Page 13 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter nine

RYLEIGH

Sucking on one of the ginger drops Mom gave me before she left for breakfast, I will my nausea to go away. I contemplate finishing the book I brought as a distraction—the same one I’ve been staring at on my nightstand at home for the past six months—but I can’t bring myself to do it.

Groaning, I shift in the bed and bring my knees to my chest, but my stomach churns even more, the nausea rising inside of me like a flash flood.

A knock sounds on the door before a food-service worker pushes it open, strolling in with a cart that holds my breakfast.

I wave them off at the same time the scent of breakfast meats hits my nose and my stomach lurches. I gag then vomit, singeing my esophagus as I fight to keep it down, knowing the second the floodgates open, it’s all over.

I slap a hand over my mouth and bolt for the bathroom. Flinging the door open, I fall to my knees in front of the toilet, my mouth flying open on its own accord .

Vomit burns my throat as I unload into the porcelain with amazing accuracy.

My stomach jerks, squeezing and clenching until I’m wrung dry, and even then, the convulsing continues while I breathe in and out through my nose, knowing it won’t take much to get me going again.

My stomach squeezes, and I dry heave once more, then lift myself from the floor and amble to the sink. Turning on the tap, I cup some water into my mouth, gagging as I swish it around, when another knock sounds on the door. “Go away!” I shout out.

Silences follows, and I shiver, swallowing down the remaining nausea as I shuffle out of the bathroom.

Another knock, and now I’m pissed. Shuffling over to the door, I wrench it open. “I swear if this is about the fucking food—”

Shock hits me square in the chest.

I stumble back, blinking like I’ve seen a ghost.

“Whoa.” Grayson reaches out, his hand firm on my waist as he steadies me. “What did the food in this place ever do to you?”

I blink up at him, my nausea temporarily forgotten. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Is this how you’re always going to greet me, Sinclair?” Grayson shakes his head, a smirk forming on his ridiculously kissable lips. “Cuz I gotta say, it’s not very inviting. ”

He skirts past me and into the room like he owns the place, with me following after him. It’s as if this is his world and I’m just living in it.

“Sorry, I was just . . . uh, puking,” I say, deciding to be honest. Chances are, he’ll witness round two in a minute.

“Nice.” I watch as Grayson flops down in the chair next to the bed?my mom’s chair.

Shit.

I forgot about Mom.

What are the chances he’ll be gone before she’s back?

Rounding the hospital bed, I sink down onto the edge and pop another ginger drop into my mouth as panic grips me like a vise. “Grayson, you can’t be here.”

He scoffs. “Why?”

“Because my mother will be back any minute,” I hiss.

He grabs one of my mother’s discarded magazines off the tray table, glances at it, then tosses it back down. “So? Isn’t that the point?”

“Well, yeah,” I say, uncertainly. “But after we’ve gotten to know each other, gotten more comfortable. We don’t even have our stories straight. If she walks in now, we’re screwed.”

Mom can sniff out a lie a mile away. She’s like a fucking bloodhound.

“I’m not uncomfortable. Are you uncomfortable?”

My heart skips a beat as his blue-gray eyes meet mine, churning with the intensity of a storm cloud. “Look, I won’t stay long, but if we really are dating, don’t you think I might come to something like this? If I were really your boyfriend?”

“Well . . . I don’t know.” I bite my lip, second-guessing myself. Maybe he has a point. Not that I would know. A couple of dates does not make me an expert.

“Well, I would, Ry.”

“And how would you know? I thought you didn’t do love or the boyfriend thing. Isn’t that what you said?”

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “Maybe not now, but there was a time when I did.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to take his measure when his gaze shifts to the table beside my bed and the romance novel that occupies it.

Before I can stop him, he reaches out and picks it up. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” I say, making a move to swipe it back, but I’m too weak, and he easily dodges me, blocking my pathetic attempts.

“Romance, huh?” He flips through the pages with a snort.

“What’s wrong with romance?” I ask, the pitch of my tone rising in defense.

“Nothing. . . if you believe in fairytales.”

I decide to ignore his comment because, quite frankly, I don’t know what I believe in anymore.

“Have you finished it yet?” he asks.

My gaze finds his, and I swallow. “I’m done with it. ”

It’s not a lie, at least not outright, but the truth is I can’t bring myself to read the ending. Every time I try, I shut down and close the book.

“Can I borrow it?”

“Borrow it?” I parrot, certain I’ve misheard him.

“Yeah. You know, to read.”

“But. . . why?”

His mouth ticks upward. “Maybe I want to see what you’re into.”

I don’t know if he means sexually, but the chill those words give me is nothing short of certifiable. Here I am, in a hospital bed, after having just puked up my guts, and the thought this boy might be into me in any sort of way is mind-blowing.

My cheeks heat, but luckily, I don’t have to dwell on it for too long because the sound of footsteps draws my attention before I can respond.

My gaze darts to the door, heart jumping in my chest when Grayson slips his hand in mine. An electric current hums under my skin where our hands meet.

I’m so lost in his touch, I don’t notice the way Mom’s looking at him, like she’s seen an apparition. It would be comical if it weren’t for the panic and nausea clawing inside my chest and threatening a revolt.

Mom’s stride falters as she steps further into the room, turning her questioning gaze on mine .

Get it together, Ry.

I clear my throat, nodding to the boy beside me. “Uh, hey, Mom. This is Grayson De Leon.”

Grayson rises to his feet and extends his right hand while still keeping a firm grip on mine with his left.

“Nice to meet you Grayson,” Mom says, drawing closer, her gaze darting to our joined hands still resting on my bed, then back again. “Like Michael Trevino but with gray-blue eyes,” she mutters.

