Pieces of Home

60. Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Jake

Jake reached for the door handle, frowning. His phone had started buzzing in his pocket as soon as he’d left Rye’s side, no doubt just reconnecting to his home’s Wi-Fi, and the string of notifications had only now ended, leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Another knock came at the door, this one a little more insistent, and the uneasiness turned into an even more uncomfortable churning.

He’d just started to pull the door open when he heard a strained gasp behind him, followed quickly by a clatter and a reverberating thud against the glass slider. He glanced back over his shoulder, leaving the front door partway open, and his stomach dropped.

Letting go of the door handle, Jake started hobbling back across the room, toward where Rye was now curled up, his arms covering his head as he gasped and sobbed.

“Jake, oh good, you’re home, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for—”

He recognized Rachel’s voice, but he ignored her, and he carefully slowed his pace and steps as he got closer to his boyfriend. Rye’s cell phone lay on the ground, the screen shattered and blank, and Rye was shaking badly, his face pale and his breaths coming in short, uneven pants.

“Oh, shoot, what happened?” Rachel asked from just behind him, her voice quiet.

“I don’t know,” Jake said, and he stepped around the cell phone and then lowered himself down to the ground without any grace or elegance at all. “Rye? Hey, Rye, you’re okay.”

Rye didn’t seem to hear him, and if anything, Rye’s shaking got worse. Jake scooted a little closer and tried again, murmuring soft words of reassurance.

“What can I do?” Rachel asked from behind him, still a good distance away, but Jake shook his head .

He had no idea. “Rye, shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Slowly, Jake scooted even closer, ignoring the ache in his leg, and he reached out and set his hand lightly on Rye’s knee. Rye flinched and whimpered, and Jake could now feel how much he was trembling. “You’re safe, Rye. It’s me, Jake. You’re okay, you’re okay.”

“He must’ve seen it,” Rachel said, and Jake frowned and glanced back over his shoulder at her. She was kneeling a few feet away, watching Rye with concern.

“Seen what?” Jake asked. He didn’t wait for her to answer, though, and he turned back to Rye and started talking quietly again, letting his thumb rub gently back and forth across the material of Rye’s sweatpants. There was some rustling behind him.

“This, Jake, look.”

He twisted around. Rachel still knelt a few feet away, and she’d pulled out her own cell phone and turned the screen toward him. And his heart clenched painfully in his chest—nausea and unease and disgust hitting him all at once.

There, under an old, awful photograph of a man Jake recognized as Raymond Hirsh, was the title of a news article dated just about an hour ago. The large, bold font read “Police in Pursuit of Suspect in Attempted Kidnapping in Tucson, Arizona.”

A curse nearly escaped him, but he held it back, and his eyes darted up to meet Rachel’s. “Is that why you’re here?”

Rachel nodded. “We called Shirley,” she explained, “and she said Rye was with you. We called your cell and your landline. My dad sent me out here when we couldn’t get a hold of you.” She kept her voice quiet, but Jake felt Rye flinch again.

He turned his attention back to his boyfriend. “Did they catch him yet?” Jake asked, his heart now hammering in his chest. Rye must have seen that photo. God, he couldn’t even imagine what that must have felt like to Rye. He listened to Rachel’s response as he started murmuring quiet nothings to Rye again, reminding him he was safe and not alone.

“He tried to take a young boy—six or seven years old, I think,” Rachel explained, keeping her voice low. Jake’s stomach lurched, and he closed his eyes for a long second. “The boy screamed and struggled, and Hirsh panicked and took off. Someone nearby saw the whole thing, helped the boy, called 9-1-1. Hirsh happened to drive right past an officer on their way to the scene, and they took off after him. They’re currently in a standoff after Hirsh barricaded himself inside a home somewhere in South Tucson. He’s armed, and it’s tense.”

Jake swallowed back a few more curses and nodded. “Give me a few minutes here. He needs space, and quiet.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Rachel backed away, and Jake heard muffled sounds of footsteps, the front door closing, and then a chair being scooted out at the table as he refocused all his attention back on Rye.

