“Shh, shh, no. You’re okay, you’re okay,” Jake repeated, and he set his free hand on his thigh between them, palm up in invitation. He half expected Rye not to take it; after all, Rye didn’t owe him any of this closeness, and it would be more than understandable if Rye didn’t want to be touched at all right now.
Yet after only a few short seconds, Rye’s hand slipped into his and gripped him tightly, and Rye released another long, trembling breath.
From the table, Rachel’s phone rang, and though Rye flinched at the sudden sound, he just gripped Jake’s hand tighter rather than scoot away. And that helped ease a little of the pain in Jake’s heart.
He glanced up as he heard Rachel answer with a quiet “hey, Dad, just a minute,” her voice muffled, and she gave Jake a strained smile and stood. A moment later, she disappeared out the front door to take the phone call in private, leaving Jake and Rye alone.
Jake closed his eyes and let his thumb play back and forth across the smooth skin of Rye’s hand. “I’m so sorry that happened, Rye. If you saw... what I think you saw.”
Rye tensed, but again, he didn’t scoot away. In a shaky voice, he asked, “What... happened?”
“You mean with, uh...” Jake hesitated, not even wanting to say that awful man’s name in front of Rye. He felt Rye nod, and he steadied himself with a breath before he started talking. “Rachel said the police are after him right now. They’ve got him cornered. He’d, um, tried to...”
God, Jake didn’t want to say the words. He didn’t want to be the cause ofanypain for Rye, and he was sure this was going to cause pain. A lot of it.
“T-tell me,” Rye mumbled against his chest, and Jake nodded.
“Yeah, sorry, um... He’d tried—andfailed—to... to take another young boy.” Rye’s whole body tensed up, and Jake continued quickly. “The boy’s fine. Rachel said he screamed and struggled, and someone heard him and called 9-1-1, and he’s fine. Okay? So they chased after the man, and I guess he’s barricaded in a house, in a standoff with the police now.”
Rye didn’t respond, but he clung to Jake, and his body still shook. Jake wished he knew what to do.
“Can I help you up?” he asked softly, and he stopped himself from asking several other questions. Was he okay? Did he want to go rest? Did he want to know more or nothing at all? Was he hungry or thirsty, and would he like some tea? And, god, was he okay?
Instead, Jake waited. And waited. And finally, after what was probably another few minutes, Rye nodded and straightened up, still holding Jake’s hand. Grunting with the effort, Jake pushed himself to his feet,bothof his legs now sore and achy, in part from all the activity earlier but also probably from the tension and stress of the last twenty minutes or so. Rye had closed his eyes and pulled his knees up to his chest again, and when Jake gave a tiny squeeze of his hand, Rye nodded, swallowed hard, and stood.
Immediately, he swayed, unsteady and weak, and he collapsed into Jake, who caught him easily with an arm around his waist. “I’ve got you,” Jake whispered. “I’ve got you.” He brought his hand up and brushed his fingertips along Rye’s jaw. “Isthis okay?”
Rye nodded, and he continued to lean against Jake as Jake stroked his cheek. It was quiet and intimate, even in the face of these huge emotions and all this uncertainty, and Jake felt so fortunate and honored that Rye trusted him so much.
“Would you like to go lie down for a bit and rest?” he suggested, letting his hand trail down to Rye’s shoulder. Rye didn’t answer out loud, but he gave another of those tiny nods, and then he stepped away from Jake, wobbling a little. Jake started to reach out for him, but Rye seemed to maybe want to do this part on his own, because he moved away, taking a small step and then another and another, heading toward the hallway. Jake followed slowly, his limp heavier than it had been all day.
As they neared the extra bedroom, Jake felt his phone buzz in his pocket, and he wondered for a moment how Shirley was doing. She’d be on her way back from San Francisco by now, but maybe still a few hours out, depending on when she’d left. He expected she must be beside herself with worry.
He pulled his phone out and glanced down. It was just after eleven, and his phone screen was indeed lit up with at least two dozen notifications—multiple texts, missed calls, emails, news alerts. He’d have to deal with it all after he got Rye settled and maybe even after he talked with Rachel. Right now, he needed to stay present with Rye.
The lights were all on, even though it was late morning and the sun had come out enough to provide plenty of natural light. And Rye pushed open the door to the extra bedroom ahead of them and went right in, without hesitating. Jake slowed and stopped as he followed Rye through the door, and he gripped the doorframe to support himself.
Rye, for his part, continued over to the bed and then sat on the edge and lowered his head into his hands with a long, shaky breath. Helookedexhausted, and Jake couldn’t even begin to imagine how much energy all of that had taken out of him.
“Can I make you some tea?” Jake asked softly. Rye didn’t look up at him, but nodded. Then he slipped his shoes off, and, as Jake watched, he climbed into the bed and under the covers, and he curled up with his back to Jake, pulling the comforter up all the way to his chin. “Okay, I’ll be back in a few minutes, okay?”
He didn’t see Rye nod this time, even though he waited probably too long. And then he turned and limped slowly back down the hallway to the kitchen to make Rye some tea.
Something nice and calming and familiar. Like lemon balm with honey.
Rachelcamebackinsidejust after Jake left Rye’s tea on the nightstand for him. She didn’t stick around too long, though, after she gave him a short update that wasn’t really much more information. There was still no new news from Arizona, and Jake should definitely avoid turning on the TV when there was even the possibility that Rye might see or hear it. Every news station everywhere was showing coverage of the standofflive, streaming footage from helicopters as they circled overhead the home Raymond Hirsh had locked himself in. Why they hadn’t just stormed the house, Jake wasn’t sure, but Rachel mentioned something about Hirsh being armed and the police maybe waiting for some special forces team to arrive.
Jake didn’t really care to know the specifics. And he definitely agreed to keep the TV off and the computers closed.
She left shortly after, although she made Jake promise to answer his phone if she called and to let her or Wayne know if they had any trouble with anything at all. She was particularly concerned about the town getting flooded with reporters again, and she made sure Jake knew she didn’t want anyone bothering Rye—whether he was at Jake’s house or at the Davis home on Sycamore.
Then Jake gathered up the remains of Rye’s cell phone and settled on the couch to check his own notifications. He had no fewer than ten missed calls—some from Shirley, some from the police station, and even one from his sister—and a good dozen or so text messages. Most were from Shirley.
He scrolled through them briefly, his stomach sinking lower and lower as he felt her worry and panic rising. She’d left San Francisco around eight in the morning, which meant she and Tanya would have been driving when the news broke. And she wasn’t too much farther away, probably only an hour out by now. Knowing her cell phone reception would be spotty, he opted to text her back rather than call, and he typed out the quick message with all the information he knew she really needed.
Jake (11:46 a.m.):Hi Shirley, sorry about the delay. Rye and I were outside, and our phones didn’t work. We heard the news when we got back. Rye is doing okay now, resting in bed. Rachel was by, and we got the latest updates. Please drive safe and know that I’m taking care of Rye.
He didn’t get a response or call back immediately, which he knew didn’t mean anything except that Tanya and Shirley were likely driving through the mountains. He wanted to call his sister—he had a sudden and strong urge to hear her voice—but at the same time, he wanted to do that when he didn’t need to be quiet or hold himself together and when he was sure he had time to really talk. So he settled with sending her a text similar to the one he sent to Shirley.
