Pieces of Home

67. Chapter Sixty-Six

Chapter Sixty-Six

Rye

Rye crawled into the bed in Jake’s extra room at nearly midnight, worn out from all the talking. For once, he was glad he didn’t have work the next morning, though he knew he probably still wouldn’t get to sleep in. Jake got up every morning at the same time like clockwork, and Rye wanted to be up with him.

He closed his eyes and listened to the gentle sounds of the ocean waves coming through the window, and he sighed contentedly. He liked it here. Loved it here, actually. Not that he didn’t like his mom’s house. But here felt different. Here felt safer, maybe. Safer and softer and just more... like home . Which didn’t really make sense to him, seeing as this wasn’t his home.

He turned from his side onto his back, opened his eyes, and stared up at the ceiling, pulling the comforter all the way to his chin. Thoughts started swirling around in his head—memories of the first time he’d woken up in this bed, fearful and in pain, clashing with new memories, just-formed memories. Much more pleasant memories.

Memories of Jake. Of Jake’s chest. Of Rye... touching Jake’s chest. Underneath his shirt.

He swallowed hard as he remembered the feel of Jake’s warmth, smooth skin under his hand, the tickle of Jake’s chest hair, the way Jake had shivered and then held Rye tighter. The... way his own arousal had stirred. In that good way he really still wasn’t used to yet.

Heat rushed lower, and he felt it again—a gentle tug, a throb as his shaft began to harden. He screwed his eyes shut, waiting for a familiar wave of shame and unpleasantness, but it didn’t come. Instead, there was warmth. And love. And some odd anticipation, his heart racing.

Had Jake felt the same thing? And what had Rye’s touch felt like for Jake?

Maybe he’d be bold enough, ready enough, soon. Maybe he’d be able to let Jake touch him soon. Because he really wanted to find out .

Jake had moaned. The sound replayed in Rye’s ears, deep and low and needy . And Rye couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to know.

His fingers brushed along his stomach, up under his shirt, taking the same path he’d taken when touching Jake over an hour ago now. Along the line above his pajama pants and then up to his chest. He shivered and turned his head to muffle a moan into his pillow as his arousal throbbed again.

God, he’d never . . .

He shifted onto his side, facing away from the door, and his hand slipped down under the hem of his pants, under his boxer briefs, until he was touching himself, running his open palm down his shaft. It pulsed, growing harder, longer, hotter, and he buried his head in his pillow and moaned again, unable to stop himself.

It felt good.

He’d never voluntarily touched himself like this before. He’d never wanted to. But he forced away all the thoughts about why that was, and he let himself imagine Jake. Jake’s perfect, solid, muscular chest that Rye couldn’t wait to get to see, now that he’d felt it. Jake’s strong arms holding him, Jake’s lips kissing him softly and then maybe not quite as softly. Jake’s... love.

“Ah, mmm, mmm...” The nonsense words left his mouth on a sharp breath, followed almost immediately by another moan, which he again tried to muffle into his pillow. And he let his hand close around his shaft this time.

He pumped once.

“I love you.”

And then again.

“I love this.”

And one more time.

“I love us.”

And that was all it took. Rye squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his face into his pillow as a series of strong, hot pulses crashed through him, over him, around him. A warmth spilled out over his fist and onto his stomach, and he shuddered at the final throb of his shaft in his hand.

Then he lay there, his hand still wrapped around himself, his whole body trembling as he came back down from wherever he’d just gone. And he breathed into his pillow, slow, ragged breaths that shook just like he did. A brief, fleeting prickle of shame dampened the heat still pulsing through him, but he quickly pushed it away.

And when he thought he could maybe trust his legs enough to carry him, he slipped his hand out of his pants, climbed off the bed to get a fresh set of clothes, and then snuck down the brightly lit hallway to the bathroom to clean himself up and get changed.

Rye was up early the next morning, even before Jake. He made coffee—something he still could only barely tolerate on a good day—and poured it into a tall glass filled with ice, then added large amounts of milk and chocolate syrup. He’d downed the entire glass before Jake came padding out from his room, holding onto the wall to steady himself as he limped along. His hair was a mess, sticking up every which way, and he rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he stopped at the end of the hallway.

“Good morning,” Rye greeted, although as soon as he said the words, he realized his voice sounded full of a fake optimism. Forced. Or something. And he frowned and looked back down at his now-empty glass. “I-I can... make you some coffee too.”

“Hmm? Oh, um, yeah. Sure. Thanks. I, uh... It’s only six. You’re up early. Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

Yes. Rye frowned again. And no. Why was he up so early?

He’d slept... really well. Like, really well. After he’d changed and gone back to bed last night, he’d fallen right to sleep, probably with some ridiculous smile on his face. And he’d slept for most of the night. He hadn’t had nightmares that he could remember or felt uncomfortable in his bed. He didn’t feel uncomfortable now, either.

