God, hewasgrumpy.
His leg acting up the last couple of days certainly wasn’t helping either, but this just wasn’t like him.
He set down his coffee mug and sat heavily on the sofa, grunting as his hand moved to grip his thigh. Then he clenched his jaw and picked up his phone.
Rye (10:58 a.m.):See you soon?
A soft breath escaped him, and almost immediately, his grumpiness disappeared, replaced by a familiar flutter in his chest.
He almost laughed at himself for it.
He tapped on the phone screen and typed a short response.
Jake (11:00 a.m.):Yep! Is 12 still good?
Rye (11:00 a.m.):Yes :)
Jake (11:00 a.m.):I’ll be there
With another quiet sigh, Jake slipped his phone into the pocket of his sweatpants and then leaned forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. He stared straight ahead for a few seconds, his eyes unfocused as he remembered yesterday and the several days before that.
And that hug.
God, that hug.
“Can you . . . can you hugme?”
He could still hear Rye’s tentative question, sure but unsure, driven by a fragile courage. And he could definitely feel it, even almost a week later—Rye’s body pressed against him, his arms wrapped around Jake’s waist and his cheek resting on Jake’s chest. He could feel the shudder that had rippled through him as he’d held his breath, waiting for any sign that Rye wasn’t okay, even as every nerve ending in his body seemed to come alive. He could still feel it.
And it took his breath away again.
It had been the only hug they’d shared. Rye hadn’t asked again since. But the bursts of growth Rye seemed to have had in Reno continued to surprise him. He’d shown Jake two more origami sculptures he’d made—one a crane and one a humming bird—and when they were together and alone, like during their walks out on the beach, Rye continued to find his voice.
He’d told Jake how he wanted to study to get his GED and his driver’s license, hopefully before the end of the year, and how maybe in the fall,ifhe was ready, he wanted to volunteer at the school library or as a math tutor for the younger children. He had this glow about him, and it was brilliant.
And beautiful.
And Jake longed to tell him that.
He pushed himself to his feet slowly, the pain in his leg dull but distracting enough, and he turned one more time toward the stairs leading to the beach. Immediately, the pleasant flutter in his chest transformed into sharp, racing uncertainty, and a cold dread surrounded him. He frowned and blew out a breath, then shuffled around the side of the sofa and started toward the back door.
Another day. And maybe... maybe he’d tell Rye about it. His therapist had reminded him, as she did every time they spoke, that they weren’t just dealing with this “recent” event. He’d also never really worked through the trauma after his accident, and that fear was part of him. Maybe... he’d tell Rye about that.
He wondered, too, if being closer with Rye as their friendship grew wasn’t helping, in a way. It was maybe making him more terrified, because the closer they grew, the more awful it would be if... if anything ever happened.
Like the sea swallowing them up.
Cold dread and darkness buzzed beneath his skin, and he shook his head to push it away as he stepped into the house and closed the patio door behind him.
“Younevertakeyourshoes off. Don’t you like to feel the sand between your toes? It’s one of my favorite things about walking on the beach.” Rye dropped his shoes at the end of the boardwalk and closed his eyes as he stepped out onto the sand ahead of Jake, grinning.
“I do like to feel the sand, but, uh, I can’t take off my shoes,” Jake admitted. He followed as Rye led the way out toward the water, the start of their familiar route that would take them about a quarter mile down the beach and back.
Rye paused to let Jake catch up, and then, when they were walking alongside each other, Rye asked, “You... can’t?”
“Well, I can. It’s just harder to walk then, so I usually don’t.”
“Oh.” Rye was quiet for a minute, and Jake glanced over, worried that maybe he’d upset his friend. But Rye was just looking up and out toward the ocean, thinking, maybe. He seemed to sense Jake was watching him, and he dropped his chin. “Then we should... Tomorrow, if it’s warm enough like today, I’ll bring a big blanket and pack sandwiches for lunch. And we’ll walk out”—he paused and looked back over his shoulder for a second—“yeah, to about here. And we can sit here on the blanket and eat, and... and when you’re sitting, you can take off your shoes and feel the sand?”
