try to help him feel comfortable and be able to communicate. However, even as nice as the therapist had been, Rye had found the whole thing much more stressful than helpful, and after the third visit had brought about a week full of nearly sleepless nights filled with nightmares and downhill spiraling, they’d all agreed to take a break and try again in a few more months .
Thankfully, Rye had usually been able to find solace in Jake, even in the middle of his panic, and for that, Jake was immensely grateful. In fact, he was grateful for a whole lot, especially the fact that Rye had given him— them —a chance.
Even the hardest of days were better than when Jake had been alone.
He found that almost funny to think about, since he’d truly thought he’d been happy on his own. But now, he couldn’t imagine any life without Rye in it. He couldn’t imagine not having this friendship.
Rye had stopped laughing, but his eyes still sparkled. He stepped toward the refrigerator and then started taking ingredients out and setting them on the counter. “How about I’ll put the salad together, and you can set the table?” he suggested.
Jake nodded. “Sure, yep. Oh, and while we eat, I wanted to show you the article I’m writing.”
“The one about the dolphins?” Rye asked.
“Porpoises, actually,” Jake corrected. “The vaquita—one of the most critically endangered species of cetaceans in the world. I interviewed one of the scientists working with a group from NOAA yesterday. They’ve been collaborating with the government of Mexico in their conservation efforts, and he shared with me that they just found three new calves who had to have been born over the summer...”
Jake set the table while Rye made the cucumber salad, and Jake continued talking, excited to share the wonderful news with Rye. By the time they sat down to eat about twenty minutes later, he’d basically already explained the entire article he’d written and sent off to his editor this morning. So over dinner, they talked about other things instead. The weather. The TV show they’d been watching earlier. The book Rye had just finished reading.
His heart was so ridiculously full, Jake thought it might burst.
After dinner, they cleaned up the kitchen together and then settled back on the couch with tea and cookies.
“These ones are my favorite,” Rye declared as he picked one of the chocolate chip cookies up off the plate and then settled back onto the couch, sitting cross-legged facing Jake.
“Mine too,” Jake agreed. He set down his tea next to Rye’s on the coffee table and then picked up a cookie for himself. “I have to say, though, I’m becoming partial to the snickerdoodles too.”
“Mm, yeah. Those are a close second.” Rye took a big bite of his cookie and then chewed slowly. He looked pensive, but he didn’t say anything else. After a quiet moment, Rye scooted closer to Jake, tucking his legs underneath himself .
Jake finished his own cookie and then slipped his arm around Rye’s shoulders and squeezed gently. “You okay?” he asked.
Rye just nodded, but didn’t otherwise answer, and Jake gave him another light squeeze. Rye shifted again, resting his head in the crook of Jake’s shoulder. With some hesitation that somehow also didn’t seem hesitant at all, Rye reached out and took Jake’s hand in both of his, studying it, his fingers teasing along the top of Jake’s knuckles. Jake didn’t move or speak, but his heart was racing along now, beating hard and fast. And his chest buzzed with anticipation—for what, he wasn’t quite sure—as an eager warmth settled low in his belly.
“Jake,” Rye started, burrowing up against Jake a little more, his breath hot on Jake’s chest, “do you... ever think about... kissing me?”
The words hung between them, heavy, and yet, Rye hadn’t sounded uncertain. Carefully, Jake lowered his head to rest against Rye’s. “I... do.”
Rye took a long, slow breath and continued playing with Jake’s hand in his. “You’ve never mentioned it.”
“Ah, well, I didn’t want you to feel pressured or anything,” Jake said softly.
“But you think about it?” Rye repeated. “And you... want to?”
“Do I want to kiss you?”
Rye nodded, and his fingers froze for a moment, except his thumbs, which stroked up and down across the knuckles of Jake’s first two fingers. His skin felt on fire now, and he closed his eyes and relished the touch. There was something different about it. Or maybe it was just the topic Rye had brought up, but hell, he was sure having a hard time not turning his head to press a kiss into Rye’s hair now.
He could feel it. He could imagine it. And he wanted it so much. But he held himself still.
“Yes, I do. I’d love to kiss you,” he breathed, not even trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. “I, uh, think about it all the time.”
Rye’s thumbs stopped moving, and the silence stretched on for a beat. Then Jake heard him take another deep breath, and he spoke quietly and slowly. “I... might want to. Soon. Maybe tonight... later.”
