Page 11 of Things I Wish I Said

I ignore the bleating of my phone in my pocket as I slide my mouth to her jaw where I rake my teeth against her skin, then press another kiss there. I’m trying to decide whether I’m willing to risk this blowing up in my face, when my phone chimes for a second time.

“Do you need to get that?” she mumbles, her voice a throaty rasp.

I grunt. I sure as fuck don’t want to, but I pull back slightly as I dig my cell out of my pocket at the same time Hannah’s hands slide under my shirt.

Swiping the screen open, I see it’s a text from Ryleigh, and it’s like being hit with a bucket of ice water.

I may not be in a real relationship, but she and I haven’t had a chance to discuss the details of this whole fake dating thing, either. Would she appreciate me flirting with another chick on the beach and taking her home?

I have no idea what the parameters of her wish are and how to behave.

It’s just a couple months, I tell myself. I can do this without completely fucking it up. I can honor my father and get Mom off my back, while helping a girl who’s been severely fucked over.

“Just give me a minute first,” I say, and when she nods, I rise to my feet and head in the direction of the parking lot so I can read the text she sent.

RYLEIGH :

How many chemo treatments did the cancer patient need?

What the fuck?

I head for my i8 as I hit her name, then the call button, and wait for it to ring.

She picks up almost immediately. “Did you get it?”

“The text, yeah?”

“No. I mean, yes, the text,” she says, sounding impatient, “but it’s a joke.”

“Oh.” One syllable because I’m stumped.

I pull the phone away from my ear again and glance at the text once more:

How many chemo treatments did the cancer patient need?

“Um,” I say, my mind blank.

“Tumor.”

“I don’t get it.”

“How many chemo treatments did the cancer patient need? Tu-mor. Like two more?”

“Cancer jokes, really Ryleigh?”

She sighs. “I have a lot of time on my hands these days.”

I can imagine, and it would fucking suck. Time is nothing but the space to think about all the shit that plagues me.

“So why are you calling?” she asks. “Aren’t all the cool guys supposed to wait days to reply when a new chick texts them, or didn’t you get the memo? ”

My mouth twitches. “Technically, I’m calling you, not texting you back.”

“All I’m saying is, you could at least play hard to get.”

I snort.

“Besides, the only appropriate response to a text is a text back, not a phone call.”

I smirk. “I only text if someone doesn’t answer.” Or if I’m messaging Dustin, but I don’t say that. “I’m not a texter. Never have been.”

She groans. “So you’re one of those.”

“What’s wrong with not wanting to waste my time typing out a text that would take me two seconds to convey by phone?”

“Because no one calls anymore. Everyone texts, Grayson. You should know this. It’s abhorrent to call. It’s basic human decency to send a text. Do you want to be that guy?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t mind if people got annoyed with me and stopped trying. It might make life easier.”

Ryleigh scoffs. “Oh, I’m sorry. Has your booming social life gotten you down? Let me grab my tiny violin.”

I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. “Okay, you’re right. I wasn’t complaining.” Although I kind of was.

“It’s not your fault my idea of a wicked good time these days is spending the night in the hospital for chemo, then trying my best to hold the barf in.”

“I don’t know,” I say, leaning against my car, ignoring the way the ever-present fist in my gut tightens further. “That doesn’t sound so bad. Free food and cable. Someone waiting on you hand and foot.”

“Oh, yes, and don’t forget all that quality time with my mother who refuses to leave. Twenty-four seven, hovering and asking me if I need anything.”

“Fuck, that does sound bad.”

Truthfully, I don’t know when the last time I spent any length of time with my mother was, and maybe I should resent the fact that family hasn’t been a priority since Dad died, but I don’t. I prefer it this way. It’s easier somehow to go on ignoring what’s missing at home and in both our lives.

“Yep,” she says, popping the p . “So, what are you doing?”

I glance back at my friends who are still immersed in their grueling match of beach volleyball, then to Hannah, who’s sitting on her towel, waiting.

“Just hanging with some friends at the lake,” I say, sounding less than enthused.

