Andthisman, Jake, had found him and had apparently brought him in from the beach, from the cold and the rain, and given him clean, dry clothes and tea with honey.
And asked him if he was okay.
And talked in such a kind voice.
And said he would take care of him.
And left the light on and the door open.
Rye heaved a breath, and even though it was deep, it felt too shallow, like he actually hadn’t taken in any air. So he tried again, and this time, it was a little better.
Jake cleared his throat. “Sorry to intrude. But I’m supposed to check that you don’t have a fever or chills, and I’m supposed to get you to drink some more. Did you like that tea?”
Yes. Very much.
Silently, Rye wiped the tears from his face and then pushed the blanket down to his chin, blinking at the bright light of the bedroom. Jake sat on the edge of the bed, not more than a few feet away, those large, soft-looking hands of his resting on his thighs. Rye’s jaw clenched, and he forced a nod. Then his eyes darted up, and for the briefest of moments, he met Jake’s gaze.
It was gentle, just like his voice. Kind, deep-brown eyes filled with concern.
Rye immediately looked away and pushed himself just a little more into the corner.
“Alright, so yes on the tea,” Jake said quietly. “So if I bring you more, you’ll drink it?”
Yes.
Rye just nodded again.
“Great, and so I can reassure myself—and Sue—that you’re doing much better than this morning and you’re not going to die on me—”
“You’re fuckin’ dead.”
Rye’s stomach lurched and contracted in the most painful way, and he gasped as he clutched his midsection, squeezed his eyes shut, and curled in on himself. He was trembling again, and he shook his head, even though he wasn’t sure what he was objecting to, if anything.
All he knew was that he didn’t want to die. He really, really didn’t want to die.
“Ah, no, I didn’t mean—shit. I’m sorry. You’re okay, you’re okay. That’s what I meant. You’re okay now, and you’re safe here. It’s safe here. I promise.”
Rye forced a breath and then another, and he looked back up at the man sitting on the bed. Some part of him wanted to believe Jake. But then some larger part of him screamed not to. Because men couldn’t be trusted. Even men who seemed nice and kind and acted like they wanted to be helpful.
“Hey, kiddo, you look lost. Want a ride home? I’d hate for you to be stuck out here all by yourself in the dark.”
His stomach constricted, and he turned away from Jake just as the tea he’d had earlier came back up.
Therainhadstoppedsome time ago, and the clouds must have partly cleared because the yellow, orange, and pink light coming in from outside seemed to grow, its intensity concentrating as it entered through the wall of windows lining one side of the living room.
From his spot at the kitchen table, Rye stared out toward the horizon, where the sky met the ocean, and watched the sun as it descended, the vivid hues playing off the remaining clouds.
A sunset.
The first sunset he’d seen in however-many years.
He sniffled quietly and reached up to wipe another stupid tear from his cheek.
“I hope you don’t mind reheated leftovers.”
Rye startled slightly at Jake’s voice, and he lowered his eyes to the plate that appeared on the table in front of him.
“I’m, uh, not really up to cooking something else tonight,” Jake added.
