From his spot on the couch, Jake cleared his throat lightly, and Rye opened his eyes.
“Thank you,” Jake repeated, lifting his mug. “Seriously. Thank you.”
That small smile Rye had felt tugging at his lips earlier peeked out again, awkwardly, Rye thought. The expression was foreign to him now, even if hewasn’t quite controlling it. But Jake beamed, his face lighting up, though still with a softness to it. Rye nodded, and his careful smile tightened.
He held Jake’s soft, kind gaze for another moment, and then, his voice low and raw with emotion, he said, “Rye.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jake
“Rye.”
The single word carried across the room, the man’s quiet voice uncertain and raw in a way Jake had maybe never heard before. Jake was confused for half a second, and then a heaviness seemed to settle on his chest.
“Rye?” he asked slowly. Then, to clarify, he added, “Your name is Rye?”
There was a hesitation that he sensed more than saw, and for once, the man didn’t break eye contact. But the fear in his eyes made that heaviness in Jake’s chest even more difficult to bear. Then the man nodded—Ryenodded—and blinked several times, forcing a tear to slip out, down his cheek. Rye nodded again and finally dropped his gaze to the mug in his hands.
Rye.What an interesting name. Probably short for something, Jake assumed. Not that it had to be. He’d just never known anyone named Rye. He kinda... liked it. And it seemed to fit the man somehow.
Taking another slow sip of his tea, which was now the perfect temperature, Jake watched Rye carefully, unable to ignore the deep aching in his heart. God, how he wished he knew what else to say or what it was that he’d said or done that had made Rye feel comfortable enough to finally tell Jake his name.
Rye.
“Thank you, Rye,” he said after another few seconds. “Thank you for helping me earlier and for making the tea. And”—he grinned, hoping to insertsomelevity into the moment—“for listening to me ramble on about my sister.”
Rye didn’t look up from his tea, but Jake thought maybe some of his tension eased. His long, thin fingers still gripped his mug tightly, but his shoulders seemed to relax, and he gifted Jake with another of those tiny, fleeting smiles.
And the impatient part of Jake—the part of him that often pushed and pushed himself and refused to let up, even for a second—that part ached for more.That part wanted to try another something silly. Make a joke or tell some funny story. Get this man to smile a real, full smile. To laugh, even.
The other part of him—the smarter part that was pretty darn good at reading people—knew that he couldn’t push. It had obviously been difficult enough for Rye to say even just his name, and only his first name at that. If Jake pushed for anything more, it could—probablywould—set them back, or worse, send Rye into a panic.
So instead, Jake quietly sipped the rest of his tea and let the silence settle between them. Eventually, he managed to convince himself to shift on the couch so he could elevate his leg. The move reignited the intense, stabbing pain that had attacked him earlier, but he somehow kept himself from cursing out loud, and he closed his eyes and waited it out for another few minutes, when the pain finally dulled to an intense, aching throb.
What a Monday morning. The whole last few days, really.
Damn.
He sat up slightly and set his mug down. Rye looked at him from the corner, his eyes filled with that same uncertainty they’d had earlier.
Jake gave him a gentle smile, or at least, he tried the best he could, given the level of pain he was in. “I should get some work done,” he said, and he grimaced as he reached over to where his laptop sat on the coffee table. “Sorry I can’t, uh, make breakfast. But you’re welcome to anything I’ve got. There’s bread and eggs, or you can heat up some leftover soup. Or cookies.” Jake glanced behind him to the kitchen table. The chocolate chip cookies he’d set out last night were still there, on a plate right in the center of the table. He straightened up and tried for another grin. “I won’t tell anyone if you just want to have some cookies for breakfast.”
That earned him another half-smile—one that was accompanied by a softening of the tension in Rye’s deep blue eyes. And for a brief moment, Jake couldn’t look away. Rye’s smile, tentative and transient as it was, captivated him. There was something so very special about it, like it was a precious thing, something fragile that needed to be cultivated. And protected.
Or maybe... maybe he was just making things up in his head because god, his leg still hurt.
Rye looked past him to the table and then back to Jake, and Jake nodded. “They’re all yours if you want.”
A flutter of emotions passed over Rye’s face, each one tiny and reserved but visible nonetheless. And when Rye looked back at Jake, he almost seemed to be pleading, as though he needed more reassurance.
“I’ve got plenty. Really.”
After another moment of hesitation, Rye shifted his eyes back to the mug in his hands, then stood slowly, his jaw clenching as one hand moved to wrap around his side. He walked silently around the couch, giving Jake a bit of a wide berth, and Jake heard sounds of the mug setting on the counter, then a cupboard door opening and closing. A moment later, Rye reappeared, his eyes downcast and his shoulders tight. He held two small plates in his hands, a single large cookie on each plate. Moving carefully, Rye set one plate on the coffee table near Jake. Then he backed away, headed into the kitchen to get his tea, and made his way back to his corner.
Jake just stared at the plate for a few seconds, rattled. He hadn’t expected... that. Not at all. First helping him to the couch. Then the tea, and now the cookies. Finally, he managed to lift his eyes. Rye had just settled back on the ground, his knees pulled up to his chest and his own plate sitting next to him.
“Thank you,” Jake murmured, and he almost had to laugh at himself. God, his voice sounded all deep and emotional. But that was how he felt too.