“Yawn. Sounds boring. I’d hate that.”

I grunt. “Yeah, it’s not so bad, I’m just in a weird headspace tonight.”

And every other night.

I swallow as my gaze flickers back to Hannah, her arms hugging her legs to her chest, and I hesitate, knowing I need to broach the topic of fidelity or at the very least, the parameters of our deal, but the words stick in my throat.

How do I ask the sick girl I’m fake dating if hooking up with other chicks is on the table ?

God, I’m an asshole.

“And why is that?” she asks, not unkindly.

“What?” I ask, distracted.

“The weird headspace. Why are you in it?”

“Oh, uh . . .” I turn back around, trying to buy some time. “I was just wondering when we were going to hang out next.” I wince. Way to sound overeager when you don’t even really want to do this in the first place, dumbass. “I mean, we left things yesterday without setting up a date and time.”

“De Leon, missing me already?” She snickers at the silence on my end, then adds, “Don’t worry, Slugger. I’m just messing with you. What’s your schedule look like? It’s best if we at least get comfortable around each other before you meet my mother, so it’s not obvious we’re full of shit.”

“Okay,” I say, scratching my jaw. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I’m unavailable for the next few days because of my booming social life, so that brings us to Thursday.”

“I have a game,” I say, assuming she’ll want to pick another day.

“Okay, that could work. I’ll be dying to get out of the house by then.”

I’m wondering if her words are intentional, if this is more of her dark humor, when she adds, “Send me the time and address, and maybe we could go out after?”

“You’re going to come watch me play?” I ask, unsure of why I’m so surprised by this.

“Assuming my lungs hold out through the night, yes.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. Her sense of humor is going to take some getting used to, especially since I know how fast you can lose someone to this fucking disease.

The sound of footsteps behind me draws my attention, and I turn to find Hannah approaching. “There you are,” she purrs before noting the phone in my hand. “Oh. Sorry.” She slaps a hand over her mouth and signals to me that she’ll wait.

“Is that a girl I hear?” Ryleigh croons over the line.

“Uh . . .”

She bursts out laughing on the other end, which sends her into a coughing fit.

Panic squeezes my chest in a vise while I listen to her attempt at breathing, which sounds a lot more like wheezing. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” she croaks after what feels like an eternity, her voice as rough as sandpaper.

I give her another moment to compose herself while my stomach sinks. I’m reminded of my father and those last few months before his diagnosis where he seemed to develop a cough overnight, one that lingered longer than any cold should.

A swell of emotion flickers to life, threatening to ignite—and I know from experience, if I don’t snuff it out, it’ll consume me.

I clear my throat, cursing myself for what I’m about to ask. “So, uh, I was just wondering if maybe we needed to lay down some ground rules,” I say, careful to keep it down so Hannah can’t hear me.

“Ground rules,” she repeats.

“Yeah, you know, kind of like guidelines or—”

“I know what ground rules are, and the rules are, there are no rules.”

I take this in, then wonder if she knows what I’m getting after. “But—”

“Look, we’re both just barely adults here, and we live miles apart.

Different town. Different people. School district.

They’re practically two different worlds as far as I’m concerned.

As long as you’re discreet, I have zero problem with you hooking up with half the cheerleading squad if you want to.

My mother is the only person who needs convincing. Everyone else is irrelevant.”

“So you don’t care if I . . .”

“Get laid?”

Fuck.

I run a hand over the back of my neck and grimace. It’s bad enough that I feel like an asshole most days, but one conversation with her and I feel like an even bigger piece of shit. “Not how I was going to put it, but . . . yeah. Does asking make me a dick?”

“No. I’d say it makes you a normal guy our age. In fact, I’d say asking at all, considering the circumstances, makes you pretty decent.” She sighs, and I’d love to know what she’s thinking.

“So, even though we’re supposed to be a thing for the summer . . . you don’t care? ”

“Fake, remember? I have one goal. Nothing else matters. One of us may as well get some action, and it’s certainly not going to be me. Most guys aren’t looking for bald chicks with regular hospital visits and a chronic cough.”

