“Shit. Fuckin’ phone. It’s probably fuckin’ Nancy again. Dammit.” The rough hand gripping his arm tightened painfully, and he muffled a cry, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stay right there, or you’ll wish you were dead when I’m finished with you.”
Nancy.
The man had gotten a phone call fromNancy.
And Rye was going to die. The man was going to kill him this time. Actually, really kill him.
He turned around, barely seeing through the thick haze of darkness suffocating him, and he pushed at the door as hard as he could. It swung open ahead of him, and he stumbled out into the cold rain.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jake
Jakestartledfromthethud next to him as the box Rye had been holding crashed to the floor. He stumbled sideways slightly, holding back a curse as pain shot up his leg. There was another dull thud and then some sort of quiet, muffled whimper, and he shook himself and turned toward Rye.
His heart leapt up in his chest.
Shit.
The younger man’s face was pale, all the color drained, and his eyes, which had been so expressive earlier, so eager and happy when they’d been enjoying the rain together, were now wide and wild. Rye had backed into the door, his hands reaching behind him, grasping frantically as though he needed outnow.
“Rye, hey, you’re okay,” Jake said, but it seemed like Rye didn’t hear him. Or maybe Ryecouldn’thear him.
The wild in his eyes, the pure terror—it was something Jake remembered all too well from the first few days Rye had been at his house. Only now, it had some different meaning to Jake. Something deeper and more awful.
“Rye?” he said again, softly still, but Rye continued to scramble, and then he turned, his hands flattening against the glass door, and he pushed it open and staggered outside, his legs obviously shaking and unsteady.
“Shit,” Jake hissed.
He stepped forward to follow Rye, leaning heavily on his cane, and he hobbled as fast as he could outside, his heart aching as he watched Rye stumble and trip and then fall to the ground in his panic. The younger man crawled a few feet on the pavement, some frantic panic still driving him, and then he stopped and covered his head with his arms, cowering on the ground. His body shook and shuddered, and when Jake took a few slow, careful steps toward Rye, he could hear Rye’s sobs.
“No, no, no, no, no . . .”
Jake’s stomach dropped—the feeling sharp and uncomfortable—and he stayed back a few feet, almost scared to move closer. The door behind him made a quiet sound, and he heard Nancy’s voice.
“Oh my. Is he . . . ?”
Jake shook his head slowly in response to the question Nancy hadn’t quite asked, but he didn’t turn around. “I’m not sure what happened, but I don’t want to scare him more. So stay back and quiet, okay?” Jake said, keeping his voice low.
Nancy murmured, “Of course.” And Jake heard her take a couple of steps backward.
“Thanks,” he said. Then he bit his lip, holding back the string of curses running through his head as he replayed the last few minutes. Dammit. He had no idea what had triggered Rye.
Moving as slowly as he could, Jake stepped out from under the building’s awning and toward his friend. Rye’s repetitive mumbling had quieted, but he seemed to curl in on himself more, his strangled breaths raspy and short. Jake’s stomach twisted in a painful knot.
“Hey, Rye. Hey, you’re okay now,” he said, infusing his words with every ounce of softness he could. Rye’s arms tightened over his head, and he made another awful whimper that sounded so... pained. Jake tried not to react—at least not outwardly—and he took another small step toward Rye. “Rye, it’s just me, Jake. Can you hear me?”
Rye’s whole body tensed, and Jake stopped and waited. Then he took another step forward and another, slowly. And even though they were in the middle of the walkway and the rain was still falling, making little puddles form on the pavement, Jake lowered himself down to the ground next to Rye.
He was so close now that he could almost feel Rye shaking, and he could hear Rye’s uneven breathing and the sound of Rye’s jeans scraping the ground when Rye shifted to curl his knees under himself even more. God, it was awful, and it broke his heart.
“Shh, shh, you’re okay. Can you hear me, Rye? I’m here... Take a deep breath, okay? You can do it...” He kept talking quietly, encouragingly, sitting there next to his friend as rain soaked his hair and his jeans. And it took several minutes—several long, agonizing minutes—but Rye finally managed a longer breath and then another. “There you go. You’re doing great. Long, slow breaths, okay? You’re safe, Rye. You’re safe.”
Jake had no fucking clue whether he might be doing the right thing, but he scooted even a little closer and continued speaking softly. “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”
God, how he wanted to hug his friend—wrap his arms around Rye and rub his back and comfort him, whisper gently into his ear just how important he was to Jake. It almost hurt, how much he wished he could do that. And when Rye finally turned his head and glanced out from under his arm at Jake, his eyes red-rimmed and full of fear, the feeling only intensified.
Jake managed a small, kind smile. “Hey, Rye,” he said.