“Rye?” He wanted to scoot closer and gather Rye up in his arms, kiss his forehead and hold him tight. He wanted to protect Rye from whatever was in his head, wherever his thoughts had gone that had to be so dark and scary. But he knew Rye needed time, and so he waited with him, his hand still softly touching Rye’s knee. Keeping his voice low, he continued to talk to Rye, offering words of reassurance and encouraging him to breathe slowly.

It was several more minutes before Rye finally took a longer breath, and it shuddered and shook as he exhaled.

“There we go,” Jake murmured. “There we go. Try again. Deep breaths.”

Rye tried, but then shook his head and mumbled something Jake couldn’t understand, and he pushed himself away, shifting until he was sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. Jake could see his body shaking now, a visible tremor in his hands and legs, and Rye pushed himself away a few more inches.

It hurt. It hurt suddenly and strongly and in so many ways.

God, they’d been... about to kiss. And the whole morning had been incredible, uplifting, and filled with so much hope. Rye had helped Jake work past his own trauma, and they’d walked on the beach, holding hands the whole way.

Then, in an instant, everything had shattered.

Maybe under different circumstances, Rye would have been able to handle the news. After all, it was essentially good news. Maybe they were going to finally catch that awful man. And the child was safe—Hirsh hadn’t succeeded this time.

But if Rye had indeed seen that same news article pop up in his notifications—if the face of the man who had abused him for fifteen years had suddenly, unexpectedly been right there , staring back at him with those awful, unnerving eyes and unhinged sneer—his reaction not only made sense but was also warranted.

Jake had no doubt Rye hadn’t even gotten to read the headline.

“Rye, you’re safe, okay?” he tried, watching as Rye took more short, labored breaths. “I’m here with you now, okay?”

To Jake’s relief, Rye lifted his chin just enough to look out at Jake through the mess of curls that had fallen over his forehead. His stormy eyes met Jake’s but then darted around as though just realizing where he was. Then Rye closed his eyes again and buried his head back in his knees, and his whole body shuddered .

“I’m here, and you’re safe, Rye. Okay?” Jake repeated, and when Rye gave the tiniest nod a few seconds later, Jake breathed in a sigh of relief. “Can I sit with you?” he asked gently, and Rye nodded again.

Carefully and slowly, Jake scooted over to sit next to Rye, his back against the glass door of the patio. He reached out, as he had several times in the past, and lightly placed his hand on Rye’s back. Another shudder or shiver seemed to ripple through Rye as he let out a long breath, and then Rye actually moved closer to Jake until their knees were touching and he could rest his head against Jake’s shoulder. Swallowing hard, Jake slipped his arm up and around Rye’s shoulders.

And Rye sucked in a breath and let his legs fall, and he turned and buried his face into Jake’s chest, shaking with another sob. “S-s-sorry,” he rasped between breaths, and Jake shook his head.

“No, no, no. You’re okay. I’m here with you, alright?”

“I-I-I s-saw...” Rye’s hand gripped Jake’s sweater, and some small sound escaped him. A small, terrified mumble, followed quickly by more tension and another shudder.

“Shh, shh. I think I know what you saw. You don’t have to say it. Okay?” Rye seemed to nod into him, which was more than enough response for Jake. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against the top of Rye’s head. “Rachel’s here, but she’s at the table, so it’s still really just you and me. Okay? And we can stay right here until you’re ready to get up.”

Rye made another small noise that seemed like some sort of agreement, and Jake gave him a gentle squeeze as he opened his eyes and looked up across the room. Rachel sat at the kitchen table, watching them over the top of her cell phone, and she nodded in acknowledgement and mouthed something like take your time . Jake offered her a tight smile in return.

He continued talking to Rye, humming reassurances in a low, quiet voice, and slowly, Rye’s shaking started to ease and his breathing started to deepen. It was several minutes later when Rye finally released his hold on Jake’s sweater and mumbled some rough apology.

“Shh, shh, no. You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jake repeated, and he set his free hand on his thigh between them, palm up in invitation. He half expected Rye not to take it; after all, Rye didn’t owe him any of this closeness, and it would be more than understandable if Rye didn’t want to be touched at all right now.

Yet after only a few short seconds, Rye’s hand slipped into his and gripped him tightly, and Rye released another long, trembling breath.