So why, when he’d woken up maybe almost an hour ago, had he not just gone right back to sleep?

He lifted his eyes as Jake pushed away from the wall and padded over the rest of the way into the kitchen, concern in his expression. And something in Rye flickered. Desire. Or want. Or need.

He flinched back a step and then scrunched his eyes closed as hot shame crept up into his cheeks.

“Rye?”

Jake was still a few feet away, and he seemed to have stopped, which Rye both appreciated and suddenly felt quite angry about. And that made no sense to him.

His hands balled up into fists as he fought with himself for a minute. Hell, he didn’t even know what he was fighting about. He just had this... this feeling that he should... what? Run? Retreat? Cower? He wasn’t even sure .

And he hated that.

“Sorry,” he forced out, unwilling to let his voice be taken from him in that moment. “Sorry, I thought I was okay. I just need—” He stopped and shook his head, unsure of what it was he actually needed. But he fought it again. He could just tell Jake that. He would just tell Jake that. He opened his mouth, and a stifling pain shot through him, up his back and into his head, splitting his skull. But he fought against that too. “I thought I was feeling okay,” he said, “but now I’m not, and I don’t really know why. Can you...” What would help him? Curse words screamed in his head, but he let his own defiance shut them down. “Can you just come closer? But slowly? And...” Speak, dammit. “And hold my hand? I want that right now.”

“Of course,” Jake said, his gentle words washing over Rye and soothing some of the intensity of whatever these other emotions were.

Rye forced his eyes open, and something in that also helped. Maybe the bright light of the room or the reminder of where he was. He wasn’t sure. Then he lowered his hand to his side. He’d been gripping his upper arm, pinching himself hard, like he used to when he’d get really scared. And he hadn’t even realized it.

Channeling a little bit of that anger still smoldering inside him into what surely felt like another act of defiance, he stepped back up to the counter and then reached out with his hand as Jake approached. He couldn’t look yet; he kept his eyes trained on the counter. But when Jake’s hand closed lightly around his, he nearly shuddered with relief and only barely managed to keep himself upright.

“This is okay?” Jake’s soft voice flowed over him, warm and caring and exactly what he needed.

With a tight nod, Rye took a small step closer to Jake and then another. Jake’s hand squeezed his.

“Talk to me. Please,” Rye said, his voice trembling as he forced out each word.

“Yeah. Okay, I can do that.” Jake moved closer and set his other hand on the counter. “So, I was hoping today to get to show you something down on the beach. The tide is supposed to be all the way out at around ten, and if we walk just a little farther down, past where we usually turn around, there are these rocky tide pools that are really, really neat...”

Jake kept going on, describing some of the marine life they might see, though Rye wasn’t really taking in any of the details, and slowly—much, much too slowly—the dread and anger and whatever else finally began to fade. By the time Jake stopped to take a longer breath, Rye had managed to shuffle a little closer, and he closed his eyes and then leaned into Jake’s chest.

Solid. Warm. Safe. Home .

He shuddered and looped his free arm around Jake’s waist. “Hold me,” he begged, needing more of that feeling. He hated that he felt this—this almost desperate need—but he didn’t fight it this time, and all those other feelings stayed away. Even the shame.

He should maybe still feel ashamed to need so much from Jake. But when Jake did as he asked, letting go of Rye’s hand and wrapping Rye up in his arms and whispering a quiet “I love you” into Rye’s ear, he was able to keep the shame away too.

Rye breathed another sigh and rested his head on Jake’s chest. “Thank you.”

“Better now?”

“Yeah, very much.”

“Good.”

They stayed there for a few more minutes until Rye’s heart slowed back down. When Rye stepped away, Jake immediately took his hand, and he was grateful for that.

“I thought I was okay,” he repeated, and Jake nodded. “I’m not really sure what just happened. I’m sorry.”

This time, Jake shook his head, and he gently tugged Rye back up to him and carefully wrapped his arms around Rye, holding him in another soft, loving embrace. It was even warmer and more comfortable than the last hug, and Rye leaned into him with a contented sigh. A light kiss pressed to the top of his head.

“Do you want to sit?” Jake asked quietly.

And as though Jake had predicted it, an overwhelming exhaustion hit suddenly and without warning. His legs nearly gave out, and nausea rolled through his stomach. Groaning, he clung tightly to his boyfriend, whose arms supported him easily.

“Or maybe you should go back to bed?” Jake suggested lightly, rubbing Rye’s back. “It’s really early still. And we were up late last night.”

Last night. Rye scrunched his eyes shut.

Probably all of this had to do with last night —their conversation, the touching, and... and what Rye had done by himself later in bed—even if he didn’t understand completely why, or the feelings didn’t make sense. That was something his therapist had mentioned—he might not always be able to immediately identify or understand what triggered a reaction of his, or he might even have a delayed reaction to something... like last night .

