“He’s probably right. But does Ryan have to come with you? I’m not sure if that would be a good idea.”
“Only if he wants to,” Jake said. Then his voice seemed to soften, low and warm and reassuring again. “Rye, you can stay here. You don’t have to come. Only if you want to. I can handle it for you, okay?”
Rye didn’t know what was best, so he shook his head, but then nodded, but then shook his head again.
His mom laughed quietly. “Well, sweetie, that’s a real clear response if ever I saw one.” She rubbed his arm lightly and pressed a kiss against the side of his head. “Do you want to go?”
Want to?No.Feel like he should?Probably.Wish, yet again, that he could just go climb under the covers in his bedroom and fall asleep and forget about the whole fucking—
A sharp pain lanced through his chest at the curse, and he sucked in a breath.
He . . . should go. He should go.
With all the courage he could muster, he looked back up. His mom was watching him, her eyes filled with love and concern, her smile not quite there. And Jake, too... Rye met his worried gaze and felt a mixture of warmth and friendship and compassion.
He should go. For his mom. For Jake. He should go and be brave again. Be that person Jake said he was. Be that person his mom needed him to be.
Closing his eyes, Rye managed a short nod. “I’ll go,” he said, though the words nearly stuck in his throat.
His mom let out a short breath and said something like “Okay, sweetie.” And from his spot in the cushy chair to Rye’s left, Jake said something too. Something about running home for a few minutes to get changed.
Then, everyone was moving. His mom gave him a light hug and stood up. And Jake stood up, too, and said something else to Rye. Jake and his mom walked over to the front door, and it opened and closed. And his mom came back and said something about getting ready and how she’d need a few minutes.
It was all a blur. A big, long, scary blur.
Once Jake returned sometime later, Rye finally pushed himself off the couch, and after his mom’s reminder, he slipped on his shoes and a dry, heavy coat. And they left. The drive was short, and no one talked, which was probably best.
At the police station, the big, scary blur seemed to thicken, the voices around him growing distant and indistinct. Strangely, he didn’t feel panicked, especiallywhen Jake’s hand settled on his back to help guide him to Rachel’s office. Rachel was there, waiting for them, and Wayne was there too, but he was in his own office on the phone.
Rye mostly just sat there for however long it was. Jake recounted what Rye had told him as Rachel scribbled notes on a notepad. The few questions she had, she directed at Jake, who was able to answer easily enough.
Which was good.
Rye’s voice was definitely gone for the day.
Lots of words he didn’t know were thrown around the room. And Wayne joined them in Rachel’s office. Then more phone calls were made.
Nancy.They calledNancy.
And apparently she had something very, very interesting to say because Rye’s mom reached over and took his hand right after that and Wayne disappeared back into his office, muttering something about getting a search warrant.
And Rye heard a name.
A name he’d never known and never really wanted to know.
A name that made bile rise up in his throat.
A name he instantly wanted to forget.
Raymond Hirsh.
Four months later . . .
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jake
Thelate-AprilsunshinewarmedJake’s face as he stepped out from under the Davises’ front porch. Glancing back over his shoulder, he gave a small wave to Shirley, who stood in the doorway, wringing her hands together. She frowned but then nodded and waved back.
