Page 19 of Things I Wish I Said

I glance behind me to where Katie’s sitting on the bed, and for a moment, I allow myself to imagine what it might be like to survive this, to have her in my life, long-term—as a sister.

The image isn’t all that unpleasant, and the way she’s looking up at me could pass for admiration, which I haven’t experienced since . . .

My chest squeezes, pins pricking at my heart as I turn away from her and swallow. “Thanks.”

The moment Katie and I return to the kitchen, Mom and John turn to us. “How’d it go?”

“Good. I really felt like we bonded,” I say, just to be an ass.

Mom rolls her eyes.

“So, Ryleigh,” John starts, helping Mom plate the food, “your mom tells me you have a date. Who’s the lucky guy?”

I grit my teeth because, one—it’s a cliché thing to say, and two—I have cancer.

I’m not sure any guy would be lucky to find himself falling for a girl who has only a fifty percent rate of survival. But to placate him, because anything else will be considered rude, I say, “Just a boy I met.”

“She met him at a Healing Community meeting. Isn’t that right, Ryleigh baby?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I hate it when Mom calls me that. “Yep.”

“I met him in the hospital, then Ryleigh went to one of his games and dinner. It’s all very mysterious,” Mom says, and I know it’s her not-so-subtle hint that I haven’t told her nearly enough.

Beside me Katie crosses her arms. “I wish I could date.”

“You’re only twelve,” John says, glancing over at his daughter. “There’ll be plenty of time for dating once you’re in high school.”

Katie takes a note from my playbook and rolls her eyes .

I grin.

“So, does this mystery boy have a name? Tell us about him.” John asks, leaning against the counter.

“Grayson De Leon.”

“They didn’t make boys like him when I was your age.” Mom sighs wistfully while John scowls, clearly affronted. “Don’t worry, honey.” Mom pats his arm. “I only have eyes for you, sweetie.”

I fake gag. “Gross.”

“Is he going to college in the fall?” John asks, ignoring my jibe.

“Does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to college.”

“Ryleigh,” Mom chides.

“What?” I shrug. “It’s true.”

“You’re only delaying it a semester to see how your health progresses. You’ll likely be enrolled by the spring. There’s a difference.”

Whatever, I want to growl, because the truth is I haven’t talked about my future in ages, not since I had to drop my college commitment to Florida State, and we both know there’s no way in hell I’m going there without a scholarship.

I don’t say that, though. Instead, I focus back on Grayson, the one who’s currently under fire, and the only one of us who actually has a future. “He got a scholarship to play baseball for George Mason.”

“A scholarship, huh?” John’s brows rise, and I plant a smug smile on my face because he loves sports.

“Yep. ”

“Oh, how lovely,” Mom chimes in.

“Does he live around here?”

I shake my head but I don’t elaborate, relieved when the doorbell rings because all I know is he lives in a different town, and his address seems like something his girlfriend should know.

Hurrying into the living room, I swing the door open, only for the sight of him to steal the air right from my lungs.

His hair is a mass of raven locks. A dark blue T-shirt hugs his firm chest, which exposes the swell of his biceps and an obscene amount of forearm porn.

I lick my lips and grin. “Hey, Slugger.”

“Sinclair.” He offers me a wry smile.

“You ready for this,” I mouth.

Grayson answers me with a nod. Little does he know it’s not just my mother at dinner.

“Are you going to open the door or is John supposed to imagine the young man standing behind it?” my mother asks from behind.

I roll my eyes for Grayson’s benefit, then step aside. “I had no idea anyone else was going to be here,” I whisper.

I bite my lip, amused when Katie’s jaw drops and John straightens, puffing his chest out like a parakeet in what I assume is meant to be a protective fatherly stance.

“Uh, Grayson, this is my mother’s boyfriend John and his daughter Katie. ”

Grayson makes the first move, acknowledging Katie with a wave I think she might faint from, before taking a step toward John, reaching out to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

John nods. “You too. I hope you know you’re handling some very precious cargo with this one.” He motions toward me, and I quirk a brow.

I never would’ve pegged John for being protective. It’s . . . weird.

“I’m well aware, sir.”

A beat of awkward silence passes before Mom claps her hands. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

We all file into the eat-in kitchen. Our table is tiny, more suited to only the two of us, certainly not the five of us here now, piling our plates.

“So, Ryleigh tells us you play baseball,” John starts, taking a bite of his chicken.

“Yes, sir.”

“She says you’re quite accomplished, too.”