From the table, Rachel’s phone rang, and though Rye flinched at the sudden sound, he just gripped Jake’s hand tighter rather than scoot away. And that helped ease a little of the pain in Jake’s heart .

He glanced up as he heard Rachel answer with a quiet “hey, Dad, just a minute,” her voice muffled, and she gave Jake a strained smile and stood. A moment later, she disappeared out the front door to take the phone call in private, leaving Jake and Rye alone.

Jake closed his eyes and let his thumb play back and forth across the smooth skin of Rye’s hand. “I’m so sorry that happened, Rye. If you saw... what I think you saw.”

Rye tensed, but again, he didn’t scoot away. In a shaky voice, he asked, “What... happened?”

“You mean with, uh...” Jake hesitated, not even wanting to say that awful man’s name in front of Rye. He felt Rye nod, and he steadied himself with a breath before he started talking. “Rachel said the police are after him right now. They’ve got him cornered. He’d, um, tried to...”

God, Jake didn’t want to say the words. He didn’t want to be the cause of any pain for Rye, and he was sure this was going to cause pain. A lot of it.

“T-tell me,” Rye mumbled against his chest, and Jake nodded.

“Yeah, sorry, um... He’d tried—and failed —to... to take another young boy.” Rye’s whole body tensed up, and Jake continued quickly. “The boy’s fine. Rachel said he screamed and struggled, and someone heard him and called 9-1-1, and he’s fine. Okay? So they chased after the man, and I guess he’s barricaded in a house, in a standoff with the police now.”

Rye didn’t respond, but he clung to Jake, and his body still shook. Jake wished he knew what to do.

“Can I help you up?” he asked softly, and he stopped himself from asking several other questions. Was he okay? Did he want to go rest? Did he want to know more or nothing at all? Was he hungry or thirsty, and would he like some tea? And, god, was he okay?

Instead, Jake waited. And waited. And finally, after what was probably another few minutes, Rye nodded and straightened up, still holding Jake’s hand. Grunting with the effort, Jake pushed himself to his feet, both of his legs now sore and achy, in part from all the activity earlier but also probably from the tension and stress of the last twenty minutes or so. Rye had closed his eyes and pulled his knees up to his chest again, and when Jake gave a tiny squeeze of his hand, Rye nodded, swallowed hard, and stood.

Immediately, he swayed, unsteady and weak, and he collapsed into Jake, who caught him easily with an arm around his waist. “I’ve got you,” Jake whispered. “I’ve got you.” He brought his hand up and brushed his fingertips along Rye’s jaw. “Is this okay?”

Rye nodded, and he continued to lean against Jake as Jake stroked his cheek. It was quiet and intimate, even in the face of these huge emotions and all this uncertainty, and Jake felt so fortunate and honored that Rye trusted him so much.

“Would you like to go lie down for a bit and rest?” he suggested, letting his hand trail down to Rye’s shoulder. Rye didn’t answer out loud, but he gave another of those tiny nods, and then he stepped away from Jake, wobbling a little. Jake started to reach out for him, but Rye seemed to maybe want to do this part on his own, because he moved away, taking a small step and then another and another, heading toward the hallway. Jake followed slowly, his limp heavier than it had been all day.

As they neared the extra bedroom, Jake felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he wondered for a moment how Shirley was doing. She’d be on her way back from San Francisco by now, but maybe still a few hours out, depending on when she’d left. He expected she must be beside herself with worry.

He pulled his phone out and glanced down. It was just after eleven, and his phone screen was indeed lit up with at least two dozen notifications—multiple texts, missed calls, emails, news alerts. He’d have to deal with it all after he got Rye settled and maybe even after he talked with Rachel. Right now, he needed to stay present with Rye.

The lights were all on, even though it was late morning and the sun had come out enough to provide plenty of natural light. And Rye pushed open the door to the extra bedroom ahead of them and went right in, without hesitating. Jake slowed and stopped as he followed Rye through the door, and he gripped the doorframe to support himself.

Rye, for his part, continued over to the bed and then sat on the edge and lowered his head into his hands with a long, shaky breath. He looked exhausted, and Jake couldn’t even begin to imagine how much energy all of that had taken out of him.