“Don’t say it like that.” I frown.

“What? It’s true. I don’t see any dudes lining up around the block to hook up with me. Although, I’m sure if I looked hard enough, I could find someone with a fetish for the terminally ill.”

“Ry.”

“Ooh. Shortening my name, already? I’m shocked we’re moving so fast.”

I bite back the urge to tell her she’s beautiful. Mostly because I have no idea where the hell it’s coming from or why I want to reach through the phone and shake some sense into her until she believes it.

That’s the first clue I’m losing my fucking mind. Either that or Dustin snuck something into the skunk I smoked earlier because I barely know this girl, yet this damned deal I made is getting into my fucking head already.

My hands ball into fists as I fight for something to say, but I come up short. Leaving this conversation while I’m ahead is probably the smartest move.

“I’d better go. Early game tomorrow.” I kick a rock by my feet, watching as it skitters across the parking lot, then add, “You can come if you want. ”

“Can’t. Call me crazy, but I don’t think the other fans will be too happy if I’m puking my guts out on the sidelines.”

I frown. “What do you mean? Are you sick?”

I roll my eyes at the dumb question, but she seemed fine yesterday.

“Nope,” she says, popping the p again. “Just the perks of chemo. I’ll be here at St. Francis for about twenty-four hours for inpatient, which means I get released tomorrow afternoon. Then the real fun begins, and I’ll be hugging my toilet bowl the rest of the day.”

“Shit. You’re in the fucking hospital? Earlier, I thought you were speaking hypothetically. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Relax, Slugger. Don’t get all worked up over it. Besides, it’s not my first rodeo. In fact, this is my last treatment,” she says, but her words lack conviction, like she doesn’t really believe it.

I swallow. I have no idea what to fucking say.

Here I am worried about whether it’s cool to get my dick wet while she’s lying in a fucking hospital bed. If I didn’t feel like shit before, I do now.

Suddenly, I’m entirely too sober.

“Your last treatment, huh?” I run a hand through my hair, hating myself a little more with each passing second. “Then what?”

“Then I’ll have scans in a couple of weeks and ride off into the sunset,” she says dryly. “Hell if I know. No one around here ever wants to talk about what happens next until it’s next. ”

I nod, having no real idea of what she means because, for my father, there was never the possibility of “next.” It was only palliative care and making him comfortable.

In the background, I hear a door closing, followed by the sound of another voice. “Um, I better go. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, of course. Night, Sinclair.”

The line goes dead, and I stare down at the phone in my hands as a text comes through.

RYLEIGH :

Sorry. My mom came in, so I had to bail, but have fun tonight. At least one of us should. I’ll text you to confirm Thursday. You better not suck or I’m giving you so much shit. I have high expectations.

The knot in my chest tightens.

Ry having high expectations is exactly what I’m afraid of. No one should hang their hopes on me. It’ll only end in disappointment.

But I can’t say that to her, not when she’s sick and relying on me.

So instead, I type back “See you Thursday,” while my stomach turns in on itself, dread settling inside me like a rock.

It’s been a long time since anyone has depended on me; it’s not a feeling I’m accustomed to, and one I don’t want.

A throat clears behind me, bringing me back into the present.

I turn to find Hannah waiting. “You ready to get out of here? ”

Stepping forward, she slides a hand up my chest, her mouth falling to my neck, and all I can think about is Ryleigh in a hospital bed, lying there with those brilliant hazel eyes, and an IV in her arm.

I recoil from Hannah’s touch, disgusted.

If I leave here with Hannah and fuck her while Ryleigh’s in the hospital getting chemo treatment, I’ll never live with myself.

It doesn’t matter that it isn’t real.

It doesn’t matter that it’s fake and she gave me her blessing.

I’m an ass, but I’m not that big of an ass.

Hannah blinks up at me, her bright eyes clouding in confusion, but I just shake my head and take a step back. “Sorry. I can’t do this.”