Jake squeezed his eyes shut harder, fighting the urge to gather Rye up in his arms and kiss him right there. That certainly was not what Rye was ready for or suggesting he might want to do, but Jake couldn’t help imagining it. The words repeated themselves in his head— Soon. Maybe tonight... later —and he swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing heart.
“That would be wonderful,” he managed. “But only if you’re sure you’re ready. ”
“I-I don’t know if I am. But I wanted to tell you I’ve been thinking about it,” Rye said, and his fingers started playing with Jake’s hand again. When he ran his fingertips lightly over the top of Jake’s fingers, Jake shivered. “I... I was wondering what it would have been like if you’d kissed me earlier. At your car.”
“In the rain?”
Rye nodded. “But then, um, I thought maybe I should kiss you first. Maybe... something smaller. Like...”
Jake sucked in a breath and watched, his heart pounding, unsteadily and without any sort of regular rhythm, as Rye slowly lifted Jake’s hand. He held it a little tighter and brought it up closer to his lips, and then he paused.
“May I?”
God.
Rye’s breath was hot on his skin, so close, and it sent a jolt through him, pleasant and intense and also disorienting in a way Jake had never felt before.
“Y-yeah,” he answered, though the single word caught in his throat.
Rye’s lips twitched up briefly into a small smile, and Jake held his breath, waiting as the seconds stretched out.
And then it happened. Rye lowered his lips to Jake’s hand and pressed a long, slow kiss on Jake’s knuckles. It was soft. And warm. And such a tiny thing, much too brief. Yet, Jake felt it so deeply.
Rye straightened up, and his thumb brushed over the spot he’d just kissed as though soothing the burn. It just made Jake’s skin even hotter, though, and he closed his eyes, barely able to hold back the onslaught of emotions rocking him.
Some small sound escaped him, maybe a hum—definitely not a whimper—and Rye’s fingers tightened around his as their hands drifted back down to rest on Jake’s thigh.
“Was that . . . okay?” Rye asked quietly.
Jake nodded, but he couldn’t answer aloud for another moment because Rye did it again. Not the kiss, but the brush of his thumb over that spot . He swallowed hard and forced another small nod, then cleared his throat lightly. He wanted to say something more than just yes . He wanted to tell Rye how profoundly different all of this was, how much he’d enjoyed just that small touch, how incredible it had felt. How he’d love for Rye to kiss him again—just like that. But his brain was definitely not functional right then.
He tried anyway.
“That felt . . . mmm . . .”
But he trailed off when Rye’s thumb rubbed over the spot once more. It felt even better, warm and tender and sweet, and he hummed and rested his cheek back on top of Rye’s head, unable to make any better words come .
There was a quiet chuckle next to him. “So good you’re speechless?”
“Mm-hmm. I... I’ve never felt anything like that before.”
Rye shook his head, and his thumb stopped moving as he seemed to tense up. “It was just... nothing. Not even a real kiss. Because I...”
He didn’t finish his sentence, but he didn’t have to; Jake could almost feel the words he hadn’t said, his guilt and shame, his tension. He fought the urge—yet again—to kiss the top of Rye’s head, and then he said, softly, “It wasn’t nothing to me. It was everything. It meant everything. And it definitely was a real kiss. The best kiss I’ve ever had. I look forward to showing you just how good it feels when you’re ready.”
He hoped it was the right thing to say. It was such a huge deal—as tiny as the gesture was—and he knew how hard Rye must have worked to make it happen. Yet the tension in Rye’s shoulders didn’t seem to ease.
With another deep breath, Jake squeezed Rye’s shoulder lightly. “Do you want to talk about it more?”
“I, um... I think maybe later,” Rye said, but his words weren’t smooth anymore, and his voice trembled.
“Sure, of course. Whenever you’re ready. We have time.” Jake’s hand rubbed gently up and down Rye’s upper arm, and he waited silently, his eyes lightly closed. It was probably another few minutes until Rye’s fingers started caressing the back of his hand again.
And then Rye shifted, repositioning himself slightly next to Jake. He sighed quietly, shakily, as though letting out some negativity he’d been holding in his chest.
“You, um, really... you really liked it?” Rye’s thumb grazed his skin—that same spot, again . “The little... not-a-kiss kiss?”
There was hope in his words this time. A tentative, cautious hope. And Jake immediately smiled into Rye’s hair.
“Mmm, very much. I liked it very much.”
“And if I wanted to try it again . . . ?”
“You can.”
“Anytime?”
