Jake wouldn’t hurt him like that. HeknewJake wouldn’t hurt him like that. Jake was his friend, and he was kind and gentle. Ryeknewthat. But as hard as he’d tried, he still couldn’t seem to envision anything different. Anything not forceful, painful, terrifying.
So he had no idea how it could possibly work if they tried for... for something more. He had no idea if he could ever evenbesomething more.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything changes,”his mom had told him the other day.“Or it can, if you want it to.”
Did Rye . . . want it to?
A few days ago, his answer had been a strong and immediateabsolutely not. But now... now he wasn’t sure. Because that ache in his chest meant something now. That feeling of safety he had with Jake meant something now. The fact that he could still feel Jake’s fingertips brushing his cheek meant something now.
And he just didn’t know.
The only thing he really knewhe wanted in that moment was for Jake to stay just a little bit longer. So, he dropped his chin and looked down at the floor and did the only thing he could think of. He said, “Do you want more cake?”
Which didn’t answer Jake’s question or ask the question Rye really wanted to ask.
The short silence was thick and heavy, and after several seconds, Rye risked a look up. Jake’s eyebrows were pinched together in semi-confusion, but his eyes were bright with amusement. He shook his head lightly.
“No, I don’t think so. I, uh, had enough earlier, but, um, if you don’t want me to leave yet, I can stay?”
Rye pursed his lips and held Jake’s gaze, letting himself feel its warmth. God, his mom had to be right. He forced a small nod, and the light in Jake’s eyes shone with something that looked a lot like hope. Rye tore his gaze away, staring back down at the floor.
“I... I want to talk,” he said, and the words didn’t want to come—again—but he tried harder. “If that’s okay? Can we talk?”
“Yeah. Of course.” Jake’s answer came right away, no hesitation in it at all.
And Rye’s heart started racing with an unusual rhythm. He couldn’t quite decide if it was pleasant or not.
Jake cleared his throat quietly. “How about I make us some tea?”
“Lemon balm with honey?”
“Yeah, sure. And then we can talk.”
Thank you.
Rye nodded.
Afewminuteslater,Rye cradled his mug in his hands, staring down at the steam coming off the top of the liquid. He sat cross-legged, his back resting firmly against the armrest of the couch. Jake sat on the opposite side—all the way on the opposite side—and that suddenly seemed much too far away.
Which was a strange feeling.
All the questions he wanted to ask swirled around and around in his head, and he didn’t know what to do or where to start or whether the knot in his stomach was what was making him slightly nauseous.
He could feel Jake watching him, too, even as he kept just staring at his tea. His fingers tightened around the ceramic, and he closed his eyes.
“It’s okay, Rye,” Jake murmured softly from his spot way too far away on the other side of the couch. “Whatever you want to say, I’m here to listen.”
You’re too perfect.The thought popped into his head, though it surprised him. He took a deep breath and looked back up.
Jake’s eyes were full of a soft concern that just washed over him, warm and comforting, and Rye let himself linger there in it for several seconds. Then he blinked and nodded.
“I . . . wanted to ask yousomething.”
He had to force the words out, and he still wasn’t even sure what he wanted to ask or how he wanted to ask it. Or even if he could. He scrunched his eyes closed and shifted his knees up, bringing them in tight against his chest.
Then the couch creaked, and he heard Jake’s soft voice, a little closer than it had been a moment ago. “You’re okay. You’re okay, yeah?”
Rye managed a nod, and he gripped his mug tighter. He was okay. He was. And he... liked that Jake was sitting closer now.
