Pieces of Home

61. Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty

Rye

Rye awoke with a start into a darkness that made no sense, his heart pounding as his dreams continued chasing him. Muffled footsteps close by, somewhere he couldn’t see, sent a cold shiver through him, and he shoved himself sideways, away from the sound. Echoes of curses uttered in anger were followed by flashes of that sneering face and a whiff of cigarettes and staleness.

He scrambled away, pushing at the suffocating heaviness surrounding him, but he seemed to get caught in it. Stuck. Held in place.

And he panicked.

He pushed and pushed and kicked with his legs and clawed at the surface beneath him, pulling himself away from the footsteps, all while gasping for breath. Then his hand found an edge of something, and he tugged himself sideways and tumbled down to a hard, carpeted surface with a thud, landing solidly on his back.

Brightness filled his vision, and the suffocating heaviness was gone, though his heart still raced. He sucked in a deep breath of warm, comfortable air and then blinked and looked up at the plain white ceiling above. There was a texture to it, the tiny ridges and divots highlighted by a mixture of the soft natural light coming from the window and the yellower artificial light coming from the other side of the room.

Rye turned his head slowly, blinking again as his eyes adjusted and as the throbbing pain in his temples began to recede. His view was blocked by a bed. He’d been... in bed?

“Rye?” The quiet voice from the other side of the room made his stomach drop for half a second, and he pushed himself away, farther from the footsteps and the voice, toward the corner. And when he got there, he huddled up, pulling his knees to his chest as though that might somehow protect him.

It had never protected him .

He closed his eyes and buried his head down in his knees and tried to reason with his awful brain as it toyed with him. Curses being flung around as harsh whispers in his ears, ghost touches that were rough and painful, and a face that he wished he could unsee. A face that he’d somehow just seen on a... phone screen?

Where was he? And where was . . .

“J-Jake?”

Please. Please, please.

“Yeah, Rye, it’s me. I’m here. Can I come in? Can I sit with you?”

He’d asked Rye the same thing . . . earlier? In the living room? After . . .

“Yes,” Rye forced out.

Heavy, uneven footsteps came closer, but he recognized them now, and they were the opposite of scary. They were Jake’s. He swallowed and lifted his chin to see Jake limping slowly toward him, his expression gentle and kind and caring.

And his heart stuttered.

He blinked away the funny feeling in his chest and rested his head against his knees again as Jake lowered himself to the floor. A moment later, a hand settled ever so softly on his shoulder, a clear intention in the touch—to soothe and reassure. And it helped. A lot.

Relief mixed with feelings of safety and warmth and belonging spread through him, slowly pushing back the still-jarring panic he’d been feeling only moments ago.

Jake’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Can I hold you, Rye?”

Something inside him tensed at little fragments of memories and dreams, being held against his will, roughly, painfully. But Jake’s voice filtered in through the haze.

You can always say no.

He could. Jake had always given him a choice. But maybe... maybe Rye wanted to have Jake hold him?

“It’s okay to say no. I just want to be here with you,” Jake said quietly.

Rye scrunched his eyes shut harder for a second, then he turned his head to look at Jake. Jake wasn’t smiling, but his expression still had that softness to it, that kind understanding. It helped, just like his touch. And he realized he did . He did want to have Jake hold him.

Closing his eyes again, Rye nodded slowly. He heard Jake let out a long breath, and then Rye shifted—first to set his hands on the floor, the carpet soft against his palms, and then to push himself over closer to Jake. They shuffled around a bit awkwardly until Rye managed to get settled in a new position between Jake’s legs, his knees still bent up but his back leaning against Jake’s chest. Jake rested his hands loosely on Rye’s upper arms, rubbing gently, soothingly. And Rye tilted his head slightly to the side as Jake seemed to bury his face in Rye’s hair.

“Mmm, is this okay?” Jake’s breath was warm on his neck, and it felt good. Better than Rye had expected.