Grayson shrugs, a blush blooming in his cheeks, which is probably the cutest freaking thing I’ve ever seen. I know for a fact he’s confident, and he certainly has zero reason to be modest, but the fact that he’s not completely cocky like most male athletes I know is more than a little endearing.

I, on the other hand, was never so humble.

“So, where are you two off to for the night?” Mom asks, taking a sip of her water, trying and failing to hide her smile.

“One of Grayson’s friends is having a party,” I answer .

Mom stiffens, smile tightening as she sets her glass back down. She seems to consider this, then asks, “Will there be alcohol?”

Grayson opens his mouth to answer, but I nudge him with an elbow to the ribs so he doesn’t screw this up. “Yeah, Mom, lots of booze,” I say, like the idea is ridiculous. “But don’t worry, the second I black out, I’ll quit drinking.”

Mom scowls in my direction.

“No, Mom. Relax. There won’t be alcohol,” I assure her, even though according to Grayson, there will be more than alcohol, but I’m not about to give her a reason to keep me home.

“She’s always been a sarcastic little shit,” Mom acknowledges.

I scoff.

“Oh, trust me, I know.” Grayson grins. “Sometimes I have no idea whether she’s being serious or not.”

Mom scoops a bite of potatoes onto her fork. “Likely not. She rarely is these days, especially if it’s over anything serious.”

“And God forbid you give her anything resembling a compliment.”

Mom barks out a laugh while I gape, motioning between them. “I don’t think I like this.”

Grayson snickers. “What? We’re not allowed to get along?”

“No.” I huff, stabbing a bite of chicken.

Grayson winks, and my stomach plummets, my cheeks turning to flames.

“Oh, John, look,” Mom gushes. “She’s blushing.” She elbows him, grinning while my cheeks burn even hotter. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her blush before.”

“Very funny.”

Grayson leans into me, and for one incredulous moment, I think he might kiss me.

I have a flash of panic when I wonder if I want him to, then an even bigger one when I realize I do.

But he doesn’t kiss me.

Instead, he leans into my ear and whispers, “It’s not as fun when the tables are turned, is it, Sinclair?”

He flops back in his chair, a grin stretching his handsome face while I fight the trail of goose bumps his hot breath have left in his wake.

I know he’s referring to the way I teased him in front of Cameron and Hannah. It makes sense he’d enjoy returning the favor with my mother, but I can’t even find it in me to care. All I keep thinking about is that split second I wanted him to kiss me.

Mom smiles, leaning back in her chair, enjoying this boyfriend thing far more than I anticipated. “Can you blame me for worrying about this party, Ryleigh?”

“If it’s any consolation, I promise to keep your daughter safe, and I can assure you that even if there is alcohol I won’t be drinking.”

Mom softens, practically melting at his words. “And you have a safe vehicle? ”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I bite my lip, watching Grayson and fighting the urge to fan myself because, Lord, he’s hot when he’s being all respectful and shit.

I suppose he was like this the day he met my mother in the hospital, but that meeting was so unexpected, it was a whirlwind, a blur.

“Okay, but if something changes, you’ll call?” Mom asks.

“Yes, Mom, we’ll call,” I say because Grayson’s done enough to reassure her. “I promise. Now can we eat, so we can go?”

Mom grins, and John steps in with small talk about some pitcher in Major League Baseball everyone’s talking about. It’s probably the first time I’ve been grateful for his presence.

Afterward, we quickly help clear the table before Mom shoos us out of the kitchen, which I take as my cue to leave.

Grabbing Grayson’s hand, I pull him toward the front door, sensing his hesitation and not wanting to give him any reason to back out of taking me to this party.

Once we’re outside, I make a move to drop his hand, but Grayson tightens his grip. I glance up at him in question.

“If she’s anything like my mother, she’s watching us leave.”

I glance behind us to find Mom peering out the living room window. She offers me a little wave, which I return with one of my own and an eye roll.

“You’re right.”

Grayson smirks, his expression smug at being right, which is surprisingly . . . hot .

I refocus my attention, trying not to dwell on the warmth of his hand or the rough scrape of his calluses on my palm as I catch sight of his car and gawk.

I still know very little about Grayson, and even less about his family, but I can glean a lot about him from his car because the sleek black BMW tells me they have money. Lots of it.

I whistle, and Grayson grimaces as if embarrassed. “It was a graduation present,” he mumbles.

“Damn.” I think about the blanket my mother gave me. It was a patchwork quilt made of all the soccer jerseys I’ve worn since I was a child for every team and tournament I ever played in up until that point.

I absolutely loved it.

Until I didn’t.

Now every time I look at it, I get depressed.