He had just about talked himself into getting up when Rye’s shaky voice broke the silence.
“Um...” There was a quiet sniffle and the sound of a mug scraping lightly across the table, and when Jake looked up, Rye was sitting down in the seat to Jake’s left, his hands wrapped tightly around his mug. He stared at the steam wafting up from the hot liquid for another second and then closed his eyes. “I n-need to... talk to Jake... for a few minutes. Alone. P-please.” He shook his head and added, “I-I’m s-sorry, mama.”
“Oh, no, it’s okay, sweetie. I’ve got, um, some laundry to fold or something anyway. You two talk or whatever you need, okay? And you ate lunch earlier, right? I don’t need to make you anything? Are you hungry?”
Rye just shook his head once, and then Shirley stood up, gave him a brief hug and a quick kiss on the top of his head, and smiled weakly at Jake before disappearing with her tea down the hallway. The door shut with a click, which made Rye flinch.
Jake waited quietly, watching Rye’s fingers tighten around his mug. It was probably a minute or two before Rye started to talk, and when he did, his words came slowly, punctuated by his normal pauses and some new sort of anxious stuttering.
“I-I want to . . . to t-t-tell you wh-what happened. Is that . . . is that okay?”
“Of course, yes,” Jake answered softly, trying to keep his own voice level. “Whatever you need to say, I’m here to listen.”
Rye nodded weakly and then stared at his mug for another moment before he continued. “I-I’m... really sorry about... um, what happened. I was fine, and then... then I heard you say ‘Nancy,’ a-and I—”
Rye let out a short breath, shook his head, and lifted his eyes to Jake’s. He looked so scared, so vulnerable, and Jake swallowed as he nodded encouragingly. Rye blinked and lowered his eyes again.
“The day I escaped... the man, he—he got a phone call, a-and he said—he said”—Rye’s voice dropped lower, barely a whisper, but the harshness of the words was still clear enough as he seemed to force them out—“‘It’s probably fuckin’ Nancy again.’”
With a sudden jolt, Rye pushed his chair back a bit, and it scraped the ground, the rough sound echoing in the otherwise quiet room. Jake tensed, ready for Rye to take off, but he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his forehead to rest on the table, his blond curls falling down to partially cover his face, and he exhaled a shuddering breath.
Then, somehow, he continued. “The man told me... not to m-move or... or he’d kill me. But I think... I think he was... going to finally kill me anyway. Or—or soon. H-he was going to soon. And, um, so wh-when he... when he left the door open, I ran.”
God. Jake felt cold and nauseous.
A phone call.
A phone call from someone who might’ve been named Nancy.
And a door left open.
That was all that had saved Rye from... whatever his fate might have been that night.
It was terrifying. And awful. And suddenly many more of those little pieces fell into place: the state Jake had found Rye in; Rye’s aversion to closed doors; and yeah, his reaction to Jake greeting Nancy at the post office.
Fuck. What if... what if ithadbeen Nancy—postal worker Nancy—who had called “the man” that night?
Jake’s hands tightened on his mug, and he let out a slow breath to steady himself as he studied his friend’s trembling figure.
God...A phone call. And a decision. Rye’s decision to run.
“You’re so, so brave, Rye,” he murmured softly, and Rye turned his head slightly to look at Jake. His eyes held that deep pain in them again, and Jake shook his head. “You’re so incredibly brave.”
He’d told Rye that before, and Rye’s response then had been to say,“I don’t feel brave.”But right here, right now, Jake knew just as surely as he had then that he was looking at the bravest person he’d ever met.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Rye
Shutthefuckup.Stop talking. Keep your mouth shut.
Stupid child.
Stupid fuckin’ child.
Rye shuddered and closed his eyes against the rush of emotions. His heart was racing. Still unsteady. Still making him feel lightheaded and weak and dizzy. And he’d only said about half of what he’d planned.
Shut the fuck up, stupid fuckin’ child.
