Page 23 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter fifteen

RYLEIGH

My head spins as I stand on the pool deck in the middle of the dance floor, staring at Grayson’s back and trying to wrap my head around what the hell just happened.

My heart squeezes, the hot prickle of tears stinging the back of my eyes.

But I refuse to cry. Not once have I cried over cancer. Not when I got my diagnosis, or when they removed half of my lung, or even when I had to quit playing soccer. So I’m sure as hell not going to cry now.

I make a beeline for the keg, stopping just shy of the queue for a beer, before common sense kicks in and I decide another drink is not what I need.

Grayson was right.

I’m already more than buzzed, though the dancing seemed to help sweat out some of the alcohol, if that’s even a thing. I have no idea how long we were on the dance floor, but I’m guessing quite a while, considering the sky is now pitch black and the backyard is even more crowded than before .

Too crowded.

Suddenly, the massive backyard feels too cramped. Too hot. Too everything.

I need some space—some room to breathe.

Turning, I see a couple girls head in the French doors that lead inside the house, so I follow.

It’s mostly empty inside, and I shiver as the arctic air greets me, chilling my sweat-damp skin.

I try not to gawk as I move through what I assume is some kind of sunroom, filled with lush plants and furniture, before stepping inside a kitchen that looks like it’s straight off a movie set.

A massive chandelier hangs above the island, casting an ethereal glow around the room and illuminating the expanse of black cupboards. Brass knobs and sleek stone countertops finish out the space.

Amid my gawking, two girls appear from what I assume is a hallway off the kitchen. They glance my way, see me staring, and the brunette points in the direction they just came. “The bathroom is right around the corner. First door on the left.”

I nod, offering them a small smile of thanks and hurry in that direction, finding it easily.

Like the rest of the house, the bathroom is impressive. A massive two-person sink sits front and center. To my right, there’s a partition, and upon further inspection, I find a walk-in shower and toilet behind it .

A laugh tumbles out of me. This bathroom is easily the size of my bedroom.

Turning to the double sink, I risk a glance at myself in the mirror. My cheeks are flushed, I have a tiny smudge of makeup below my eye, and my wig is slightly disheveled, but all in all, I’m not the train wreck I was expecting, and for that, I’m grateful.

I find my way past the partition and sink down onto the closed toilet. Lifting my legs, I press my head against my knees, noting the ache in my muscles, as I replay what happened outside.

One minute we were dancing and the next his hands were all over me, and I’d be lying if I said his touch didn’t ignite something inside me I didn’t even know existed.

Maybe it was the alcohol working its way through my system, the music, or my mood, but I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to look at me like I was the only girl in the room.

And for a moment he did.

And then he kissed me.

It happened so fast and was so brief, a part of me thinks I imagined it.

I bite my lip, reliving the moment in my head in slow technicolor.

I could feel how much he wanted me against the small of my back, and for the first time in a long time, I felt powerful, in control. Like maybe I wasn’t damaged or undesirable just because I was sick .

I knew what I was doing when I spun around, moving slowly against him, my chest pressed to his.

I wanted to taunt him. Wanted to tease. Because there was something heady about having him want me when he could have any girl on the dance floor.

I remember the way his breath, warm and sweet, fanned over my face, my neck. The way his cologne, tinged with sweat, surrounded me, muddling my thoughts until there were none left.

God, I wanted him to kiss me more than I wanted to breathe, more than I wanted remission. And then he brushed his lips against mine, and it was as though I’d finally won something. After months of nothing but loss, I felt victorious.

Though it wasn’t my first kiss, the press of his lips was a shock to the system.

Powerful. Unyielding. Dangerous.

But it was over as soon as it started, and I can’t even be mad or feel stupid, because he was right to stop it.

I have no business kissing him, not when my future is so uncertain. Not when I have no idea if I’ll be around this time next year or if I’ll still be sick, still battling.

Falling for me is a gamble, a bad bet. Not that I think he’d be foolish enough to do so. It’s me I’m worried about, because even if I’m just another girl to him, an obligation to fulfill, I know how easy it would be for me to allow myself to feel something I shouldn’t for him .

If there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Grayson De Leon is simply another thing to be taken from me when my world goes topsy-turvy again.

It’s no surprise he bolted from the dance floor like his feet were on fire.

