Biting back another sob—and silently scolding himself for wanting to cry, again—Rye continued to lean against the wall as he picked up a white bottle off the edge of the tub. It was labeledbody wash, and there was a picture of a pink flower on the front with some other words he felt like he should recognize. And he could. Or at least, he could read some of them.Dove.Rose. Roses were flowers. But the flower on the front didn’t look like a rose, did it? AndDove—doves were birds, weren’t they?
“Stupid child. Stupid fuckin’ child.”
He should know these things. And he felt like he did. Or he had at some point. Or the knowledge was there, but buried somewhere hard to get to.
And he was supposed to be hurrying. Washing himself so he could put his clothes back on. Not keeping himself vulnerable for longer.
Although it wouldn’t really matter, would it? If Jake decided he wanted something, he was so much bigger than Rye. He could break down the locked door, push open the shower curtain, grab Rye with those big hands of his, and—
The bottle slipped right out of Rye’s fingers and landed on the floor of the shower with a loud thud. And Rye collapsed, shaking, as the water continued to stream out of the showerhead above him.
Chapter Nine
Jake
Itwaseasilymuchlonger than twenty minutes before Jake was even able to consider getting up. His own toast and eggs still sat uneaten on the kitchen counter, no doubt now cold.
He pushed himself up off the couch, clenching his teeth the whole time, and then he hobbled, somehow, from the couch over into the kitchen, using any furniture he could grab onto along the way. God, he wished he had his cane. Maybe it would help him move around easier. But at this point, knowing that the tides had been in and out more than once since yesterday morning, he figured it was probably long gone by now. Another thing he’d have to replace during his trip into town after the road was fixed.
The man still hadn’t come out of the bathroom, although Jake had heard the shower shut off several minutes ago. The whole time he’d been sitting on the couch, resting his leg—after having to get down on the ground yet again to clean up the partially whisked eggs he’d spilled—he hadn’t been able to get the image out of his mind. The poor man trembling, cowering, covering his head with his hands, tears sliding down his cheeks as Jake had stepped into the doorway.
He’d felt the man’s fear, and he’d wished so much that he’d been able to stay there and reassure the man he was safe. But it’d been enough of a struggle even to stand. As it was, Jake had barely made it back into the living room and to the couch before his leg had basically given up.
Shit, he was in bad shape.
Keeping one hand on the counter to support himself, he turned on the heat on the stovetop, placed the pan over it, and then managed to crack two more eggs into a clean bowl and mix them without spilling. He stuck a piece of bread in the toaster as the pan finished heating, and then poured the eggs in, salted them, and stirred until they were cooked.
The whole process took much longer than he thought it probably should have, although by the time he was finished, there were still no sounds or movement from down the hallway. He put a kettle on the stove to heat up water for his tea, and then, carefully, since he really didn’t want to trip or stumble or drop somethingagain, Jake moved his plate and the man’s plate to the table.
It wasn’t until the table was set and the water had heated and the tea had steeped that Jake finally heard the bathroom door open.
He tried to ignore the relief he felt, but it hit him anyway, and he couldn’t stop himself from twisting to get a glance down the hallway. The man stepped out of the bathroom slowly, his head bowed and his eyes on the floor in front of him. His hair was still wet, but he’d obviously washed and attempted to comb it, the blond locks framing his face and beginning to curl at the ends. And he’d gotten dressed in the clothes Jake had given him the day before—the same gray sweats that were much too large on his small frame.
For a short moment, Jake stared, watching as the man shuffled hesitantly toward him, and it wasn’t until the man reached the end of the hallway that Jake shook his head in embarrassment.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry. I should’ve—” He cut himself off as he forced his feet to move—regardless of the pain lancing up his thigh and into his hip and back. Ahead of him, the man’s eyes darted up, their deep blue dark with fear.
Jake just smiled the softest smile he could manage. “I should’ve gotten you something clean to wear. I’m a lunkhead sometimes—or at least, that’s what my sister says. I, uh...” He stopped a few feet from the man, his stomach sinking as the man, once again, shrunk back away from him. He frowned and motioned down the hallway. “I can grab you some clean clothes from my bedroom. I should’ve thought of that sooner. I’m sorry.”
The man shook his head, his eyes downcast, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stepped to the side slightly, just out of Jake’s way, and reached up to tuck his hair back behind his ear as Jake gave him a quick nod and then limped past him toward the bedroom.
It seemed like it took him much too long to get there, find some more clothes that he hoped would be comfortable and warm, and return to where the man still stood at the end of the hallway. But it really wasn’t more than a few minutes later that they were both finally seated at the kitchen table to eat breakfast, the man now wearing clean clothes.
The tea was still warm, and Jake hoped the man’s food wasn’t cold, although he had no expectations for his own. He watched unobtrusively, sneaking quiet glances up from his own plate, as the young man sat staring at the food in front of him. He held back some silly comment about how unimpressive his cookingmust be—there was literally just a single piece of lightly buttered sourdough, cut in half, and then the portion of scrambled eggs and a few halved strawberries.
But something told him the man’s reaction was not because the food seemed unappetizing.
The man looked up at him, and when their eyes met, Jake could almost feel the man’s gratitude, though he still said nothing. Jake just gave him a small smile and a nod. “I hope you like it. It’s nothing fancy.”
The man screwed his eyes shut and shook his head. And this time, he looked almost ready to say something, but then he bit his lip and reached out to pick up his fork, his hand still with that slight tremble to it.
Jake tore his eyes away then, back to his own plate, and he took a short sip of tea and then started eating. His food was indeed cold, and the eggs were closer to over medium than he usually liked, he figured because they’d sat for so long. He’d also had no more fresh avocados, and he’d given the last of his strawberries to the young man. But food was food, and he wasn’t terribly hungry anyway.
So, Jake just ate what was on his plate and drank his tea, and he tried not to let his mind wander too much. He still stole glances now and then, happy to see his houseguest eating eagerly. The man ate the strawberries first, closing his eyes with each bite. When he got to the eggs, Jake couldn’t help the amused half-smile that grew on his face as the man very, very carefully pushed forkfuls of eggs onto the toast and then picked up the toast to eat it, like an open-faced sandwich.
The man ended up eating every crumb on his plate this time, not like the night before when he’d only been able to finish less than half of the portion Jake had given him for dinner. And when he was done, the man sat there for a moment, staring at the empty plate. Then he set his fork down gently, so it didn’t make a sound, and lifted his eyes to Jake.
God. Something rippled through Jake’s chest. And he knew that even if he tried, he couldn’t put a name to the feeling. It was some sort of intense protectiveness. Something deep and strong. He forced a small smile, and the man blinked and tried to smile back. Maybe. It was fleeting—some twitch of his lips and a shift in the tightness of his expression. But then he quickly dropped his eyes.
