But he didn’t fall asleep. Instead, he lay there, listening to Jake’s soft, deep voice as he talked more with his sister. Something about white abalone conservation and an article he was writing for a magazine. Jake was a writer. And he sounded smart. And kind—worried about keeping the white abalone from becoming extinct.
Rye sort of remembered what that meant. Maybe. He grasped onto a memory of a field trip he’d taken in first grade... or was it kindergarten? They’d gone to a small aquarium in town—one his mom had always said she’d wanted to take him to but never had the time. And Elsie had been there. And Liam. And they’d learned all about whales. Elsie had started crying when Mr. Brock had explained some whales were being killed and were in danger of dying out—becoming extinct. Rye had hugged her and promised her he would make sure that never happened.
He shouldn’t have made such promises.
Jake’s voice cut through his thoughts. “No, Kris. It’s bad but... Yeah, I know, I know. I’ll try, I promise.”
Rye shuddered and pulled the covers up over his face. Promises, promises. What had Jake promised him earlier? That it was safe to talk to him? Rye bit his lower lip as he listened to Jake continue.
“I did stay off of it as much as I could this afternoon,” Jake said, although his voice was a bit harder to hear now that Rye had the blanket over his head. “But with everything, you know... Yeah. I’m gonna try some more Advil. I know it won’t really help but... I know. I know... Okay, yeah. I’ll talk to you tomorrow night, unless anything—” Jake sighed, almost with exasperation. “Fine, I’ll call you in the morning. You’ll be at work? Should I call your cell or... Okay... Yeah. Good night, sis. Love you.”
Rye lay still, trying to keep his breathing steady.
“You can talk to me. Ask me anything. Tell me anything. It’s safe... I promise.”
That was what Jake had said. Anything. Rye could ask him or tell him. It was safe. Safe.
God, what the f—
He screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, even under the blanket. No. No cursing. No cursing, and he knew what safe meant. He just couldn’t... bring himself to believe it. To trust it.
A gentle knock at the door startled him, though he managed to not bury himself more under the blanket. Instead, he pulled the blanket down slightly, his eyes darting toward the open door. Jake stood there, not looking quite as imposing as he had the day before. In fact, he just looked tired. Maybe even more tired than Rye. And worried.
Jake was worried. About Rye.
“Hey...” Jake reached up and scratched his beard, frowning ever so slightly. “I’m glad you’re awake. I, uh, wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for whatever I said earlier, when we were eating. I, um...”
Jake paused and shifted, obviously uncomfortable, and Rye clutched the blanket tighter and did his best to try to not look away. But it was hard, and the voice in his head was telling him mean things. Screaming curses at him. Threatening him. And he just wanted to cower, to tug the blanket up over his head and hide. He fought it as best he could, holding onto Jake’s kind, worried gaze.
After another few seconds, Jake seemed to gather himself, offering Rye a weak shake of his head and a barely-there half-smile.
“I need to ask again if I can check your vitals and take a look at the cut on your cheek. Sue—I think I mentioned her yesterday—she’s a nurse, and she called earlier to ask me how you were doing. She’s really pushing me for an update. You can say no, of course. It’s okay to say no. I know you probably don’t want, um... me to...” Jake’s smile disappeared, and he seemed to swallow hard. “I mean, it’ll be quick. I just need to check your heart rate and temperature and then take a look at your, uh, cheek.”
Rye did want to just refuse again, because he really didn’t want anyone close to him or touching him or—or looking at the gash on his cheek or asking questions about where he got it. He didn’t want to feel the need to answer or the pull to talk, to ask more questions of his own. And he didn’t want to feel the fear already starting to grow in his gut—the knot that just tightened more and sent a tremor through him.
But at the same time, Jake seemed so nice and kind. And he wanted... he justwantedto trust him. He wanted... tobesafe.
Jake seemed to take his silence as a refusal, and he gave Rye another small, knowing smile. “It’s okay, really. You can say no. You canalwayssay no,” he repeated softly.
With a sharp inhale, Rye pinched his lips together and closed his eyes. Then he nodded slightly, and when he looked back at Jake, he saw Jake’s expression immediately brighten, the tension in his eyes softening.
“Yeah? Are you sure?” When Rye nodded again after only a brief hesitation, Jake smiled and stuffed one hand in his pocket. “Great. Thank you. Uh, I’ll go get my first aid kit. Okay?”
Rye didn’t answer this time, because the temporary relief he’d felt from seeing Jake’s worry ease disappeared much too quickly as soon as he saw Jake shift again, his large body taking up most of the doorway. Jake gave Rye another gentle smile and then turned and hobbled back down the hallway toward the kitchen.
His stomach twisted more, but Rye just closed his eyes and waited, listening as Jake’s footsteps left and then returned. There was another light knock on the door.
“Back. May I come in?”
God, his voice was so gentle and careful. Like maybe he actually cared. And like maybe if Rye changed his mind, Jake would actually... respect that? Rye bit his lip but nodded.
“Okay. This should only take a few minutes, okay?” Although it was a question, Jake didn’t seem to expect an answer. He flipped the light switch on and then made his way toward the bed, his limp still heavy and uneven. There was a chair tucked away next to the nightstand, and Jake pulled it over to the side of the bed and slowly lowered himself into it, muffling a quiet grunt into his shoulder.
Rye’s stomach lurched for a different reason this time, and he looked away and closed his eyes.
Jake was true to his word. He worked quickly and was just as gentle as he’d always been with Rye. And he explained everything he was going to do before he did it, always asking Rye’s permission before he did anything. He had to touch Rye only twice—once on his wrist to check his pulse and then once to apply a cream of some sort to the gash on Rye’s cheek. The cream stung, as Jake had warned him it might, but it was nothing really compared with the aching, occasionally sharper pain in his side, where he knew he had dark, deep bruising.
When Jake asked if Rye could lift up the sweater he wore so Jake could take a look—because Jake had no doubt seen the start of the bruising yesterday morning when he’d had to undress Rye—Ryedidrefuse, shaking his head and pulling the blanket back up to his chin. It hurt, but it was just pain. It would go away. It usually did, anyway.