“What?” Grayson laughs.

“Nothing.” Mom shakes her head while I watch their exchange with nervous anticipation. If she tells him about the celebrity comparison I made, I might die.

“He plays baseball,” I blurt in my bid to change the subject.

Shit.

I wince as Mom jerks her head toward me, and Grayson chuckles behind his hand.

Asshole.

“Uh, that’s lovely. Ryleigh just got done telling me about you yesterday.”

“Is that so?” He rocks back on his heels, a wide toothy grin spreading his lips.

“Yeah. She said you met at a Community Healing meeting?”

It’s her way of testing him, and I try to shoot him a warning with my stare, but he’s too focused on her to notice.

“That’s right.” Grayson shrugs, playing along, and I have to say, he’s a brilliant actor. “We just hit it off.”

“And you were there at the meeting for . . .?”

Who knew Mom was such a skeptic?

“A family member,” Grayson’s quick to add.

I watch as she takes in this newfound information, swallows it down, and digests it.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, by the way,” Grayson continues, easing the tension. “Ry’s told me a lot about you.”

“Ry . . .” Her eyes widen. Everyone calls me Ryleigh because I’ve always hated Ry, but for some reason I like it coming from him. This must be some sign to her that we’re serious because she turns to me with a sly smile “He’s cute,” she murmurs. “And he has manners.”

“Uh-huh,” I say with a nod. If this were real, I’d probably be mortified.

“Can I get you anything? Maybe a coffee?” Mom winces, then glances over at me. “Usually, after her chemo, I try not to drink or eat in her room because she gets sick, but I can pop out and grab something.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’m good.” Grayson settles back down in the chair, leaving Mom to take the tiny wooden one in the corner. “Ryleigh told me she had her treatment, and last night I was occupied—”

I snort, then cough to cover it up.

“So I thought I’d drop by this morning, maybe keep her company. I hope I’m not stepping on your toes.”

“Oh my gosh, no. I’m sure Ryleigh would love a break from me for a change. After a while she gets tired of my hovering. ”

Grayson smiles politely while I stare at him in awe at how well he’s pulling this off; he’s almost like a different person from the bad-boy look-alike on my doorstep the other morning.

“Ryleigh, hon, did you get anything to eat?” Mom asks, glancing around us for evidence of my breakfast.

“No.” I groan.

“I think the food is a sore subject.” Grayson chuckles, and I swat at him.

“When they brought it, I barfed. I don’t even want to think about it.” I shudder.

Mom gazes over at me with a sympathy I ignore as Grayson fishes something from his pocket and holds it out, revealing a deck of cards clutched in his hand. “Wanna play?”

“You brought cards?” I ask, my heart cartwheeling in my chest.

He shrugs, swallows. “My dad and I used to play. I just thought . . .” He trails off, a flicker of something in his eyes I can’t read.

“What game?” I say, sitting up straighter.

“Have you ever played Spit?”

I scoff. “I am the queen of Spit.”

“For now, but don’t come crying to me once you’re dethroned.”

“Ha! Fat chance, buddy. We used to play this at night in the hotel rooms when we had soccer tournaments because the coaches watched us like hawks and never let us leave. I have years of Spit-playing experience. ”

Grayson grins and deals the cards as Mom rises from her chair. “I’m just going to pop in the bathroom really quick,” she whispers.

I nod, catching her megawatt smile as she goes. She looks so happy I almost feel bad about lying.

Once the door closes behind her, and I hear the lock snap into place, I whisper, “Have you ever done this before?”

“What? Pretend to be someone’s boyfriend?” he whispers back, clearly amused.

I nod.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? It’s my day job, actually. Only I’m usually escorting rich and thirsty middle-aged women.”

“Really?” I wrinkle my nose.

“No!” he hisses.

I bite back a laugh at his outrage. “Well, you’re unusually good at it. Maybe too good.”

He bites back a chuckle. “Are you mad that I’m good at it, Sinclair?”

“Not mad, just . . . mildly freaked out by it.”

He shrugs. “It’s not hard to imagine what your mom would want to see and hear.”

“Is that the only reason you came today? Because you figured she’d want to see you here, in this setting?”

He stops dealing the cards, his eyes laser-focused on the table. His mouth is set in a firm line, as if thinking about his answer takes all his energy.

My stomach clenches while I wait .

His answer shouldn’t matter, but for some reason, it does.

“No.” His eyes lift.

I swallow. “So, why did you?”

“I don’t know. I just . . .” He shakes his head and leans back in his chair, raking a hand through the mass of raven locks on top of his head. “I guess I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And maybe a little part of me felt like a dick for . . .”

My lips twitch. “For asking if you could hook up with another girl?”

He exhales. “Yeah, that.”

I don’t ask him if he did. He had no reason not to after I gave him the green light.

Grayson De Leon isn’t a boy girls turn down. Even Hellen Keller herself would’ve placed her hands on his head, traced the perfectly symmetrical lines of his frustratingly handsome face and surmise he’s gorgeous.

A restless ache burns through my stomach, stronger than a shot of whiskey. It’s been a while since I’ve been jealous. It’s not an emotion I’ve had the misfortune of experiencing often in my life, so to feel it now with the boy sitting across from me—one I hardly know—is a surprise.

The creak of the bathroom door sounds in the silence as Mom steps back into the room. For once, I’m grateful for her presence; the interruption allows me to avoid analyzing how I feel.

I glance up at Grayson and force a smile as I grab my cards. “Prepare to be destroyed, Slugger.”