Page 24 of Things I Wish I Said

I amble around the backyard, winding up by the keg and a snack table which looks like it hasn’t been touched all night, save for a cute strawberry blonde muttering to herself as she picks through a bowl of Chex Mix.

“That should be illegal,” I say, nodding to where her fingers have settled on another mini breadstick.

“What? Everyone knows these are the best part of Chex Mix,” she says, plucking it out and popping it in her mouth.

I shake my head, scooping up a handful and picking out a corn Chex. “No. These are the best,” I say, eating one. “But I think we both can agree these,” I say, snagging a rye chip and holding it up, “are an abomination to all humankind.”

The girl laughs. “Totally. Those things are fucking disgusting.”

I nod, smiling as I eat the rest of the mix in my hand before asking, “So, what are you doing at the snack table alone while everyone else seems to be having fun?”

She grimaces and glances my way. “Boyfriend trouble. He’s being a dick.”

I snort.

“What about you? ”

I think about it for a moment, but there’s no short explanation for my being alone, so I say, “It’s complicated.”

“In other words, same.” She laughs before turning her gaze back out to the party, and her eyes fly wide. “Speak of the devil. I have to go,” she says, and before I can ask her what the problem is, she’s gone.

I frown, trying to find the boyfriend that spooked her, but when I see no one noteworthy, I wipe my hands on the seat of my shorts and head to a darkened corner of the party while I figure out a game plan for getting home.

I’m only five minutes into scanning the faces around me for people least likely to be serial killers when a moan snags my attention.

The couple opposite me is making out on a lounge chair, the same kind I’m sitting on.

The girl is blonde and wearing a dress. From this angle, it appears she’s unbuttoning the dude’s pants, and I give them two minutes before they’re having full-blown sex in the middle of a party surrounded by all these people.

A moment of panic clutches my chest at the thought it might be Hannah and Grayson. I know I gave her my blessing to find him, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch her paw at him.

The girl straightens for a moment, swinging one leg over the mystery man so she’s straddling him. I catch a glimpse of his face and sigh when I see it’s not him.

“Do you have room for one more?”

I jerk my head to the sound of the voice and find Cameron hovering above me. “Oh, uh . . .” I smile and lift my legs from where they’re draped over the lounge chair. Making room, I pat the empty space next to me. “Hop on.”

He settles in, his weight dipping the chair and causing me to tilt slightly into him. “So, what are we staring at?” He glances ahead of us at the couple and whistles. “Wow. They’re really going at it.”

I laugh. “It’s escalated quickly.”

“I’ll say.”

We both watch for a minute before, Cameron says, “Shit. I feel like I need a smoke.”

“Or a cold shower.”

“Right? I mean, it’s not like anybody’s watching. You’re just at a fucking party surrounded by a hundred fucking people.”

I chuckle behind my hand when the guy beneath her repositions himself, grabbing at something below the belt.

“Is that his—”

“Yep,” I say, popping the p . “Pretty sure.” I grimace as the girl not-so-discreetly repositions herself, and I’m almost one hundred percent sure they’re actually having sex now.

“Fuck me. I feel a little filthy. Please, Ry, block my view.”

Laughing, I reach up and place my hand on his cheek, turning him to face me. “Don’t watch,” I say, noticing how warm and soft his skin feels.

Cameron’s eyes focus on me, more onyx than brown in the moonlight .

I clear my throat, dropping my hand as he continues to stare down at me with an unreadable expression. “So, where’s lover boy? Did he ditch you already?”

“Grayson?” I ask dumbly. He nods, his smile open and friendly. “No.” I wave away his concern, remembering Hannah. “It’s not like that with us. We’re not together.”

“You’re not?” He sounds both surprised and pleased at the news, which catches my attention.

I shake my head, leaning my weight back onto my hands and angling toward him to get a better look at his face.

The moonlight casts shadows over his features. Dark chocolate eyes meet mine above a strong, but slightly crooked nose. Messy dark hair curls around his ears and the nape of his neck beneath his baseball cap, unlike Grayson’s, which is shorn short on the sides with a messy crop on top.

My cheeks heat, suddenly aware of how attractive he is.

Cameron hums in disbelief. “I don’t know. He seemed a little too protective to be just a friend.”

“It’s a long story.” I sigh. “But trust me when I say there’s zero interest.”

“On his part or yours?”

I shrug. “Both,” I say, even though it feels like a lie. But the last thing I need is to fall for someone when I don’t even have a future, and Grayson sure as hell couldn’t get away from me fast enough .

“Well, you seem to be a good influence on him, regardless. I haven’t seen him sober this much in a long time. I guess we have you to thank.”

I frown, staring out into the throng of people as if I can conjure him with my mind. “Is he really that bad?”

Cameron laughs and mindlessly scratches his chest. “Yeah. I mean, he wasn’t before, but this past year, he’s spent most of his time in this vicious cycle of numbing himself with one thing or the other—baseball, pot, booze”—he pauses, returning his gaze to me uncertainly—“girls. And if he’s not doing that, then he’s getting in trouble for stupid shit. ”

“Like what?”

Grayson never mentioned getting in trouble, though he did talk about running with the wrong crowd.

“He got pulled over a month back and they found weed on him, then he got mouthy with the cops, so they roughed him up a little and cuffed him. A couple weeks back, he and some others got caught vandalizing an old gas station in town. Cops were hoping they’d find drugs on them, but Grayson was the only one who got caught—he might smoke, but he’s no dealer.

Just a bunch of stupid shit like stealing road signs and drag racing.

So far, he’s gotten off the hook. His mom has connections, but one of these times .

. .” Cameron shakes his head. “It’s like he wants to ruin his future.

