He felt Jake nod. “Yeah. Rachel said there were gunshots exchanged. Hirsh tried to shoot at the police when they entered the house, and, um, he... was... killed.”
“He’s . . . dead?”
“Yeah.”
Unable to breathe, Rye buried his head into Jake’s chest, pressing his face up against the soft wool of Jake’s sweater. He let his arms slip around Jake, and then he cried. He couldn’t really say why he was crying. He wasn’t happy someone had died, even if that someone was Raymond Hirsh. But he couldn’t stop the rush of overwhelming relief. He felt weak and dizzy and yet suddenly more grounded than he’d maybe ever felt, and all at once.
And Jake just let him cry, holding him, rubbing his back, whispering quiet words of reassurance.
Minutes passed until the messy burst of emotions finally calmed and he could breathe again. Jake talked him through that, too, encouraging him to inhale long and slow and count down the exhale. Then Jake gently brushed the tears from Rye’s cheeks with his thumbs.
And when Jake asked, “Can I kiss your forehead?,” Rye closed his eyes and nodded his consent.
It wasn’t a kiss on the lips—it wasn’t quite what Rye really wanted. But the tender touch of Jake’s fingertips as he tucked Rye’s hair back behind his ears and then the warmth of Jake’s lips against his forehead made him feel better and whole. And... loved.
“Are you okay?” Jake asked him again, touching their cheeks together.
This time, Rye was able to answer with a small nod. He wanted to say more, but he knew he needed time before he could. Part of him felt that brokenness he’d fought against the night before, and part of him felt some deep, consuming sadness and shame and guilt that he wasn’t sure how to shake.
But another part of him felt a bunch of little shards of hope wanting to piece themselves together inside his chest.
And that was the part he wanted to cling to the most.
Theyatesoup.Atleast, Rye tried to eat. His appetite wasn’t wonderful, but his body felt weak, so he made himself eat some. Jake sat next to him, talking quietly about one thing or another, encouraging him to eat however much he could.
After that, Rye tried to help put the food away and do the dishes, but he still felt some heavy, deep exhaustion, and the effort ended up being too much. So instead, he sat on the couch while Jake finished the dishes alone. Then, Jake called Rye’s mom, and they had a short conversation, which was mostly Jake playing translator for Rye’s nods and headshakes.
Before they hung up, Rye’s mom asked if he would be coming home that night, and Rye closed his eyes and nodded and said a quiet “yes, mama”—maybe the only two words he managed during the entire conversation. He didn’t really hear anything that came after, though he thought maybe there was something about how Jake should call Rachel or Wayne for an escort when they left Jake’s house.
When the phone call was over, Jake moved back into the kitchen to make them some tea.
Rye curled up in the corner of the couch and closed his eyes, and he must have fallen asleep because he woke up a few minutes later when Jake touched his shoulder lightly.
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
Blinking his eyes open, Rye saw Jake holding out a mug of tea, a small smile on his face. A gentle warmth spread into his cheeks, and he managed what might have been a smile back as he reached up to take the tea.
“Thank you,” he said, closing his hands around the mug.
Jake tipped his head in acknowledgement, but then seemed to hesitate before motioning to the spot next to Rye on the couch. “Can I join you?”
Rye nodded and lowered his feet to the floor, and when Jake sat next to him, just a few inches too far away, Rye pushed himself out of the corner and cuddled up against Jake’s side.
Jake didn’t start talking this time; he let the silence be, and that felt just fine to Rye. When he’d had about half of his tea, he leaned forward and set the mug on the coffee table. Jake did the same. Then Rye turned and settled up against Jake more, letting his hand come to rest across Jake’s stomach. And he closed his eyes again.
“Mmm, are you comfortable there?” Jake asked as his arm slipped slowly around Rye’s shoulders, and Rye made some sort of quiet noise of agreement.
Hewascomfortable. Quite comfortable, in fact. And he actually wasn’t sure he wanted to leave, except that he knew he needed to gohome.
That felt really important today.
“You’ll... drive me home?” he asked after a few more minutes.
Jake hummed another “Mm-hmm,” and he lowered his head to rest on top of Rye’s. It felt even more comfortable. And when Jake’s fingers started caressing the top of Rye’s hand with slow, light strokes, Ryereallydidn’t want to leave. “Whenever you want,” Jake murmured into Rye’s hair.
Rye huffed a small laugh.
“Mmm, what’s funny?” Jake asked, though he didn’t sound too confused.
