“Good night?” Jake said finally, and although he’d meant it to be a statement, it almost came out more like a question.
Rye huffed a small laugh and looked back up. His eyes shifted from slightly amused to serious as they met Jake’s. And that flicker of pain Jake had seen not too long ago passed through Rye’s expression again.
“Yeah, sorry. I... I just...” Rye blew out a breath and shook his head, staring back down at his feet. “I’m... not... stupid?” he said, his words slow and hesitant. And the question in them was definitely intentional. “I’m not...”
It was the part of the conversation they hadn’t finished inside. The conversation where Rye had been telling Jake just how much that voice in his head still hurt. A rush of something warm and strong and intense hit him then, and he inhaled sharply and stepped a little closer to Rye, who lifted his eyes to meet Jake’s one more time.
“Absolutely not, Rye,” he said with as much conviction as he could. “Absolutely not.”
Rye closed his eyes, but Jake could see him shrink inside himself a little.
“That voice in your head... god, Rye, it’s so wrong. You’re brilliant. You’re clever and smart and thoughtful and kind. And you’re so, so much more than that.” He wanted to go on and on, because there was more he could say, but when Rye nodded and a tear slipped down his cheek, the words wouldn’t come.
He had to stop himself,again, from reaching up to brush his fingers lightly against Rye’s warm skin, to wipe his tears away. And even though he did stop himself, he imagined it all the same. He could almost feel the smoothness of Rye’s cheek on his fingertips.
“Th-thank you,” Rye stammered. With a deep breath, Rye looked back up at Jake, though he could only hold Jake’s gaze for a second before his eyes dropped. He hunched his shoulders in on himself and said, “When I’m struggling, sometimes I... I try to hear your voice instead of his. Instead of... mine. And it... helps.”
There was another tear slipping silently down Rye’s cheek, and Jake shook his head, his brow furrowing.
“You’re... you’re okay, Rye,” he murmured, not sure what else to say. His hand started to lift slowly, and Rye’s eyes rose at the same time, watching as Jake’s hand moved closer. Rye didn’t move. He didn’t back away, didn’t flinch, didn’t frown. But Jake paused when his fingers were just an inch or so from Rye’s cheek. “Your tears... can I?” he whispered.
And he held his breath, waiting for Rye’s permission. It was only a few seconds at most, but they seemed like impossibly long seconds. Then Rye blinked and closed his eyes, and he nodded just once, a very small nod.
Jake tried not to worry whether that was enough, and as carefully as he could, he let the pad of his thumb brush along the smooth skin of Rye’s cheekbone, just under his eye, wiping away that stray tear. He tried not to let his hand linger there, softly cupping Rye’s cheek. And he really, really tried not to let himself feel thewarm tingle that spread up through his fingers and arm and all the way into his chest.
“There. There we go,” he said, though his words caught in his throat. He repeated the motion, ever so softly running his thumb across Rye’s skin. Then he reluctantly lowered his hand and took a tiny, tentative step backward.
Rye still didn’t move, but he let out a short breath and said, “Thank you.” And he lifted his eyes. They glistened with the rest of his unshed tears, and even in the low light, Jake could see the hint of pink in his cheeks, just as he had earlier.
Jake swallowed thickly and nodded. “Are you okay? Did you need to talk more?”
“No, I-I’m... I’m fine. Thank you,” Rye said quietly, trying for a small smile again. He sniffled and then reached up with one hand to tuck his hair back behind his ear. “I should get back inside. But I’ll text you. About the time. For tomorrow, I mean.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good night, Jake.”
“Good night, Rye.”
With a final smile that Jake could see took a lot of effort, Rye turned and headed back toward the house. At the front door, Rye paused and twisted around to give Jake a small wave. Then he disappeared inside, leaving Jake alone in the dark, his fingers still tingling where he’d touched Rye’s cheek.
God, he was so, so gone.
He climbed in his car and started it up. Then he pulled out his phone and sent a short, quick text to his sister.
Jake (9:49 p.m.):Can I call? I need to talk.
Not less than ten seconds later, the phone rang through his car’s speakers, and he hit the button to answer.
“Hey, Kris . . .”
Chapter Forty-Six
Rye
Ryeshutandlockedthe door behind himself. Then he stuffed his hands in his pockets, closed his eyes, and let his forehead rest against the warm wood of the door.
Whatever had just happened, his heart was still racing from it. He pulled his left hand out of his pocket and reached up to touch his cheek. His skin tingled. And it was warm. And he could still feel—