“Can I make you some tea?” Jake asked softly. Rye didn’t look up at him, but nodded. Then he slipped his shoes off, and, as Jake watched, he climbed into the bed and under the covers, and he curled up with his back to Jake, pulling the comforter up all the way to his chin. “Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”

He didn’t see Rye nod this time, even though he waited probably too long. And then he turned and limped slowly back down the hallway to the kitchen to make Rye some tea.

Something nice and calming and familiar. Like lemon balm with honey.

Rachel came back inside just after Jake left Rye’s tea on the nightstand for him. She didn’t stick around too long, though, after she gave him a short update that wasn’t really much more information. There was still no new news from Arizona, and Jake should definitely avoid turning on the TV when there was even the possibility that Rye might see or hear it. Every news station everywhere was showing coverage of the standoff live , streaming footage from helicopters as they circled overhead the home Raymond Hirsh had locked himself in. Why they hadn’t just stormed the house, Jake wasn’t sure, but Rachel mentioned something about Hirsh being armed and the police maybe waiting for some special forces team to arrive.

Jake didn’t really care to know the specifics. And he definitely agreed to keep the TV off and the computers closed.

She left shortly after, although she made Jake promise to answer his phone if she called and to let her or Wayne know if they had any trouble with anything at all. She was particularly concerned about the town getting flooded with reporters again, and she made sure Jake knew she didn’t want anyone bothering Rye—whether he was at Jake’s house or at the Davis home on Sycamore.

Then Jake gathered up the remains of Rye’s cell phone and settled on the couch to check his own notifications. He had no fewer than ten missed calls—some from Shirley, some from the police station, and even one from his sister—and a good dozen or so text messages. Most were from Shirley.

He scrolled through them briefly, his stomach sinking lower and lower as he felt her worry and panic rising. She’d left San Francisco around eight in the morning, which meant she and Tanya would have been driving when the news broke. And she wasn’t too much farther away, probably only an hour out by now. Knowing her cell phone reception would be spotty, he opted to text her back rather than call, and he typed out the quick message with all the information he knew she really needed.

Jake (11:46 a.m.): Hi Shirley, sorry about the delay. Rye and I were outside, and our phones didn’t work. We heard the news when we got back. Rye is doing okay now, resting in bed. Rachel was by, and we got the latest updates. Please drive safe and know that I’m taking care of Rye .

He didn’t get a response or call back immediately, which he knew didn’t mean anything except that Tanya and Shirley were likely driving through the mountains. He wanted to call his sister—he had a sudden and strong urge to hear her voice—but at the same time, he wanted to do that when he didn’t need to be quiet or hold himself together and when he was sure he had time to really talk. So he settled with sending her a text similar to the one he sent to Shirley.

Krista did text him back right away, but it was just a few emoji hearts and the words Call me tonight? , to which he responded with a thumbs-up.

Then, because he needed to keep himself busy, he stood back up, grimacing at the aching pain in his leg, and hobbled down the hallway to peek in on Rye. Rye hadn’t moved since Jake had left, and that made Jake feel somewhat better. He returned to the kitchen, opened up the fridge, and stood there for a few minutes staring blankly at the contents.

Maybe he’d cook lunch. Shirley might be hungry when she arrived, and Rye...

Jake swallowed back his unease. Maybe Rye would be okay enough to eat. Maybe he’d even be hungry. And that possibility was enough for Jake to want to have something ready for him, just in case.

Scanning the contents of the fridge one more time, Jake got to work.

At exactly 12:20 p.m., Jake finished cooking, and then, not more than ten minutes later, there was a knock on the front door—three raps that sounded both urgent and tentative. Jake set down the dish he’d been washing, dried his hands on the dish towel hanging on the handle to the oven, and hurried over.

Shirley stood on the other side, looking maybe more disheveled than Jake remembered ever having seen her. Her hair was haphazardly thrown into a messy bun at the top of her head, and strands stuck out this way and that. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying, and her shirt was tucked into her pants only on one side. She wrung her hands together as she looked up at him and then past him, and when she didn’t find whatever she was looking for, he saw what little color was left drain from her face.

“Is he okay?” she asked, her voice sounding raw and uncertain.

