And Rye had no idea what that really meant. But he wanted to understand. He frowned and squinted as he tried to concentrate, listening carefully as the narrator explained what the region of the ocean was and its importance for swordfish populations.
Rye soaked it all in, hanging on every word. He was so deeply immersed that he’d forgotten Jake was even there on the couch with him until Jake cleared his throat, leaned forward, and picked up the bowl of popcorn, then placed it between them on the middle couch cushion.
“Ah, look,” Jake said, shifting again to point toward the TV. “See that guy in the black Stanford hoodie? That’s my buddy Steve. We were in college together. Undergrad and then grad school until—well, until the accident. But he’s still there. He’s a postdoc now. Hah. This is great. I’m gonna have to call him tomorrow.”
Rye glanced at Jake and then back at the TV, where Jake’s friend was now standing at the edge of a dock next to a boat, talking animatedly as he explainedhis research work. He only spoke for a minute or so before the scene changed, and Steve and two more researchers were out on a boat on the water.
The documentary continued, taking them from one side of the United States to the other and back again. Rye followed along as best he could, but the amount of information was overwhelming, and at one point, when the narrator seemed to pause to just follow another swordfish as it swam gracefully through the water, he finally sat back a little deeper into the couch cushions and then chanced another glance over at Jake and the bowl of popcorn. His stomach ached, reminding him of how hungry he was, and he swallowed hard and then slowly—ever so slowly—reached out with a hand and grabbed just a couple of the popped kernels. Jake turned his head and gave Rye a small smile and a nod before looking back at the TV.
It was okay.
It almost didn’t seem real, the fact that he was about to eat popcorn while sitting on a couch and watching TV. Rye lifted his hand to his mouth and stuffed the popcorn in, and it instantly melted against his tongue, bursting with flavor and richness. He might have made some funny little sound, which was probably why Jake glanced at him again, and he immediately pushed himself back into his corner of the couch and set his hands back in his lap as he chewed and swallowed the popcorn, pretending to focus on the TV.
“It’s good stuff, huh?” Jake said. “Have as much as you like. I’m full already. And there’s leftover soup for dinner, if you’re hungry.”
Rye’s stomach grumbled again—loudly this time—as if to say just how empty it still was. Jake chuckled, and Rye froze as he felt the couch shift.
“Here, really. It’s all yours.”
From the corner of his eye, Rye saw Jake push the bowl of popcorn even closer to him before settling back in his spot on the couch with a barely muffled grunt. He bit his lip. It would be okay. He could have a little more. Jake had basically given him the bowl, right? And he wanted it. A lot.
He tilted his head just enough that he could see the popcorn and Jake. Jake was looking at the TV again, one hand now lightly massaging his injured leg, not paying attention to Rye at all. So, as he had earlier, Rye reached his hand into the bowl slowly, grabbing just another two or three pieces. And when he popped them into his mouth, he was awarded with another burst of flavor, just like the first.
“Ah, there’s Steve again. This is great,” Jake said with an amused laugh.
And Rye shifted his attention back to the TV as he picked up another small handful of popcorn.
Chapter Seventeen
Jake
Jake’sthoughtshadn’tstoppedracing for hours. Never mind that it was now two in the morning and he still hadn’t slept a wink and he was so physically exhausted he could barely keep his eyes open. And not that hewantedto keep his eyes open—god, he’d so much rather be sleeping right now—but whenever he closed them, all he saw was Rye’s face as he’d stared at the TV, mesmerized. His blue eyes wide, captivated by the image on the screen.
At first, Jake hadn’t really thought anything of it. But then the image had begun to haunt him. Sort of. It had been a beautiful thing, watching Rye finally settle down on the couch and let himself enjoy the documentary.
The more Jake’s thoughts churned, though, the more he’d started to realize how odd of a thing it was, to be that enthralled by the pictures and videos on the TV screen. To be so captivated that, for once, Rye hadn’t seemed to be fearful and distracted by Jake’s presence.
What the hell did all that mean?
Jake groaned quietly as he reached down to fluff the pillow keeping his bad leg elevated. And he gazed up at the ceiling, distracting himself from his thoughts by following the outline of the ceiling fan, just barely visible in the darkened room. Moonlight peeked in through the shutters, and he turned his head sideways to stare for a moment at the strings of light cast on the far wall of his bedroom.
His sister had asked him a bunch of questions earlier, when they’d talked just a few minutes before Rye had come out of the bedroom. And at the time, he’d had no answers. Hell, he still had no answers, but at least then, it had been easy to say that, to tell her he just didn’t know. After that, however, after he’d hung up with her and then sat with Rye through the entire hour-and-a-half-long documentary and then watched as Rye had fumbled around the kitchen to heat himself up some leftover soup... Jake’s brain had started speculating, wondering, questioning.
The man hadn’t really known how to work the microwave. It was a small thing, but another piece of the convoluted puzzle.
And Jake wanted to know.
What was Rye’s story? Who was he? And just where had he come from?
It wasn’t like Jake’s home was right off the main road. Completely the opposite, actually. He lived off a dead-end street that ran past his house and continued for another mile or so until it reached a tiny, two-car parking lot overlooking the ocean. It wasn’t really a popular or well-known spot, even though it was public. Plus he had no real neighbors. The closest was probably at least two or three miles away, back toward town. And the city of Rocky Cove itself was already quite off the beaten path.
It wasn’t even summer, when peak tourist time brought small but noticeable crowds to the couple of motels and few bed-and-breakfasts in the area.
Rye had to have come from somewhere. And with the injuries he’d had and the condition he was in and his obviously fearful reactions and moments of panic and...
God, Jake didn’t evenliketo speculate. It hurt his heart.
But the painful truth was that wherever Rye had come from, there was no way it could have been pleasant.
