And that made his heart ache a little.
He looked back out over the water, the thick fog obscuring his view, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll, uh, have to check myverybusy schedule before I can confirm. I might already have a party or something planned. It’s possible.”
His sister sniffled again, a little louder this time. “God, Jake...”
“I’ll be there, Kris,” he said gently. “It’s been too long now.”
“Almost six months.”
“Yeah. That’s too long. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know you like your solitude.” There was another sniffle, but then a little tease returned to her voice. “And I don’t blame you. It gets loud around here, and the city is busy. Too many people.”
“I miss you, though.”
“I miss you too. I . . . should go.”
“Okay. Goodnight, Kris. Thanks for calling.”
“Goodnight, Jake. Take care. And dear god, please don’t go climbing onto the roof.”
Jake laughed again. “You have nothing to worry about, big sister.”
“I always worry.”
“I know.” He straightened up and took another sip of his tea, shifting most of his weight off his right leg.
“Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Always,” Jake said with a smile. He held the phone up to his ear for just a second longer and then pulled it away and hit the button to end the call.
A weak breeze blew in off the water, and he shivered. Damn, it was cold. With one more glance down toward the beach, Jake turned and hobbled back over to put out the fire in the firepit, then headed inside for the night, glad for the warmth of his cozy home.
Chapter Two
Rye
“Fuckthat!You’refuckin’dead this time, I swear!”
Rye shrunk back against the solid rock of the cliff face, sliding down until he was sitting in the wet sand. Then he buried his head down into his knees and cried. That didn’t help him, though, the crying. It only made everything hurt more—his head, his ribs, his chest, that one spot on his shoulder where the asshole had grabbed him before pushing him into the wall. And it didn’t help the throbbing from the gash on his cheek, where the man’s fist had slammed into him.
Or the cold—it didn’t get rid of the cold.
Fuck, it was cold.
He shuddered as revulsion ripped through him. He shouldn’t curse. The man cursed. A lot. And Rye didn’t want to do that. He didn’t want to be anything like the man.
Of course, if the man caught him, it wouldn’t matter, would it? Because Rye would be fuckin’ dead.
He clenched his jaw and then rubbed his eyes before stuffing both hands into the pockets of his tattered hoodie, hoping to keep them warmer. But his bare feet were aching from the cold, and his fingers were nearly numb.
It must be wintertime. Or something. He really had no idea. He’d lost count of the days at some point years ago and hadn’t bothered to keep track after that. It just hadn’t seemed to matter anymore. He’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was going to die there, alone, at the hands of that evil asshole.
Regardless of what month or season it was, it was freezing. And dark. It was very, very dark. The thick fog blocked any moonlight that might have lit up the night, and out here along the water’s edge, there was no light from any houses or anything.
Dark was good; at least, that was what he was trying to tell himself to keep from panicking. Dark gave him cover. Maybe helped to hide him. The man was probably looking for him by now.
God, he was so dead.