Jake smiled tightly and nodded, then stepped out of the way and motioned her inside. “He’s still sleeping.”

“Still? ”

“Um, yeah. About an hour now,” Jake answered.

Shirley walked past him, and he closed the front door softly, then turned around and watched her stop just next to the kitchen table, her eyes trained down the hallway and her arms now crossed over her chest. Her gaze shifted back to Jake, and he nodded.

“He’s in the first room right there on the right. The door’s open, if you wanted to check on him,” he explained quietly.

A single tear slid down Shirley’s cheek, and she reached up to brush it away as she nodded. “Thank you, Jake.”

She didn’t hesitate, though her steps were careful and silent as she made her way down the hall. Jake stayed back, giving her space, but he watched her stop in the doorway, set one hand on the doorjamb, and gaze into the room. Her small frame seemed to tremble a little as she stood there, and when she lifted one hand up and covered her mouth, maybe to stifle a sob, Jake tore his eyes away, feeling like he was intruding on a private moment.

He limped back into the kitchen and started heating water for tea. Minutes later, after the tea had steeped, he heard a quiet sniffle, and he lifted his eyes to see her stopped at the end of the hallway, looking up at him. She had a tight smile now, and she blinked and seemed to reset herself, then she started forward again, walking in his direction.

He held up one of the mugs. “Tea? It’s lemon balm and honey.”

“That’s Ryan’s favorite,” she said softly, and Jake nodded.

“The, uh, very first night he was here, actually... that’s what he had,” Jake told her.

Her smile tightened and then faded as she accepted the mug. She didn’t take a sip right away, but set it on the island and stared down at it, her hands wrapping around the warm ceramic. “He’s... been through so much. I can’t believe I wasn’t here with him today. What does he know?”

She lifted her eyes, and Jake gave her a small smile and tilted his head toward the table. “Do you want to sit, and we can talk? I’m not much of a cook, as I think you know by now.” That made her smile a little more, and Jake laughed lightly and shook his head. “But I can make pretty decent chicken soup, and I just finished. Are you hungry?”

“That sounds lovely, Jake. Thank you.”

She took her tea over to the table, and Jake took a bowl out of the cupboard and added two ladles full of the steaming-hot chicken soup for her. A moment later, he set the bowl on the table in front of her, along with a spoon and napkin, and then took the seat across from her. When she didn’t immediately move, Jake let out a quiet laugh .

“It’s quite edible, I promise. Not everything I make is, but this one is pretty foolproof, even for me.”

She smiled and shook her head gently. “Oh, I’m not scared to eat it. I’m just tired. The drive was stressful, and all I wanted to do was see my baby. I was so worried. I know—” Shirley cut herself off and shook her head again. “I know I shouldn’t have been worried. I knew he was with you, and... and I trust you. You... care about him, a lot.”

Jake’s cheeks felt warm, and he dropped his gaze to his own tea. “I do,” he admitted, his heart stuttering. I love him. He almost said the words, but he had the sense Shirley maybe already knew. “And I was right here with him when he saw. It was a news article. On his phone.” With a grimace, Jake looked back up. “He, uh, saw Hirsh’s picture. I wish he hadn’t, but neither of us knew, and we’d just come up from the beach. He, uh, had a panic attack. But I was there with him. I think... I think he’s okay. But it was a shock—to see Hirsh.”

Shirley wiped another tear away before it could fall. She nodded and sniffled and then looked back down. “I’m glad you were here with him. Honestly, it’s maybe even better that you were with him than if I’d been here. He has this trust in you. That connection is...” She trailed off, but Jake saw the soft smile on her face, and when she looked up at him again, her eyes were shining. “It’s something very, very special, isn’t it?”

Oh, yeah. She knew.

He gave a small nod. “It is, and I cherish it very much.”

Shirley was quiet then, and she blinked and lowered her eyes to her soup. “You aren’t having any?” she asked.

Jake shook his head. “I will later, when Rye wakes up.”

That answer seemed to satisfy her, because she picked up the spoon and took a small bite. And the smile returned to her face. “It’s really very good, Jake. Will you share the recipe with me?”

“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Let me write it down for you.”

And he stood and moved back into the kitchen to get a notepad and pen.