“Hah, yeah. Um, here . . .”
Jake popped the trunk, and Rye gathered up his things from the front seat. Then they both climbed out of the car. As Rye opened up his duffle bag in the trunk and tucked his new book inside, Jake came around to the back of the car to meet him. He seemed to be moving a little slower than he had been the rest of the day, but when Rye looked over at him with concern, Jake just smiled and shook his head.
“Stiff from all the walking yesterday,” Jake explained. “I’m fine. Really.”
“’Kay.”
Rye should have grabbed his bag then, waved a goodbye and thanked Jake one more time and then headed inside. But he didn’t. He just stood there for a second, hesitating, and he dropped his chin and clasped his hands in front of him. He was in a good place right now, even with all the hard words he’d just said and all the reminders of the awful things he’d been telling himself for so many years.
And he almost didn’t want to say goodbye. Which was silly. He’d see Jake probably tomorrow or the day after. They’d go to lunch and walking on the beach, assuming Jake’s leg was feeling okay.
But a feeling in his chest, some little, pleasant tug this time, kept him rooted to the spot. He laughed at himself and then looked up at Jake. “I almost want to invite you in for dinner because I’m not ready for the day to be over yet,” he admitted.
Jake’s eyes narrowed slightly in confusion, and then recognition seemed to hit him. His cheeks flushed a curious shade of pink, and he coughed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Uh, well, I...”
Rye laughed again. “I’m joking, actually. Well, I mean, I’m probably too tired to even have dinner anyway. I might just go straight to bed. But I just... I just want to thank you again. I had a great time, and—” Rye stopped and shook his head, realizing what it was he wanted. It was simple, and yet also scary. But he was ready. “Can, um...” He blinked and looked down at the ground. “Can you... can you hug... me?”
It was quiet for several seconds. Then Jake let out a short breath and stepped closer to him.
“Are you sure?” Jake said softly. “Because I won’t unless you’re sure.”
“Yeah, I’m sure,” Rye replied, glad his voice didn’t shake.
He closed his eyes as Jake came closer. Then, the sweetest cocoon of warmth slowly surrounded him, strong arms pulling him in with an almost infinite gentleness. He sighed into the hug and lifted his arms to wrap loosely around Jake’s waist. And there was warmth and safety and a peacefulness in it. Everything he’d expected and more.
They stood there for a few long seconds. Then Jake stepped back first, letting his arms drop carefully from around Rye. One tear and then another slipped down Rye’s cheek, and he blinked his eyes closed again.
“Thank you,” he breathed, reaching up to wipe the tears away, even as several more fell. “That was... a really good hug.”
“I . . . thought so too.”
Rye blinked again, clearing the blurriness from his vision, and he looked up at his friend, who was now standing with his hands in his pockets about a foot away. The warmth was still there. Warmth and a sense of calm. And it felt good, and right.
He smiled, and Jake’s eyes softened. “I should go now. I’ll... see you tomorrow? For lunch?”
Jake swallowed, but then nodded, and Rye held his gaze for another few seconds before reaching into the trunk to pick up his bag. He turned and started up the stone walkway to the front porch, and just before he opened up the door to let himself in, he glanced back over his shoulder and waved.
And Jake smiled and waved back.
Chapter Forty-Three
Jake
Jakeleaneddownandrested his elbows on the railing at the edge of his patio, gripping his coffee mug tightly with both hands. The beach stretched out below him, the familiar arc of sand teased by gentle waves. The midmorning warmth should have been uplifting, and normally it probably would have been. But his earlier video appointment with his therapist had Jake feeling . . . grumpy.
Nothing was wrong, per se, and his appointments usually left him feeling hopeful. He’d work on whatever she’d suggested, and sometimes it would feel like he was making progress. Hell, at least he couldusuallywalk up to the edge of the stairs now. But for the last week, after he and Rye had gotten back from Reno, the most recent approach his therapist had him working on—visualizing walking down the stairswithRye next to him, happy and healthy and safe—had started him on this awful backslide.
His brain seemed intent on playing tricks on him, forcing something horrible to happen just as the two of them would step down onto the first step. Initially, it was just that the rest of the stairs suddenly vanished, replaced by a dark, swirling sea. That had been fun and all too reminiscent of the fears he still had from his accident years ago. Then it progressed to other awful things, like Rye tripping and falling down the stairs in front of him or a storm appearing out of nowhere, a flood washing down the steps, pulling them both under.
It was like his imagination was out to get him.
He’d talked it through with his therapist this morning, and she’d been great, as she always was, listening and offering him insights. But standing here now, looking down on the beach he’d once loved—the beach hestillloved—Jake just felt hopeless.
Sure, he still got to visit the beach in town almost every day now, and that was wonderful, really. If Rye hadn’t suggested that months ago, he wasn’t sure wherehe’d be. And he recognized how much he’d gained that day, when he’d carried Rye up from his beach. He wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Yet, when he stood up here, looking down, as close as he could seem to get without some big, annoying jump in his heart rate and heavy pressure on his chest, he couldn’t help feeling like he was also losing a piece of himself. Another piece.
From the coffee table behind him, his phone buzzed with a notification, and he gazed out one more time over the bright sand, glistening as the waves receded, and sighed. Then he turned and limped over to the patio sofa, grumbling a few choice words under his breath.