I probably owe him an apology—if I can find him.

The sound of the bathroom door opening, followed by voices, startles me from my thoughts, and I curse. I must have forgotten to lock it.

I’m about to stand and make my presence known when I recognize the sound of crying and pause.

“I’m such an idiot.”

“You are not,” another voice answers.

I bite my lip, debating whether I should say something or wait.

“I fell for him so hard,” the first girl cries. “And we both know Grayson doesn’t date.”

My blood turns cold, rushing from my head at once.

“Oh, honey. You took your shot. It’s not your fault he’s a player and can’t see how completely amazing you are.”

“That’s the worst part,” the mystery girl says. “He warned me he’s not into relationships. He flat-out told me, but I’m the idiot who keeps trying. I came here tonight because I thought I might have a chance.”

She sobs again, and I wince at the sound.

Guilt roils in my gut .

What if Grayson feels the same for this girl, but my presence here is getting in the way? What if she thinks we’re actually together?

If anyone was watching us, it would be a fair assumption to make after our little display on the dance floor.

“And now he’s here with that girl. The one from his baseball game, and I know they’re together. They have to be,” she wails. “You should’ve heard all the jokes she was cracking at my expense.”

“Oh, Hannah. You’re so much better than this.”

Hannah—the girl from the baseball game.

Shit.

My stomach sinks while I contemplate my next move.

This wish is a means to an end for me, but this is also Grayson’s life. He deserves more than a fake relationship, and I refuse to stand in the way just because I need something from him in return.

I quickly rise to my feet, stumbling past the partition before I can second-guess myself.

The girls scream when they see me, jumping about ten feet in the air. “Holy shit!” Hannah screams while her friend, a brunette, gapes.

“Um, sorry.” I raise my hands up as if to show them I come in peace. “Hannah, right?” I ask, with a tentative smile.

The brunette glances between us, her eyes darting nervously. “Who are you? ”

“Sorry.” I hook a thumb toward the toilet, ignoring her.

“I heard you come in, but you were upset, and it felt like a bad time to let you know I was in here. Then you started talking about Grayson and it really felt like poor timing.” I give a little laugh, but Hannah just stares at me, her mouth a firm line.

“I’m sure my crying over him amused you.” She sniffs and wipes her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, and I feel a pang of sympathy for her. “No need to rub it in my face. You win.”

I shake my head and step forward. Her tone might be bitchy, but I don’t blame her. After all, I did just sit in silence and listen to their conversation.

“That’s not what I’m doing,” I say. “You have it all wrong.”

“I do?” she asks, uncertainty coloring her tone.

I nod. “Grayson and I are not together.”

She shifts on her feet, her cheeks coloring. “So, you’re just sleeping with him?”

“Oh no!” I wave a hand out in front of myself, a flush creeping up my neck. “Oh, God, no. We’re not together like that, either. We’re just friends. Good friends. He’s helping me out with something right now.”

“But I saw you dancing, and you said all that stuff the other day at the game . . .”

I know what dancing with Grayson felt like, so I can only imagine what it looked like, and I’m sure all my jokes the other day didn’t help .

I offer her a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I admit, we got carried away for a second, but I swear, we’re just friends. So, if you guys have something, you should go for it.”

Hannah swallows, glancing at her friend as if to confirm she’s not hearing things. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” I say, relieved I could at least do this one thing for Grayson, even if it makes me feel a little sick inside.

After all, he’s doing a lot more for me.

Hannah cocks her head. “What’s your name again?”

“Ryleigh.”

“Why are you helping me, Ryleigh?”

I shrug, pushing away the unfamiliar heaviness inside my chest that has nothing to do with my missing half a lung. “Because Grayson’s a good guy. And I want him to be happy,” I say, realizing it’s true.

I may only just be getting to know Grayson, but it strikes me at this moment how inherently sad he seems. There’s something haunting him I know nothing about. But maybe Hannah can change that, fix it.

“Yeah, he really is.” Hannah smiles.

I swallow and start to move past her, pausing to give her arm a little squeeze of encouragement on my way to the door. “Oh hey,” I say, spinning back around to face her. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Sure.”

“When you see him, can you tell him I have a ride home?”

After circling the party with no sign of Grayson, I head back to the dance floor but quickly decide the prospect of dancing without him isn’t nearly as appealing.