“Oh,sweetie,thisisgoing to sting a little. I’m sorry. Hold still, okay?”
Jake sat across from Rye and his mom at the kitchen table, his jaw clenched as he watched Rye flinch when Shirley gently wiped away the blood from Rye’s palms. Jake had apologized at least five times already, but it was hard to not speak up again, especially when Rye screwed his eyes shut and held his breath.
He still had no idea what he was apologizing for. He still had no idea what the hell had happened. And Rye hadn’t spoken since they’d gotten in the car at the post office. God, Jake felt completely useless and awful, especially when Rye flinched again and pulled his hand away, shaking his head.
“Okay, sweetie, all done. Why don’t you go change out of those wet clothes, okay?” Shirley suggested, and although she was obviously trying to sound upbeat, Jake heard the worry in her tone.
Rye didn’t respond, but he stood stiffly and then limped off toward the hallway and disappeared into his bedroom.
Jake just stared after him, the last thirty minutes replaying over and over in his head as his chest ached. He hadn’t even noticed he was shivering until Shirley laid a light blanket over his shoulders.
“You’re just as sopping wet as Ryan,” she said, and Jake huffed a small laugh and shook his head.
“Shirley, I’m—”
“If you say you’re sorry one more time...” Her tone was light yet serious at the same time, although she trailed off without finishing whatever threat she’d been about to make. Instead, she sank down into the seat next to Jake with a long sigh. “What happened, Jake?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Honestly. He was fine one minute, helping me—” Jake’s voice caught, and he closed his eyes and reached up to pull the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “He was helping me carry a box into the post office because he—because he’d seen my leg was hurting, I think. And the next thing I knew...”
Tension coiled in Jake’s gut, and he glanced back down the hallway. He could just see Rye’s door, cracked open a few inches, a beam of light streaking out into the hallway.
“Something made him scared. Really, really scared. He couldn’t tell me what it was.” Jake shook his head and turned back to Shirley.
“I’m glad you were there with him,” she said quietly. “Whatever happened, I’m glad he wasn’t alone.”
And Jake could only nod his agreement.
Shirley stood. “I’m going to make us all some tea. Tea’s a good idea, right?”
“Yeah, that would be great. Thank you.”
He knew he should probably leave, give Rye some space so he could settle back down. But he didn’t want to go; he didn’treallythink he shouldgo. Not yet. So he accepted Shirley’s invitation to stay and have tea, and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself as he closed his eyes.
Immediately, images of Rye curled in on himself, lying on the ground in the rain, wet and cold, forced their way back into his head, and he felt nauseous.
“Good afternoon, Nancy!”
That had been all he’d said.
“Good afternoon, Nancy!”
He’d lifted his hand to wave, but... that had been just before. Right?
He replayed the scene over and over and over, trying to figure it out, trying to understand how things had turned so sharply and so quickly. Still, he couldn’t seem to make sense of it.
Trauma could be complex; he knew that. And although he didn’t understand the extent of Rye’s trauma, he knew things as simple as a particular smell or a certain color or texture or even just a single word could all be triggering.
What had triggered Rye? What was it that had made Rye panic and take off so quickly?
Shirley finished setting their tea on the table just as Rye came back into the room. He still limped slightly, and his hair was loose but freshly combed, the wet strands curling at the ends. He stopped a couple of feet from the table and shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his dark sweatpants. The thick blue sweatshirt he wore hung loosely on his thin frame, and his cheeks were still red, presumably from the time they’d been out in the cold.
“Here, sweetie,” Shirley said softly. “I made tea. It’ll help warm you up.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Rye lifted his eyes, but as soon as his gaze met Jake’s, he twisted away, his shoulders hunching even more.
And that hurt.
He... should go. Let Rye be. Or something. That was probably the best thing to do right now. Maybe Rye would feel more comfortable without him around, and he’d be able to open up to his mom. Or maybe Rye just needed time, and he’d want to talk to Jake more another day.