It made sense now that he let himself think about it. But then he also started to shake a little, and he nodded. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Okay. Let me help you. Is that okay? ”

Rye nodded again, and he did. He let Jake support him as they walked together back down the hallway. Jake stopped with him in the doorway to the extra bedroom and rubbed his back. Then he started forward by himself.

Jake stayed standing in the doorway.

Part of him thought maybe that was best. But some greater part of him stopped after just one step, a chill sending a shiver through him. He shook his head and turned around, back to Jake, and when he reached out his hand, Jake took it, threading their fingers together. The warmth returned right away, and he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms low around Jake’s waist.

“I actually don’t want to be alone,” he said, and though his words were muffled into Jake’s shirt, Jake seemed to understand him anyway.

Jake returned the embrace, kissed the top of Rye’s head, and said, “I can stay with you. Pull up a chair. Just let me grab a book or something to read, if that’s okay, and—”

“Can you just hold me?” Rye cut in, squeezing Jake tighter. And because he still didn’t want to give in to that voice inside him trying to silence his words, he continued. “We can lie down. Together. In your bed. And you can hold me. Please.”

He wasn’t even sure if that was a good idea, especially given whatever reaction he’d just had that had brought them here. But he knew he needed to be with Jake right then. More than anything. And so, when Jake asked a quiet “are you sure?,” Rye nodded quickly.

“Okay,” Jake agreed. “Okay. But tell me if anything gets to be too much. Okay?”

Rye nodded again. Then Jake stepped back, his hand slowly sliding around to touch Rye’s forearm. They held hands, and Jake directed them back out of the room and then farther down the hallway. He paused to turn on the light and then glanced back at Rye.

Before he even asked, Rye nodded. And Jake’s soft, kind smile lent him more strength and courage. He followed Jake into the brightly lit room, and he let himself glance around for just a second as Jake guided him toward the bed. The room felt comfortable, warm, welcoming, with medium gray-brown walls and ocean-themed art. There was a huge bookcase taking up an entire wall and a closet on the far side of the room that wasn’t quite shut all the way. Jake’s cane sat leaning up against a tall dresser made of a deep mahogany wood, and the dark-gray comforter on his bed was rumpled, like he hadn’t straightened it out when he’d gotten out of bed a bit ago.

Jake walked them right up to the edge of the bed and squeezed Rye’s hand. “I, um, usually sleep on this side, but wherever you feel most comfortable is fine with me. This side is, um, closest to the door, so I understand if you want... this side.” Jake’s hand released Rye’s, and his arm slipped around Rye’s waist.

And Rye just nodded.

“That’s a yes, you want this side?” Jake asked for clarification. When Rye nodded again, Jake bent down and kissed the top of Rye’s head. “Okay. Here, let me help you sit.”

Rye closed his eyes. Jake was so sweet and kind to him, and for another of those fleeting moments, he felt something deep—shame and guilt and some awful reminder of how broken he was. But then Jake’s fingers brushed along his cheek, and Jake’s soft voice said, “There we are. Perfect,” as Rye sat. And that last word, Perfect , echoed louder than everything else inside his head.

Jake’s warmth disappeared for a moment, and Rye felt the bed shift behind him. There was a quiet grunt and then fingers running lightly down his forearm. “Rye? You can lie down now.”

So he did. He pulled his feet up onto the bed, crawled under the covers, and then settled on his back and pulled the blanket all the way up to his chin before opening his eyes. He turned his head sideways to see Jake right there, no more than a foot away, lying on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. His expression was soft and caring, as always, and he gave Rye a smile that looked... cautious.

“Do you still want me to hold you?” Jake asked, and there was truly no expectation in his voice.

Rye tried for a smile, though his throat seemed tight. But because he didn’t want to say yes and then have himself not be able to handle it when Jake touched him, he hesitated for a moment. “Yes,” Rye said, “but, um, give me a minute?”

“Take your time.”

He nodded. And the bed shifted a bit as Jake settled down onto his back. Then Rye closed his eyes, turned on his side, and scooted closer and then closer and then closer again. Jake moved a tiny bit, too, and then Rye was there—in that spot he knew and loved so much, with his head in the crook of Jake’s shoulder and Jake’s arm around him and his hand right in the middle of Jake’s chest.

He let out a shuddering breath as overwhelming feelings of rightness and safety spread through him. And when Jake kissed his forehead and whispered a gentle “I love you,” all the rest of that tension left in him seemed to fade. He snuggled in a little closer still, and his next breath also shuddered, sending a tremor through his whole body.

But Jake was there holding him, breathing another kiss on his forehead and lightly stroking his forearm in the most wonderful way. And he felt... okay.

At least okay enough to let himself relax back into a comfortable sleep for a while.