Jake shook his head. “I will later, when Rye wakes up.”
That answer seemed to satisfy her, because she picked up the spoon and took a small bite. And the smile returned to her face. “It’s really very good, Jake. Will you share the recipe with me?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said. “Let me write it down for you.”
And he stood and moved back into the kitchen to get a notepad and pen.
Chapter Sixty
Rye
Ryeawokewithastart into a darkness that made no sense, his heart pounding as his dreams continued chasing him. Muffled footsteps close by, somewhere he couldn’t see, sent a cold shiver through him, and he shoved himself sideways, away from the sound. Echoes of curses uttered in anger were followed by flashes of that sneering face and a whiff of cigarettes and staleness.
He scrambled away, pushing at the suffocating heaviness surrounding him, but he seemed to get caught in it. Stuck. Held in place.
And he panicked.
He pushed and pushed and kicked with his legs and clawed at the surface beneath him, pulling himself away from the footsteps, all while gasping for breath. Then his hand found an edge of something, and he tugged himself sideways and tumbled down to a hard, carpeted surface with a thud, landing solidly on his back.
Brightness filled his vision, and the suffocating heaviness was gone, though his heart still raced. He sucked in a deep breath of warm, comfortable air and then blinked and looked up at the plain white ceiling above. There was a texture to it, the tiny ridges and divots highlighted by a mixture of the soft natural light coming from the window and the yellower artificial light coming from the other side of the room.
Rye turned his head slowly, blinking again as his eyes adjusted and as the throbbing pain in his temples began to recede. His view was blocked by a bed. He’d been... in bed?
“Rye?” The quiet voice from the other side of the room made his stomach drop for half a second, and he pushed himself away, farther from the footsteps and the voice, toward the corner. And when he got there, he huddled up, pulling his knees to his chest as though that might somehow protect him.
It hadneverprotected him.
He closed his eyes and buried his head down in his knees and tried to reason with his awful brain as it toyed with him. Curses being flung around as harsh whispers in his ears, ghost touches that were rough and painful, and a face that he wished he could unsee. A face that he’d somehow just seen on a... phone screen?
Where was he? And where was . . .
“J-Jake?”
Please. Please, please.
“Yeah, Rye, it’s me. I’m here. Can I come in? Can I sit with you?”
He’d asked Rye the same thing . . . earlier? In the living room? After . . .
“Yes,” Rye forced out.
Heavy, uneven footsteps came closer, but he recognized them now, and they were the opposite of scary. They were Jake’s. He swallowed and lifted his chin to see Jake limping slowly toward him, his expression gentle and kind and caring.
And his heart stuttered.
He blinked away the funny feeling in his chest and rested his head against his knees again as Jake lowered himself to the floor. A moment later, a hand settled ever so softly on his shoulder, a clear intention in the touch—to soothe and reassure. And it helped. A lot.
Relief mixed with feelings of safety and warmth and belonging spread through him, slowly pushing back the still-jarring panic he’d been feeling only moments ago.
Jake’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “Can I hold you, Rye?”
Something inside him tensed at little fragments of memories and dreams, being held against his will, roughly, painfully. But Jake’s voice filtered in through the haze.
You can always say no.
He could. Jake had always given him a choice. But maybe... maybe Ryewantedto have Jake hold him?
“It’s okay to say no. I just want to be here with you,” Jake said quietly.
