So, he said good night to Shirley and left, and when he got out to the barricade at the end of Sycamore Avenue, Rachel escorted him through the mass of news vans stationed there. He made it about halfway home before he realized just how alone he felt.
As soon as he walked in the door, he called Krista, and they talked for nearly two hours. Some of their conversation was their usual teasing banter back and forth, which felt normal enough that Jake could almost stop worrying for a few minutes. But then Krista asked the inevitable question—how was he,really?—and Jake couldn’t hold it all in anymore. He bundled up and went and sat outside, in the dark, on his patio, and in a low voice, he told Krista about everything that had happened that day—how Rye had helped him finally make it down the steps to the beach, how devastating the news about Raymond Hirsh had been to Rye, and admittedly, how relieved Jake had felt to hear that the man had been killed. He didn’t like himself for it, but he couldn’t deny being glad Hirsh was no longer a threat toanyone, especially given that he’d tried to take another child.
Krista listened and cried with him and validated all of his feelings. And for once, she didn’t joke about him being a lunkhead. She did, however, issue him a solid, confidentI told you sowhen he admitted she’d been right—all the waiting and patience had been worth it. Rye was worth it. He’d wait longer, too, as long as Rye needed.
He felt heat rising in his cheeks as he told her Rye had kissed him, and even though he could tell she was curious as hell, she didn’t ask him for any details. He was thankful for that.
After they hung up, he didn’t head in right away. It was chilly outside, but quiet and pleasant, and he sat there for a while, listening to the ocean waves washing up the shore below. Later, he got ready for bed, and his leg ached just enough that he took one of his pain pills, remembering how Rye had encouraged him the night before.
While it helped, he still didn’t sleep well. He kept waking up and checking his phone, habit making him expect to see a good-night text from Rye. None would be coming, though, until Rye’s phone could get replaced, and although Shirley had already ordered a new one, she’d mentioned that it probably wouldn’t be delivered until at least Monday.
In the morning, he called and spoke with Shirley. But she seemed frazzled and didn’t keep him on the phone long. Rye had apparently had a rough night—filled with nightmares and such—or at least, that was Shirley’s assumption seeing as Rye wasn’t really talking.
That didn’t help Jake’s worry much. He offered to come over—hewantedto come over—but Shirley said Rye had finally fallen asleep and so maybe Jake should wait.
So he did. He waited. He sat by his phone and waited much of the morning. He didn’t try to go down to the beach, partly because he wasn’t sure whether he’d be successful attempting to take the stairs alone, but mostly because he didn’t want to not have cell phone reception whenever Shirley or Rye called him back.
He got some work done, had a short call with his therapist, did a little cleaning, and played a few mindless phone games. And when he finally broke down and texted Shirley later that day, she responded back with a brief text inviting Jake to dinner thenextnight, when things had hopefully calmed down a bit. She didn’t say anything about Rye other than he was still “resting.”
It almost hurt.
No, itdidhurt.
Not that he blamed Shirley—she was probably exhausted and barely holding things together herself. And not that he and Ryealwayssaw each other every day anyway. But this separation, especially not being able to text with Rye, had Jake worried and anxious.
He just wanted to get the chance to see Rye. Maybe hug him. Maybe kiss his forehead. Mostly just be with him and make sure he was okay.
Friday evening, Jake skipped his phone call with Krista, opting to text her briefly to tell her he was okay but was heading to bed early. Rather than doingthat, however, he ended up lying on his couch for hours, rewatching a not-terribly-interesting documentary series on coral reefs and pretending to take notes for an article he might want to write at some point.
By the time Saturday afternoon rolled around, Jake felt it had been weeks, not a day and a half, since he’d seen Rye. He dressed nicely in a black sweater and medium-gray slacks and grabbed his coat before heading out the door around four thirty, which was probably much too early for the six o’clock dinner Shirley had invited him to.
The barricade was still up at the end of Sycamore, although only Wayne’s truck and a single news van remained parked there. Wayne let Jake through, and Jake drove the rest of the way down the street with a little less patience than he figured he ought to have. Jon and Tanya’s small SUV was parked in the driveway next to Shirley’s car, and so Jake pulled up along the curb and parked there. Then he headed up the walkway, trying to calm his own nerves with a few measured breaths.
He knocked lightly on the door, and not more than half a minute later, it opened. Shirley stood on the other side, a white apron tied around her waist and exhaustion clouding her expression. She just stared up at him for a few seconds, holding the door halfway open, and then, with a weak smile, she said, “I’m really glad you’re here, Jake.”
And she stepped up to him and gave him a warm, welcoming hug, her tiny frame feeling at once both strong and supportive. He returned the embrace, trying to give back as much as she was giving him.
“Me too. Thank you for inviting me.”
Shirley pulled back and looked up at him for an extra second with a soft, knowing smile. She nodded and then patted his arm. “Come on inside,” she said, stepping back to give him room. “Tanya and I were just starting to cook. Rye’s out in the garage with Jon. He, um, finally got out of bed about an hour ago. He’s been exhausted, like all of us, it seems.”
There was so much to unpack in those few sentences, but Jake just nodded in acknowledgement and followed Shirley inside. He stopped after he shut the front door behind him and then took a moment to remove his coat. Tanya greeted him from the kitchen, and he joined her and Shirley, asking them both how they were and how everything had been going for them. But he was really only half present, his heart tugging him toward the garage, where his boyfriend was, and Shirley seemed to know it. She laughed lightly and shooed him away with a tease of some sort.
And he didn’t have to be told twice. He thanked both of them and then turned and headed to the garage. The entrance from the house was just through theirlaundry room, and the door was propped open. He could hear Jon’s voice as he approached, and he stopped in the doorway, the unsettled feeling in his heart finally easing as his gaze fell on Rye.
Rye sat on a stool scooted up to a workbench positioned at the far side of the garage, aligning the corners of two small, squarish pieces of wood. Jon stood a few feet away, cleaning up and putting away a circular saw.
Jon spoke quietly, a huge contrast to his typical loud enthusiasm, saying something about making sure the pieces of wood sat flush together with no gaps, and Rye nodded and then said, “They’re good.”
Hearing Rye’s soft voice sent waves of emotion through Jake, and he was immediately glad he was holding onto the doorframe. He hadn’t expected it, actually—for Rye to respond verbally to Jon’s comment; Rye usually still had trouble talking to Jon.
It made his heart happy.
“Good, good, okay,” Jon said. “So let me just finish putting this away here, and then we’ll probably be able to set those screws. The hinges should work for the roof, I think. You agree?”
“Yeah, I... I think so,” Rye answered slowly, and he set down the wood and picked something else up from the workbench. “These ones?”
“Yep, those are them! Great, okay, so . . .”
