They needed to talk—or at least communicate in some way—because Jake needed to know what to do. When the road was passable, he needed to go into town for his own reasons—the medication he desperately needed, a new cane, groceries. And he probably needed to make the much longer drive to Sacramento to see Dr. Snow. But he had no idea what Rye would want to do.
Did he have a place to go? A...safeplace to go, that was? And if so, why wasn’t he there? Why had he ended up on Jake’s beach instead? Was he... running from something orsomeone?
Jake needed to know at least something more than just Rye’s first name if he was to help the man. He really thought Rye should probably be seen by Sue for a quick medical checkup at minimum. But then... did they need to go to the police station? Was Rye in some sort of trouble with the law? Or was he in some other trouble, and going to the police might help him?
Rocky Cove was a tiny town, the population hovering just above five hundred on a good year. But they did have a small police station that was manned about half of the time, except during peak tourist season when they hired a couple more officers. Even now, though, Police Chief Wayne Harris and his daughter, Lieutenant Rachel Eisenberg, were always available. Jake had spoken with Rachel on Saturday morning, in fact, when he’d called in an attempt to get an ambulance.Since then, he’d been mostly keeping contact with Sue to update her on Rye’s health. But he wondered whether a trip to the police station might be in order.
Not that it was his decision, really. It was one hundred percent Rye’s decision.
And Jake had been so preoccupied with everything, including his own pain and discomfort, that he hadn’t even really thought to bring the subject up. At least, not until Krista had asked him earlier what he was going to do as soon as the road cleared.
He’d try to deflect, turning the conversation to her tentative plans to visit on Friday and over the weekend. And he’d suggested they put off the visit for another week or so; the road might not be ready by this Friday anyway, especially after the storm that had just passed through. And since he wasn’t sure what was happening with Rye, he didn’t know whether the extra bedroom would be available for her and Phil by then. She’d argued, of course, which he’d expected. But he’d insisted that he’d be okay, that he could take care of himself. And he’d promised her that he’d let her know if anything changed and if he became unable to walk or unable to drive himself into town to get his medication.
In any case, the conversation had definitely made him think.
Rye needed help. That was clear. Jake just didn’t know what kind of help he needed.
A sudden unease rattled through him, and Jake closed his eyes, listening. The house was quiet, as it had been since he’d crawled into bed hours ago. The quiet should have been reassuring. After all, quiet meant Rye was probably sleeping. However, whatever it was inside Jake that just really cared about this man—that part of him needed to see for himself. To know.
Slowly, he pushed himself up to sit and then scooted to the edge of the bed and stood. His leg complained, but it wasn’t as awful as it had been most of the day or the night before, and he managed to straighten up without needing something to hold onto. He limped heavily across the room and then out into the hallway, which was partly illuminated by the light coming from the extra bedroom. He slowed his steps just before he reached the bedroom and flattened his hand against the wall to support himself as he peeked in.
The bed was empty, but he sort of almost expected that by now, and he found Rye curled up in the far corner, the comforter wrapped all the way around him like a cocoon. His face was relaxed, his eyes lightly closed and his mouth just slightly parted in sleep. The cut on his cheek had begun to heal, but the bruising was still quite prominent, and in the well-lit room, the black and purple splotches were clearly visible.
Yet a wave of relief hit him, and the tightness in his chest eased as he let out a long, quiet breath.
Rye was okay.
He wasn’t sure what he’d expected. He’d just had to know. He’d had to check. And now that he was here, he realized he shouldn’t be. It wasn’t his place. Or, at least, now that he’d checked on Rye, he shouldn’t linger. It would be too intrusive.
He took another deep breath, watching Rye for a few more seconds to assure himself that Rye really was okay, and then he turned and hobbled slowly back toward his bedroom.
He still had so many questions, and given how Rye didn’t really talk, he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to get any answers. However, in the morning, he’d try to start a conversation. He’d just have to be really careful about it.
A few minutes later, as he stuffed the pillow under his bad leg, lay back, and then closed his eyes, Jake found his thoughts drifting, once more, to the intrigue and amazement in Rye’s eyes when they’d watched the documentary. Only this time, his thoughts were warm and hopeful, and he finally, finally felt himself floating off to sleep.
Jakestaredatthecarpet, contemplating, one hand lightly gripping his thigh. He couldprobablydo it today. His exercises, that was. The muscles in his bad leg still hurt much, much more than normal but maybe not quite as badly as they did yesterday. Yet. But Krista’s words from one of their phone calls yesterday still echoed in his head.
“Please don’t push yourself, Jake. Let your leg rest. I bet Cora said the same thing.”
She had, of course. Nine out of ten times, Cora and Krista were on the same page. But that little part of Jake’s brain that just hated giving in, that stubborn part of him that Krista was always calling him out for, it wouldn’t listen.
He had to try again.
And it wasn’t that he didn’t believe in the advice of his sister and his medical team. It was just that he couldn’t stand the idea of becoming complacent, even just for one day. He was worried that if he stopped, if he broke his routine, he’d eventually lose all the things that were precious to him—his strength, his mobility, his independence.
So, he took the few steps from the hallway and then slowly—very, very slowly—lowered himself to the floor. His legdidn’tspasm this time. It ached, but it didn’t spasm, and somehow, he managed. Fifty push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. Atwo-minute plank. Twenty-five single-leg squats on his good leg, and a half hour of massage and physical therapy exercises for his bad leg.
He’d finally finished the last of his exercises when he heard sounds from down the hallway. Footsteps and then the bathroom door closing. And he thought maybe he heard the shower turn on.
And something about that pushed him to keep moving.
About fifteen minutes later, just as the eggs, toast, and tea were done and Jake had gotten everything moved to the table, he heard the bathroom door open. He glanced up from where he stood, his hands now gripping the back of his chair so he could take some of the weight off his leg, and a smile spread across his face as his eyes met Rye’s. The younger man looked so much better than he had three days ago—there was color in his complexion, and his cheeks didn’t look quite as sunken. He had indeed showered, his wet hair tucked neatly back behind his ears, and he’d shaved too, the thin layer of stubble he’d been sporting the night before now gone.
“Good morning,” Jake greeted, pulling out his chair so he could sit. The aching in his leg was going to start getting worse again pretty damn soon if he wasn’t careful, and after yesterday, that was exactly what he didn’t want. He lowered himself into his chair and then smiled up at Rye through the pain. “I, uh, see you found the clothes I left for you in the bathroom.”
Rye paused, still a few feet away, and glanced down at the oversized black sweats he wore before nodding. Then he looked up again—at his plate sitting on the table, not at Jake—and several emotions flickered in his eyes in rapid succession, too fast for Jake to follow. He pursed his lips and stepped up to the table to join Jake, not taking his eyes off the plate of scrambled eggs and toast.
“I hope you don’t mind eggs and toast again. I’ve got plenty of food, but most of it’s frozen or, you know, cookies.” Jake huffed a light laugh and scooted his chair in. “I’m out of fruit and other things until I can get back to the grocery store.” He wanted to say more, but he waited, watching as Rye slowly, silently pulled his chair out and slipped into the seat.