He couldn’t make himself speak, but he nodded and closed his eyes. Jake’s gentleness surrounded him, and he scooted back even a little more, until his whole back was flush against Jake’s front and he was wrapped up in some sort of cocoon of warmth and safety. They stayed that way for a while, Jake holding him, and the lingering unease from whatever had been in his dreams—the pain and fear and panic—continued to fade.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked after a few more minutes, the words whispered into Rye’s hair. One of Jake’s hands slid just a little lower on Rye’s arm, stopping at his elbow. That also felt good.

But he wasn’t entirely sure how to answer Jake’s question because he still hadn’t let himself think about everything.

Why he’d been sleeping in the middle of the day.

Why he’d been having nightmares.

Why he’d woken up in a panic, sure that the blanket he’d been wrapped in had been trying to suffocate him.

He pressed himself back against Jake and shook his head. “I . . . don’t . . . know.”

Jake might have nodded. “That’s okay. Do you want to talk about it?”

Rye’s chest tightened, and he clenched his jaw and shook his head. He wasn’t ready yet. He just wanted to be here for a bit longer. To stay here in this warm, comfortable place, surrounded by all this... love.

Their morning together—before they’d made it back into the house—replayed itself in his mind, culminating in the moment he’d touched Jake’s lips with his thumb. He’d been so ready. Ready to kiss his boyfriend, ready to show Jake what he was feeling.

Then he’d pulled out his phone and seen that picture...

He tensed and immediately opened his eyes, focusing on the individual fibers in the carpet rather than the image in his head. Then he tilted his head back again until Jake met him, their cheeks touching.

And that felt much better.

He wanted to tell Jake that, but he still couldn’t really seem to make himself say much. Instead, he moved one hand to set it over Jake’s on his arm, and then he watched, letting the sight distract him. His fingers brushed over the top of Jake’s knuckles and then up to Jake’s wrist, and he played with Jake’s bracelet for a few seconds, studying the slightly rough texture of the braided material with his fingertips.

Jake hummed quietly, and Rye could feel the rumble in Jake’s chest. He blinked and closed his eyes again, glad when the darkness didn’t become scary and overwhelming. He felt Jake’s free hand slide back up his arm to his shoulder and then a little higher, the softest of touches fluttering against the bare skin of his neck.

“Mmm, can I, uh... sorry. Is this okay, Rye?”

He nodded without hesitation because the touch felt incredible, and he tilted his head a little to the side to allow Jake to do it again. And Jake did. He touched Rye’s neck again, just with the tips of his fingers, lightly and slowly. Rye’s skin tingled. He breathed in sharply and might have made some little sound, and he felt Jake’s laugh, more warmth against his neck.

Kiss me. Right there. Your lips would feel good, I think. Please.

Jake’s hand slid back down to Rye’s shoulder and then his arm, and Jake seemed to hold Rye to him a little more, but in a way that somehow felt safe . Rye swallowed hard.

“You . . . can . . .” . . . kiss me.

He wanted to say it. But he couldn’t quite get himself to.

“Mmm.” Jake breathed deeply and slowly, and Rye almost groaned at the hot puff of air on his neck. “May I kiss you”—Jake’s hand left Rye’s arm one more time, and his fingers brushed that same spot on Rye’s neck—“right here?”

“Yes.”

There was another of those quiet hums from Jake and then a pause. And then he felt a soft warmth—different from the touch of Jake’s fingers—accompanied by the tickle of Jake’s beard against his skin. Jake’s lips lingered there for a few seconds, the kiss light and unassuming, and Rye definitely let out some little sound this time. When Jake pulled away, he didn’t go far, resting his cheek against Rye’s head as he hummed again.

“Mmm, I hope that was okay.”

“It was.” Rye’s heart had started racing at some point, though the feeling was nothing like what it had been during his panic earlier. Slowly, he shifted in Jake’s arms, turning his whole body sideways. Jake straightened out his leg and lowered it to the floor, and at the same time, Rye scooted forward until he could lift his feet up and set them on the other side of Jake’s thigh. Then he leaned into Jake and buried his head into the crook of Jake’s neck.