Jake swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“’Kay.”
And after only a second or so of hesitation, Rye did. He lifted Jake’s hand to his lips and pressed the lightest, softest of kisses to Jake’s knuckles. And it was just as brilliant as the first time. Maybe even better, especially when Rye snuggled up into the crook of Jake’s shoulder afterward and let out a long, shuddering breath .
Jake had to catch himself as he almost, almost turned to press a kiss into Rye’s hair. He started to say something, but Rye spoke up before he could.
“I really like being here with you. Thank you for being so patient with me. I... worry sometimes...”
“About what?” Jake asked.
Rye hesitated, and Jake could almost feel him trembling now. “I worry... that I’m too much work. You and my mom and my aunt and uncle and—and everyone. Everyone is so patient with me. And I’m not... I’m so... I mean, I’m never going to be... normal. I’m too broken. I-I don’t know how you put up with me, why you... want me.”
Rye must have known what Jake was going to say in response, because he almost immediately shook his head and buried his face back into Jake’s chest, mumbling some sort of apology.
“You want to hear my why?” Jake murmured quietly, and he waited until Rye had nodded. Then he smiled as a fond warmth spread through him. “Because you’re amazing, Rye,” he said. “You’re beautiful and kind and strong. And so smart. And you’re my best friend. I wake up every morning thinking about you. Any time we’re apart, I wish we were together. You challenge me to be a better person. You make me feel...” He paused, looking for the right words. “You make me feel whole in a way I haven’t in years. Like I’m who I’m supposed to be when I’m with you.”
Gently, carefully, Jake slipped his hand out from under Rye’s and lifted it up to Rye’s cheek. He stopped about an inch or so away, about to ask for permission, but then Rye gave a subtle nod, and with another soft smile, Jake let the back of his fingers graze along the smooth skin of Rye’s cheek. Warmth filled his chest.
“I’m so lucky to have you in my life,” he finished, breathing in deeply. “I can keep going if you want. I can ramble on about how much I like you all night long, I’m sure.”
There was a small huff of a laugh, and Rye shook his head. “No, you... you don’t have to. Thank you, Jake.”
A single tear slid down Rye’s cheek, and Jake’s stomach clenched as he brushed it away with his thumb before letting his hand fall back to his lap. And Rye snuggled up against him more, most of the tension he’d been holding in his shoulders gone. They sat there together in silence for a few minutes, and it was comfortable again. Comfortable and warm. At least, it was to him.
God, he hoped Rye was feeling the same. But he knew Rye also probably needed some time to process it all. And he would happily give Rye that time.
Jake closed his eyes and pressed his cheek into Rye’s hair, thankful for the closeness they shared, thankful they had this. Everything else would come. Rye wasn’t broken. And he wasn’t too much work or too much effort. He just needed time. Time and kindness, understanding and...and love.
The word fluttered through his chest in a daze, and he took a controlled, measured breath. This was love, wasn’t it? Love built on friendship. Love built on trust.
It was. It had to be.
Jake let his hand slide slowly over across his thigh and turned it palm up. And then he waited. After another moment, soft, warm skin teased over his palm, Rye’s hand flattening on top of his, and Jake smiled.
It definitely had to be.
“So...” He hummed and then chuckled as an idea came to him. “Wanna call up Phil and play some Mario Kart ? I bet the two of us together can beat him this time.”
Rye laughed, though he sniffled, too, and then reached up and wiped another tear from his cheek. “He destroyed us last week.”
“I know, but I have a good feeling about tonight.”
Rye’s laugh was subtler this time, and he shook his head. “He’s back in school now, isn’t he? And gym? Won’t Kris mind?”
Jake grinned and leaned forward a little to pull his cell phone out of his pocket. “Nah. She can never say no to me. Or to you. She likes you even more than she likes me, honestly. And I think Phil should be home from gym by now.” He hit a few buttons on his phone to bring up Phil’s number and then glanced at Rye, his eyebrows raised.
Rye’s smile was maybe a little subdued, but his eyes were bright. He blinked, then nodded. “Yeah. Okay, let’s do it.”
“Good.” Jake hit the call button, put the phone on speaker, and set it on the coffee table next to the plate of cookies. By the time Phil answered a couple of rings later and Jake issued him their challenge, Rye had pulled the Switch controllers out of the basket under the coffee table and gotten the TV and game console turned on.
And they spent the next hour or so getting beaten—repeatedly—by an eleven-year-old.