Rye smiled along with everyone else, and it felt like a real, full, big smile. And just as Krista hit the button to snap the photo, Rye met Jake’s eyes in the image reflected on the phone.
And his smile felt even a little brighter.
He did like it here. Here in his safe little bubble.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Jake
“Imighthavegonea little overboard, huh?” Krista laughed as she scooped up the leftover sausage gravy and transferred it into a container.
“I’m not complaining. I won’t have to cook for at least a week,” Jake said, grinning sideways at his sister.
She rolled her eyes and then heaved a dramatic sigh. “I suppose I didn’t have to cook the egg casserole, too, but I figured you’d eat it.”
“I will.” Jake snapped the lid on the glass casserole dish in front of him and moved the leftover casserole, along with the rest of the biscuits, bacon, and hash browns into the fridge. Krista handed him the sausage gravy, and he stuck that in, too, pushing a container of strawberries out of the way to make room.
Usually, he’d have headed to Sacramento for Christmas and stayed a few days, taking the opportunity to visit with Krista and Phil again and to see his dad. This year, however, his dad had gone on a trip to Hawaii with some of his work buddies, and so Krista and Phil had decided to come to Rocky Cove instead of having Jake drive to Sacramento again. They’d arrived the day before, on Christmas Eve, and planned to stay only until tomorrow afternoon. Phil had gymnastics practice on Friday, and with competition season coming up, he really didn’t want to miss it.
And even though it was just a short trip, Jake was thankful to have them. Spending Thanksgiving with them in Sacramento had been wonderful, and he’d been reminded of how much he missed his sister and his nephew.
Last night, they’d arrived just on time to go with him to the celebration in town, and that had been nothing short of wonderful. Phil had absolutely loved the small town, the huge Christmas tree, the hot chocolate, and the light displays and had barely stopped talking about it all long enough to fall asleep the night before.
Of course, the highlight of Jake’s night had been watching Phil get to meet Rye for the first time. Seeing Rye laugh was always special, even now, almost two months after Rye had shown up on Jake’s beach. But how his face had lit up and how he’d opened up and talked to Phil a bit as they’d spent the evening together at the celebration in town had been emotional and moving in ways Jake hadn’t expected.
His heart did something funny in his chest even now, just thinking about it.
He glanced up across the room to where Phil was sitting on the couch, completely immersed in the newMario Party Jamboreevideo game Jake had gotten him for Christmas.
“You got it working okay, kiddo?” he asked, watching as Phil squirmed this way and that, mashing buttons on the controller.
“Hmm? Oh, yep! I’m just...” Phil trailed off and then jumped up from the couch and started flapping his arms like a bird. The character on the TV screen—maybe Rosalina, although Jake wasn’t quite sure—mimicked Phil’s movements, the big white wings sprouting from her back moving up and down as she flew higher. “Hah, it works! This is so, so awesome. I love it! Thank you for the present, Uncle Jake!”
Jake grinned and glanced at his sister, who was shaking her head. “Hey, now,” he said, lowering his voice a bit, “you okayed it. Ididask you first.AndI also got him that Speed Cube and that Percy Jackson box set and that other book on Greek architecture and—”
His sister swatted at him playfully. “I know. Thank you for all that. He loves it. And he’ll read and read and read as soon as he’s done playing.” She huffed a laugh. “Actually, super extra thank you for that. When he’s reading is the only time he’smostlyquiet.”
“Except for when he feels the need to give line-by-line commentary on all the funny bits?” Jake guessed, recalling quite well from his trip over Thanksgiving.
“Exactly.”
The two adults finished cleaning up in the kitchen, and then Krista excused herself to go shower and get changed out of her pajamas. Jake sat with Phil on the couch for a bit, marveling at how quickly the boy had picked up playing the new game. Then he stood, grabbed his coat and his beanie, and headed outside to enjoy the Christmas morning sunshine on the patio.
The air was crisp and chilly, even without a breeze, and Jake walked slowly across the patio to the railing to look out over the clear blue water and down to the beach below.
He still hadn’t gone back down there. Nearly two months later, nearly two months after that panicked rush across the sand and the even-more-panickedfumble up the stairs carrying an unconscious Rye, he still hadn’t found the courage. Every time he’d thought about it recently, a weird nausea had hit him. His heart would start racing, and he’d immediately push the idea away. He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. The walks on the beach in town with Rye had been enough to keep the yearning at bay. But he missedhisbeach. He missed his daily routine. His walk. The quiet and beauty.
He pushed away from the railing and took a step in that direction, toward the stairs. Not more than a few steps later, he was standing there at the top, looking down. But that fear was there still, churning up his insides.
He knew—deep down heknew—that his leg was only part of the problem. In fact, his leg had mostly healed by now—the muscle strain no longer bothered him, and he could usually walk well enough without his cane, though he still brought it with him when he was out or when he knew he’d be walking a longer distance, just in case.
No, it was more than just that. And it was stupid.
Well, not really. He understood it. He’d recognized this other part of his fear, and he’d thought about it quite a bit. Hell, he’d even talked to his sister about it, and she’d gently suggested to him, as she had so many times in the past, that he might want to see a therapist and talk about it.
And he thought maybe he would. Because every time he stood up here, looking down the stairs, down to the beach where he’d first met Rye, his stomach twisted in knots and his chest tightened and his breathing got short. And all he could see was that first image he’d had of the small figure curled up against the cliff face in the rain. Freezing and wet and cold and probably so close to death.
He screwed his eyes shut now, fighting against that same feeling and that same image. His hand snuck down into his pocket, almost of its own accord, and he had to also fight the urge to call Shirley, the need to make sure Rye was okay almost overwhelming him.