Thank you. This means so much to me.

Rye didn’t let himself think too much about things—about how he was able to let Jake hold him like this, so close. But he felt an overwhelming trust in his friend as Jake’s hand began softly rubbing his back, and he leaned into it more.

This feels safe and good. Thank you.

He wanted to speak. And he tried, but all he managed was a mumble of something incoherent against Jake’s neck. A light laugh rumbled in Jake’s chest.

“I’m going to pretend I understood you and that you said you’re famished and want to eat. I’m hungry too. I made us some chicken soup. I’ll have to reheat it by now, but that’ll just take a minute.”

With a small huff of an almost-laugh, Rye shook his head. “That wasn’t...”

“I know.” Jake’s hand stopped on Rye’s lower back. “But I thought I’d get a jump on it before my stomach growled at some really embarrassing time.”

Rye swallowed hard and brought his hand back around to set on Jake’s chest. He could feel Jake’s heart beating fast and strong, and he wondered for a second if his would feel the same to Jake. He took a long, slow breath, and then he tilted his head back. They were so close—so much closer now than when they’d stood together outside. And Jake’s lips were right there. Inches away.

Heat flooded his cheeks as Rye’s gaze flitted back up to Jake’s eyes. He lifted his hand and gently cupped Jake’s cheek. Then he brushed his thumb against Jake’s lips, as he had outside earlier. Jake inhaled sharply, and Rye almost smiled. He almost stretched up, almost leaned in closer. Almost kissed Jake.

But then he remembered how they’d been interrupted before.

How and why.

And he froze before dropping his hand back to Jake’s chest.

Vaguely, he felt Jake shift a bit and then Jake’s hand covering his. And when he leaned up against Jake again, settling his head back on Jake’s shoulder, he tried to ignore the shame and guilt sitting heavy on his chest.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, and it was the only word he could manage to say.

Jake just shook his head. “It’s okay. It’ll happen when you’re ready, and not before.”

“I . . . I was ready. Earlier. This morning.”

“I know. But it’s okay if you’re not now. Nothing is linear. Being ready for a new level of intimacy isn’t just a switch that flips on.”

“But I... I want to kiss you,” Rye said, forcing the words out. “I-I wanted to earlier. And I want to now. But—but then I just... I remembered wh-what...”

“What interrupted us before?” Jake guessed, and Rye’s stomach lurched.

It was almost painful.

He nodded, but he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to remember the image of that man on his phone screen or Jake’s words when he’d explained that the man had almost taken another boy. But he couldn’t stop himself, and he couldn’t forget, and suddenly, he needed to know. The question was right there, needing to be asked. So, scrunching his eyes closed, Rye forced out his next words, too, even as his chest constricted and it seemed harder to breathe.

“Did . . . they catch him? Please tell me.”

There was a pause, and then Jake cleared his throat. Rye clung to him, waiting. He could feel himself start to shake again, and he didn’t like it.

“The last update I got,” Jake started, his voice low and soft, “was maybe a half hour ago, just after your mom left.”

“My mom?”

“Yeah, she came by to see you, but you were sleeping. She stayed for a bit and then went home. She asked that we call her when you’re able to.”

Rye nodded a little into Jake’s shoulder, and Jake continued.

“Anyway, the last update—Rachel texted and told me they were just about to, uh, send in some special tactical unit. It might be over by now, but I—”

The buzz of a notification from Jake’s phone cut him off. Silently, Jake shifted a little to reach into his pocket, and Rye lifted his head off Jake’s shoulder, his chest still tight. Then he watched as Jake held the phone in one hand and tapped on the notification with his thumb. The screen loaded what looked like a text message, and Rye suddenly couldn’t look anymore. He closed his eyes and tried to take slow, steadying breaths.

“Ah, um, well, good timing, I suppose,” Jake said quietly after a few more seconds. “So, um, that was Rachel... and it’s, uh... it’s over.”

All the air left Rye’s lungs in a sharp exhale, and he collapsed against Jake, suddenly lightheaded. Strong, solid arms immediately wrapped him back in that gentle, warm cocoon. “It’s... it’s over?”

