Rye’s head dipped down, and he closed his eyes. God, Jake could almost see him shaking, his whole body tense and uncertain. Rye swallowed, and his small frame almost curled in on itself as he shrunk back from Jake. Not a huge amount, not much, but Jake could see it, and he definitely felt it.
He shook his head gently. “I just want to talk to you. There are a few things... well...” Jake trailed off, but at the same time, Rye nodded slowly. Then, without looking at Jake, Rye turned and took the few steps he needed to reach the side of the patio sofa opposite Jake. He sat stiffly and then pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.
Jake’s heart hurt. Again. And he also hated himself right now. He hated that he’d had to interrupt whatever that moment of peace was that Rye had had staring out at the ocean, watching the dolphins. He hated that he’d been the cause of Rye’s wonder and awe disappearing into tension and anxiety.
It was important, he knew. He needed to talk to Rye. He needed to understand enough to be sure Ryewassafe andwould besafe, and he needed to understand what Rye wanted. But it pained him to see the change in Rye nonetheless.
Jake took a deep breath and then, keeping his voice soft, asked, “This morning, at breakfast, did you hear my phone call with Tim?”
Rye flinched slightly as though he hadn’t expected the words. He shook his head and scrunched his eyes shut, and for a minute, Jake just wanted to back off completely, apologize, and... maybe offer Rye more cookies or something. Instead, he just nodded and spoke slowly and gently.
“Tim has been keeping me up-to-date about the work on the road. He called during breakfast, remember?”
No answer. Rye buried his head into his knees.
“I probably should’ve brought it up earlier,” Jake said, although he remembered why he hadn’t. He’d been frustrated with the news from Tim, and he hadn’t wanted any of that frustration to come through as he’d spoken with Rye. “He said the rain did slow them down, and he thinks they’ll be finished maybe late Friday afternoon or sometime Saturday morning. He said, uh, definitely not tomorrow.”
This time, his heart didn’t just hurt. It broke. It shattered into a billion pieces that he was sure he’d never be able to put back together. Because Ryedidrespond this time. He responded with a short, stifled sob that he muffled into his knees, and then he forced out a string of five words, clear and painful.
“I want to go home.”
Ah. Ah, fuck.
Jake blew out a quiet breath. “You want to go home?”
Rye nodded emphatically, even as he shrunk back into the corner of the sofa more.
God, what the hell had happened to him? A jumble of horrible speculations that Jake could barely even fathom jumped to mind, but he quickly pushed everything else aside, needing to focus on the here and now.
He moved very carefully, very slowly, to reposition himself so he was facing Rye more, and the young man sniffled and swiped one hand across his face, smearing his tears.
“Okay, it’s okay,” Jake murmured gently, fighting the urge to reach out and comfort Rye somehow. He swallowed thickly and tried to keep his voice more level. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to... I didn’t, um...”
There was a whimper and another sob, and one of Rye’s hands set on the sofa as though he were about to push himself up and take off.
Jake shook his head lightly. “I’ll help you, Rye. Okay? I’ll help you get home. Do you... do you know where home is? Do you—”
“No. No, I couldn’t find it. I-I couldn’t...” Rye was crying again, and this time, hedidmove, turning and stumbling to his feet and then backing away while wiping the tears from his cheeks. His head shook again, and then he wrapped one arm around his midsection. His other hand came up to grip his opposite arm. Tightly.
Jake stayed seated where he was, but his heart started pounding in his chest, and it was getting harder to keep all those speculations at bay.
Rye...couldn’tfind it? What did that mean?
He set his hand on the sofa cushion next to him and patted it gently. “It’s okay.” He kept his voice low and soft as best he could, even as he watched Rye shake and shift uncomfortably on his feet and glance toward the stairs leading to the beach. “It’s okay. We’ll find it. Okay? I’ll help you, and we’ll find it. We’ll get you home, okay?”
Rye nodded, but it was forced, and the hand he had gripping his arm tightened again as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Here, sit. Or... I really don’t want you to get cold. Maybe we could go inside?” Jake suggested, but that was obviously not the right thing to say, because Rye flinched and stepped backward, shaking his head. “No? Okay. But, um, here. Please take my coat. Okay?”
Before Rye could answer, Jake unzipped his coat and then leaned forward slightly and slipped it off. He offered it to Rye, who stood several steps away from the sofa, biting his lower lip and watching Jake warily.
Ignoring the wave of unease that rolled through his stomach, Jake managed what he hoped was a kind smile. “Please take it. It’s chilly out here, and I don’t want you to get cold. Please.”
Several tense seconds later, Rye finally moved a step toward the couch, then another. And he let go of his arm to reach out and take the coat, his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched. He slipped it on awkwardly—it was much, much too big, just like the sweats he’d been borrowing from Jake, but that didn’t matter. Not right now.
“There we go,” Jake said softly. “And here, sit, and then...”
Rye listened. But there was some stiffness in the way he moved and the way he curled up in his spot on the sofa, making himself as small as possible. Jake pursed his lips, trying his best to act calm, even though his stomach was hot and churning.
