“Jesus, Jake, you’re so full of it,” she said, but she was laughing now, and Jake smiled right along with her as she continued. “Anyway, yeah, it’s in Reno. Next April. His coach says he’ll qualify, easily, and you know he’s going to need his favorite uncle—”
“I’m hisonlyuncle!”
“He’s going to need hisfavoriteuncle there. So clear your calendar. It’s the last weekend in April.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. Tell him I’ll be there, okay?”
“I will.”
Jake paused to open the back door, and a rush of warm air hit him. It felt good and more comforting than he’d expected, although at the same time, the exhaustion he’d been battling with earlier after dropping Sue off returned to him full force.
Mustering up the very last of his energy, he stepped inside and slid the door closed behind him. “I’m beat, Kris. I think I’m gonna call it a night,” he said, and he heard his sister’s laugh on the other end of the line.
“I’m surprised you’re still awake, honestly,” she admitted, and her voice then got serious and quiet when she added, “I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Yeah... the pain made it hard. I think tonight should be easier.” God, he hoped. And he also hoped his brain would slow down long enough for him to fall asleep in the first place.
“So long as they don’t call you in another hour or two and make you go back into town to answer questions?” his sister asked gently.
“Yeah.” He made his way across the living room to the kitchen, then set his mug on the counter, promising himself he’d deal with it tomorrow. And he reached up and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. God, he was tired.
He heard Krista clear her throat. “Okay, well, um, I’m sure you’re going to be busy tomorrow, so just... call me when you can? Please?”
“Of course.”
“Love you, little brother.”
“Love you too, Kris. Good night.”
“Good night.”
Jake hung up the phone, closed his eyes for a beat, and took a long breath. Then he awkwardly stuffed the cordless phone in his pocket—because he needed to be sure to keep it with him overnight, in case Rachel or Wayne called—and shuffled slowly toward his bedroom.
Not more than fifteen minutes later, after a quick shower, he collapsed into bed, already drifting off to sleep by the time his head hit the pillow.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Rye
Ryelayinbedfacing the wall, staring at the dark-blue paint. It had a slight texture to it, and he wanted to reach out and touch it—to feel whether it was rough or smooth. But he didn’t dare move. He hadn’t moved in some time now. He just stared at the wall, wishing he could touch it and trying really, really hard to remember . . .
Had it always been this color? This particular shade of dark blue?
Wherever that memory was, though, it had to be tucked away somewhere very deep, because even as hard as he’d been trying, he still just couldn’t find it.
Little bits and pieces of memories had been coming back to him since he’d gotten home. Mostly good things, especially at dinner when they’d had his aunt’s homemade pizza, which she’d said used to be Rye’s favorite.
This one, though—any memory that would make his bedroom seem more familiar—continued to be just out of reach somehow. Or something.
And really, he knew he shouldn’t be worrying over it. He should be sleeping. Everyone had told him that.
Rest and you’ll feel better in no time.
Take it easy, hun.
Get some sleep, and we’ll try again tomorrow. Maybe you’ll be able to talk then.
But any time he tried, any time he closed his eyes and tried to let himself really settle into sleep, the panic came. Darkness and cold and panic.