He felt Jake nod. “Yeah. Rachel said there were gunshots exchanged. Hirsh tried to shoot at the police when they entered the house, and, um, he... was... killed.”

“He’s . . . dead?”

“Yeah.”

Unable to breathe, Rye buried his head into Jake’s chest, pressing his face up against the soft wool of Jake’s sweater. He let his arms slip around Jake, and then he cried. He couldn’t really say why he was crying. He wasn’t happy someone had died, even if that someone was Raymond Hirsh. But he couldn’t stop the rush of overwhelming relief. He felt weak and dizzy and yet suddenly more grounded than he’d maybe ever felt, and all at once.

And Jake just let him cry, holding him, rubbing his back, whispering quiet words of reassurance .

Minutes passed until the messy burst of emotions finally calmed and he could breathe again. Jake talked him through that, too, encouraging him to inhale long and slow and count down the exhale. Then Jake gently brushed the tears from Rye’s cheeks with his thumbs.

And when Jake asked, “Can I kiss your forehead?,” Rye closed his eyes and nodded his consent.

It wasn’t a kiss on the lips—it wasn’t quite what Rye really wanted. But the tender touch of Jake’s fingertips as he tucked Rye’s hair back behind his ears and then the warmth of Jake’s lips against his forehead made him feel better and whole. And... loved.

“Are you okay?” Jake asked him again, touching their cheeks together.

This time, Rye was able to answer with a small nod. He wanted to say more, but he knew he needed time before he could. Part of him felt that brokenness he’d fought against the night before, and part of him felt some deep, consuming sadness and shame and guilt that he wasn’t sure how to shake.

But another part of him felt a bunch of little shards of hope wanting to piece themselves together inside his chest.

And that was the part he wanted to cling to the most.

They ate soup. At least, Rye tried to eat. His appetite wasn’t wonderful, but his body felt weak, so he made himself eat some. Jake sat next to him, talking quietly about one thing or another, encouraging him to eat however much he could.

After that, Rye tried to help put the food away and do the dishes, but he still felt some heavy, deep exhaustion, and the effort ended up being too much. So instead, he sat on the couch while Jake finished the dishes alone. Then, Jake called Rye’s mom, and they had a short conversation, which was mostly Jake playing translator for Rye’s nods and headshakes.

Before they hung up, Rye’s mom asked if he would be coming home that night, and Rye closed his eyes and nodded and said a quiet “yes, mama”—maybe the only two words he managed during the entire conversation. He didn’t really hear anything that came after, though he thought maybe there was something about how Jake should call Rachel or Wayne for an escort when they left Jake’s house.

When the phone call was over, Jake moved back into the kitchen to make them some tea .

Rye curled up in the corner of the couch and closed his eyes, and he must have fallen asleep because he woke up a few minutes later when Jake touched his shoulder lightly.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

Blinking his eyes open, Rye saw Jake holding out a mug of tea, a small smile on his face. A gentle warmth spread into his cheeks, and he managed what might have been a smile back as he reached up to take the tea.

“Thank you,” he said, closing his hands around the mug.

Jake tipped his head in acknowledgement, but then seemed to hesitate before motioning to the spot next to Rye on the couch. “Can I join you?”

Rye nodded and lowered his feet to the floor, and when Jake sat next to him, just a few inches too far away, Rye pushed himself out of the corner and cuddled up against Jake’s side.

Jake didn’t start talking this time; he let the silence be, and that felt just fine to Rye. When he’d had about half of his tea, he leaned forward and set the mug on the coffee table. Jake did the same. Then Rye turned and settled up against Jake more, letting his hand come to rest across Jake’s stomach. And he closed his eyes again.

“Mmm, are you comfortable there?” Jake asked as his arm slipped slowly around Rye’s shoulders, and Rye made some sort of quiet noise of agreement.

He was comfortable. Quite comfortable, in fact. And he actually wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, except that he knew he needed to go home .

That felt really important today.

