Whatever had happened, it must have been bad. God, he knew that already. But the thought came to him again.
“Hey, shh,” he soothed, as gently and softly as he could. He fought another urge—this time to reach out and rub the man’s back—and he flexed his fingers into the carpet. “Shh, I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here. It’s safe here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
He could hear the man’s ragged breaths, and it pained him even more. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. Was it... Does it bother you when I curse?”
The man sucked in another breath and nodded twice, his eyes still closed tightly. His arms came up to wrap around himself, and then he nodded again.
“Okay, okay,” Jake said, still keeping his voice soft and low. God, he felt like a louse. A lunkhead. Of the worst sort. He swallowed hard and watched as the man’s frail body shuddered and shook, and more tears fell as the man seemed to squeeze his eyes shut even harder. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll be more careful with my words. I didn’t mean to scare you. And I won’t hurt you.”
It was hurtingJake, though. Being on the ground in this awkward position, and seeing how much this poor man, this stranger, was absolutely terrified of him.
He wanted to ask. He wanted to know. If only so he could make sure whoever had hurt this man was brought to justice. Because someone had to have hurt him. Something had to have been terribly, terribly wrong.
But it was too soon for that. It was too soon to ask. And even if he did ask, he was pretty sure the man wouldn’t answer. Still, maybe he could get a few more nods or head shakes. Maybe.
With a quiet grunt and a curse that he made sure to say only in his head this time, Jake repositioned himself so he was a few feet away, his back resting up against the wall. The man was watching him, his deep blue eyes now rimmed with redness.
Jake’s expression softened as he gave the man a weak smile, and he chose his words carefully this time.
“I don’t know your story, or even your name, but I’ll listen if you want to tell me.” He paused, and the man screwed his eyes shut again but didn’t say anything. Jake ignored the pain in his leg as he continued. “It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me. That’s okay. But I promise you, you’re safe here. You’re safe here. And I’ll be careful with my words. I won’t hurt you. Okay?”
The evolution of emotions in the man’s expression only took a second, but Jake easily saw the shift from terror to something softer, something worried but... accepting, maybe?
He let out another breath and smiled, and when the man’s eyes met his, that fierce protectiveness he’d felt earlier seemed to flare up again—a pang in his chest and an aching in his heart.
God, whatever this all was, Jake had no idea. But the mess that was the last twenty-four or so hours had brought him here—with this man who seemed so innocent, so... so... He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
All he knew was how much he wanted to take away all the pain and uncertainty the man was feeling.
Unfortunately, he had no idea how to do that.
Chapter Ten
Rye
“Wait,thereitwas!That was my street. Sycamore. You just passed it. Turn around, and—”
“Shut the fuck up, kid. I know where the fuck you live. We’re going somewhere else. You just be a good little boy, keep your fuckin’ mouth closed, and I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Rye sat in the corner of the living room, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around them, hugging himself tightly. He’d moved to the corner a while ago, after Jake had tried again to get him to talk. He could see everything from here. He could see Jake—who now sat on the couch, his bad leg elevated and his laptop on his lap—and he could see the front door, and he could see the back door. The door that led out to the patio, which he sort of assumed led out to the beach.
He could escape if he wanted to. He could take off and run. Get farther away. Alone. Where no one would find him. But he didn’t know where he was or where he would actually go. Or how he would find food or shelter.
Or how he might, maybe, find his way back home.
He closed his eyes and tried to picture it. A small, one-story house with light-blue siding and a white garage door. The lawn kept neat and crisp and green, sectioned by a flat stone walkway that led up from the street all the way to the front porch. Small rosebushes out front, arranged in an orderly line. Pink and white and yellow blooms. The whole house surrounded by towering pines.
The image was suddenly so clear, so bright and clear, that he could almost smell the roses. And the pines. He could remember counting the stone steps. Sixteen in all. And he’d hop with both feet from step to step to step as his mom had stood and waited at the front door, amused but also impatient.
Hurry up, now, Ryan. We’ve got things to do.
Her voice. And her eyes. He saw them again, along with her smile. But he couldn’t hold onto the image of her, and it morphed into darkness, a swirling darkness with echoes of curses and anger and pain.
Mom.
He forced his eyes open and immediately found Jake, typing away at his computer. The steady clacking of the keys was the only sound in the room.
Will you help me find my mom?
