He kept his hand moving across the carpet and his back pushed up against the wall, and every slow stroke calmed his racing heart just a little more. From outside, he heard the ocean waves, and he blinked his eyes open to the darkness and glanced toward the window. Weak moonlight shone in. And in the small bit of inky black sky he could see from where he lay curled up on the floor, a few stars twinkled.
Stars.
The same stars in the same sky over the same ocean he’d known when he was a kid.
A memory came back to him then, hazy as it was. Uncle Jon sitting with him on the beach. Both of them lying back on beach towels—Rye’s a bright blue with a huge cartoonized sea turtle in the middle. Staring up at the dark night sky, Uncle Jon talking, but Rye not quite hearing his words. Talking and pointing up, telling him about... a... a constellation.
He couldn’t remember which one.
As quickly as it had come, the memory faded, leaving him with an emptiness that was all too familiar. More tears rolled down his cheeks, and he pushed himself up from the ground with shaking arms and then crawled on his hands and knees over to the window.
The same stars in the same sky over the same ocean.
The sky appeared more vast from here, stretching out as far as he could see, until it met the moonlit horizon of the water. Rye stared through the window and upward, finding the tiny little dots in the sky and watching as they flickered.
He stayed right there, looking out the window, out into the night, until his eyes were too heavy to keep open anymore. Then he curled up with his back against the wall, right there, right under the window, and he wrapped his arms around himself again and fell asleep.
Soundsfromelsewhereinthe house woke Rye sometime later—quiet creaking of the floorboards, dishes clinking together, then a phone ringing. He heard Jake answer after two rings, his low voice muffled through the still-closed bedroom door.
Rye’s gaze landed on the door, barely visible in the dim light of the room, and he hugged himself tighter as he listened to muted words he couldn’t quite make out. Muted words, creaking floorboards, dark room, door closed. An uncomfortablechurning started in Rye’s stomach, and he found himself pressing one hand into the floor again. Into the soft carpet. But this time, the softness didn’t really soothe him.
Instead, his heart began to pound. Hard and uneven. And even though he was lying on his side, a dizziness hit him.
The closed door.
He’dclosed the door.
He’d closed the door himself.
He pushed himself onto his knees and then managed to get both feet underneath himself. A moment later, he was standing, wobbling, tripping over his own feet and grasping for the wall to steady himself as he staggered to the door.
His heart was in his throat now, thrumming so hard it was making his dizziness worse, and he stopped right in front of the door, his hand hovering just over the handle. He could hear Jake now. Sort of. Every few words were still too muffled or too quiet or something.
“Yeah, when I mentioned Rocky Cove . . . Maybe I should . . . I’m worried, Kris . . . No. No, he’s . . . Yeah. Yeah, something like that. What should I do? He’s been . . . No, I don’t wanna . . .”
Rye’s chest tightened. Jake was obviously talking about him to his sister. He wasn’t sure why that made him even more uncomfortable, but he pulled his hand back from the door handle for a minute, straining to listen to more of Jake’s words. But now, all he could hear was the occasional “mm-hmm” and “yep.”
And the darkness surrounding him started to feel much too heavy again. Heavy and thick and cold.
Sucking in a breath through clenched teeth, Rye forced his hand to move. Shakily, trembling, he managed to grasp the door handle. Then he closed his eyes against the nausea.
“Don’t even fucking try it. The door locks from the outside, and if I hear you messing with it—fuck, if I hear you at all, crying or yelling or any shit like that—you’ll fucking regret it. Got that, kid?”
His chest hurt. If it was locked . . . if Jake had . . . if Jake had locked him in . . .
He couldn’t even finish his thought. It was too terrifying to even imagine. He stifled a sob, bringing his other hand up to cover his mouth, and tears fell—the damn tears again—slipping silently down his cheeks. He gripped the door handle harder.
Then he turned.
And the door clicked open.
Rye almost collapsed with relief, and the air immediately felt warmer and breathable.
From the other room, he could hear Jake’s voice louder and clearer now. There was a short “I hope so,” followed by a pause and then “Yeah, I don’t mind him being here, of course, Kris. I... I just want him to get whatever help he needs. A medical checkup, at least. Sue called me a little while ago and asked... Yeah, but I... I think...”
Rye stood there, leaning heavily against the doorframe, his whole body feeling much too weak for him to still be standing. Jake’s conversation turned to something different that Rye didn’t totally understand, and he took a deep breath, released the doorframe, and stumbled over to the bed.
So tired. He was so tired. And even though he felt like he’d slept more in the last two days than he’d slept in a long time, he crawled under the covers, pulled the blanket up to his chin, and closed his eyes, hoping he could just rest more.