“You’ll... drive me home?” he asked after a few more minutes.

Jake hummed another “Mm-hmm,” and he lowered his head to rest on top of Rye’s. It felt even more comfortable. And when Jake’s fingers started caressing the top of Rye’s hand with slow, light strokes, Rye really didn’t want to leave. “Whenever you want,” Jake murmured into Rye’s hair.

Rye huffed a small laugh.

“Mmm, what’s funny?” Jake asked, though he didn’t sound too confused.

Rye snuggled up against Jake a little more. “When you do that, I... just want to stay here... forever,” he said.

“Ah, well, maybe that was my plan all along.” There was a short pause, and then Jake let out a long breath and asked, “May I kiss the top of your head?”

The question was so careful and thoughtful that Rye hesitated, but only for a second. “Y-yeah.”

Jake smiled against him and then pressed the lightest of kisses into his hair. And it felt wonderful and intimate in a way. Rye sighed contentedly, and as he watched Jake’s fingers continue stroking back and forth across his hand, he found himself wishing he could tell Jake he didn’t have to ask anymore—that Jake could kiss him like that whenever he wanted to.

In fact, he wished... he wished he could kiss Jake how he’d wanted to earlier in the day, before all of everything had interrupted their beautiful morning together.

He closed his eyes and turned his hand over, happy but not surprised when Jake kept touching him, his fingertips tracing random patterns on Rye’s palm. He let out a small hum as his skin tingled with an odd warmth that he felt all the way down into his toes.

“I want to... kiss you,” Rye said quietly, and he shifted in Jake’s arms, tilting his head back. Jake gazed down at him with so much affection, Rye felt his heart stutter a little.

“I’d like that.” Jake brought his hand up to brush Rye’s hair back off his face, letting his fingers trail along Rye’s temple.

Rye shivered and then reached up and set his palm against Jake’s cheek. “You said that this morning, too, I think.”

“Ah, um, well, it’s true,” Jake said, his voice catching as he closed his eyes and seemed to lean into Rye’s touch.

Something about Jake’s words and how he said them, combined with the pure bliss in Jake’s expression, made Rye shiver again. He smoothed his thumb along Jake’s cheek, and then he stretched up just a little and touched his lips to Jake’s jawline.

“Mmm. You missed the target there,” Jake teased lightly, opening his eyes halfway.

Rye gave a small half-smile and shook his head. “I’m getting there.”

“Hmm.”

He repeated the same kiss, but just a little higher this time, and then again, letting himself feel everything—the coarseness of Jake’s beard, the tiny twitch of the muscle in Jake’s jaw, the warmth of Jake’s breath.

And then he pressed a kiss to the corner of Jake’s mouth. A tightness in his chest made him pause, and he took a couple of slow, deep breaths as Jake lowered his forehead to touch Rye’s.

“That was closer,” Jake whispered softly.

“Yeah, I’m . . . getting there.”

“Take your time.”

Rye laughed lightly but then ran his thumb across Jake’s cheek again.

And finally, finally , he leaned in the rest of the way and touched his lips lightly to Jake’s. The kiss was soft and full at the same time, and his stomach swooped in some unexpected, wonderful way. He made a little sound, some embarrassing whimper or something, and he felt Jake smile against his mouth. That, too, felt wonderful and warm and new.

Rye pulled back and dropped his chin, his heart racing. His hand slipped down to Jake’s chest at the same time as Jake’s fingers brushed against Rye’s jaw, sending another sharp shiver through him.

“Mmm, that was more, uh, on target,” Jake said as he leaned closer so their foreheads touched.

And Rye laughed quietly and pressed his hand into Jake’s chest. He could feel Jake’s heartbeat—strong and steady, and he swallowed hard as a mess of new emotions began to overwhelm him.

He closed his eyes. “Sorry I... sorry I took so long.”

“Ah, no,” Jake said softly. “It was more than worth the wait.”

Those words seemed to settle in the warmth growing in Rye’s chest, and he let out a long sigh and nodded. “Yeah, I... think so too.”