Like he can’t bear the thought of moving on or something. ”

I frown, thinking about everything Cameron just said, wondering what could possibly be plaguing Grayson so much when Cameron clears his throat and says, “You have the most incredible eyes.”

My stomach flips and my mouth parts, surprised at the compliment.

He reaches out, and before I can stop him, he fixes a lock of hair that has shifted into my eyes.

The change in expression is subtle, a small crease in his brow that’s gone as quickly as it came, but it’s enough to let me know he noticed something different about my hair, even if he can't figure out what it is.

Nausea swirls inside my gut, afraid he’ll ask me about it.

Not because I’m embarrassed or scared to tell him I have cancer or that the hair’s not mine, but because for the first time in a long time, I’m alone with a guy who has no idea about my past. He doesn’t know my history—that I used to be a soccer star or that I’m sick.

I’m just me, as I am right now. Some random girl he met through a mutual friend.

And he likes what he sees.

He drops his hand and shakes his head, laughing at himself. “Shit. That was really cheesy, wasn’t it?”

“Just a little.” I grin.

“Only a little?”

“Okay, a lot, but I don’t mind.” I flip my hair over my shoulder and bat my eyes. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

Cameron laughs, a full-on belly laugh I can’t help but compare to Grayson’s gravelly rasp, which is as hard-won as it is rare.

“Where’s your other friend,” I ask, glancing around us .

“Who, Trent?” He waves a hand. “Ah, I ditched him when I saw you sitting here alone. Told him I was about to shoot my shot.”

“Oh, is that what you’re doing?” I chuckle as butterflies float through my chest.

“Obviously.” Cameron rolls his eyes and grins. “But if you have to ask, maybe I’ve lost my touch.”

“Can you really lose something you’ve never had?”

“Ouch!” Cameron covers his heart with his hand and rocks back like I’ve shot him. “Shot to the heart.”

“Aw, poor baby.” I pat him on the back, noting the muscle beneath my hand. “Go ahead and take off your shirt and let me have a look at it.”

Now we’re both laughing, uncontrollably so. Me, because I’m giddy from this boy whose attention is on me, and him, because Cameron is one of those people who is nothing but sunshine.

“You asked for it.” Gripping the hem of his polo, he begins to yank it up.

I scramble for his hand to stop him, glancing around us as if it’s the most scandalous thing at the party, when clearly, it’s not. “I was kidding,” I say with a laugh as I yank it back down.

“Damn. You shouldn’t toy with my emotions like that, Ryleigh.”

I shake my head, beaming, completely floored a cute boy is flirting with me. “Wanna drive me home so I can make it up to you?”

Cameron’s brows rise, and I rush to correct myself. “I mean, not make it up to you like that. My mom will be home.” I cover my face with my hands, cheeks burning. “I just meant . . . just to talk, hang out a little longer.”

Cameron nudges me with his shoulder. “Relax. I knew what you meant, and I’d love to drive you home. You’re a pretty cool chick, you know that?”

I want to tell him I don’t know that and to tell me more, but I also don’t want to sound like a loser.

“But . . .” My smile falters, and he exhales before he says, “You’re sure I’m not stepping on anyone’s toes? Grayson won’t mind?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m actually pretty sure he’s with Hannah right now.”

Apparently, that’s all the confirmation Cameron needs. He rises to his feet and pulls out his phone, pressing it to his ear. “Let me find Trent really quick and let him know to get a ride, and I’ll be right back, okay?”

I nod, suddenly nervous at the prospect of being alone in a car with Cameron.

I watch as he’s swallowed by the dance floor and smile to myself as my gaze roams the party. The couple on the lounge chair have left. The snack table is still empty, though people encircle the keg beside it like a swarm of buzzed bees.

Inside the house, beyond the large glass panes, a sudden movement catches my eye .

I squint, focusing on the figure and realize it’s the Chex Mix girl. A prickle of unease crawls up my spine as a boy steps toward her, his hands in fists.

I can’t hear from this distance with the stereo blasting, and I’m no body language expert, but I think they’re arguing. I move closer, only a few yards away from the patio now.

The girl steps forward, and I’m close enough now to see she’s shouting.

I’m even closer when I watch him deliver a backhand to the side of her face.

I gasp, holding a hand to my stomach as I glance around for help, but there’s no one else staring into the house like I am. Everyone is either dancing or talking or drinking, too lost in their own good time to notice.

When I glance back to the window again, Chex Mix girl is clutching her face.

I hurry onto the porch, my stride eating up the distance as I close in on the French doors.

I have no idea what the hell I’m going to do or say once I get there, all I know is I need to do something.

I grip the door handle as her boyfriend grabs her arm and starts yanking her from the room. Even as I fling it open, I know this is probably stupid or reckless. Maybe both. But there’s no way in hell I’m letting him put another hand on her.

By the time I burst into the kitchen, he has a fist in her hair and he’s dragging her toward the hall while she screams.

I can’t let him get her alone .

“Stop!” My voice echoes in the cavernous kitchen, startling even me.

He swings his gaze around, but he doesn’t release her, and when she glances up at me, I suck in a breath. The skin below her cheekbone is broken. A trickle of blood slides down the side of her face, the skin mottled and bruised.

“Who the fuck are you?” he sneers.

The girl shakes her head, warning me off, but I ignore her.

“Leave her alone,” I say, my voice shaking.

Her boyfriend tips his head back and laughs before he shoves her into the island hard enough I can hear the air whoosh from her lungs.

She falls to her knees, softly keening and wheezing for breath as I hurry to her side, bending down to try and help her. “Come with me,” I say. “I’ll take you home.”

“Oh, she’s not going anywhere unless it’s with me.”

A shadow falls over me, and I know it’s him, but I won’t back down. Not now. He’ll have to kill me first, and if I can survive six months with cancer, it’ll take a hell of a lot more than a backhand.