Page 32 of Things I Wish I Said

I stare at him for a moment, wondering if he’s being difficult on purpose. “You’re going there, aren’t you? From the sounds of it, you had multiple offers, so assuming you like something about George Mason isn’t a stretch.”

Grayson turns to my nightstand and picks up the framed photo my mom had taken at a soccer tourney last year. It was the last one I played in before my diagnosis. The last photo where I looked truly happy .

He shrugs. “They’re a Division One school with a great computer tech program.”

“Oh.”

So he’s a computer nerd? Just another thing to add to my list of things that surprise me about him.

“And my father went there,” he adds.

This feels a little closer to the truth. “You don’t talk much about him,” I say, though if I’m being honest, Grayson doesn’t talk much about himself in general. He’s always asking me questions, trying to gain an insight into my life, but he’s tight-lipped where his own is concerned.

“Not much to say, I guess.”

“Are you close?”

“We were.”

I frown. “Were?” It would make sense since he hasn’t mentioned him.

“He left us a year ago,” Grayson says, his tone flat.

“Oh.” My stomach sinks, and I curse myself for prying. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Not your fault. What about yours?” He sets the picture back down and finally meets my eyes. “I assume he’s not in the picture?”

I shake my head. “Never was.”

“Do you ever think about finding him?” he asks, staring at me with an intensity that makes me squirm.

“No. I mean, who knows? Maybe someday I’ll change my mind, but my mom wanted me, and that’s enough for me. ”

“What about John? Have you had any epiphanies? Is that getting any better?” he asks, his lips twisting in a rueful smile when I groan.

“No. He’s been busy at work, though, so I haven’t seen him as much this week, but that also means he’ll probably stay over this weekend.

” I make a face that lets him know exactly how much that appeals to me.

“Which also means, Katie will sleep on a blow-up bed in here with me, and it’s always so awkward because we both know what they’re doing behind closed doors when everyone goes to sleep. ” I fake gag, and Grayson grins.

“Sorry. That would be weird for sure.”

“Ten out of ten, don’t recommend.”

“What about you?” he asks. “You get your results back soon. What’s the plan?”

I sigh. “I don’t know. I suppose it depends.”

“On?”

“The results,” I say, like he’s stupid.

“Assume they come back clean. What then?”

I exhale, trying to come up with something good so I don’t sound like a loser, but my mind draws a blank.

“I don’t know. The last six months has been spent just thinking about getting through one day at a time.

When I realized I wasn’t going to be playing for Florida State in the fall, I put the idea of school on hold for the foreseeable.

The doctors, my mother, they all seem to want me to focus on the here and now. ”

Grayson frowns. “And if you could have any future you wanted? ”

A bitter laugh escapes my chest. “That’s easy.” At his questioning stare, I say, “I’d play soccer.”

His throat bobs. “What else? Will you still enroll in a nursing program like you mentioned?”

“I don’t know.” The notion my fight might be over is hard to believe when that little voice in the back of my head tells me otherwise.

My gut says otherwise. I know I said that’s what I’d want to do, but it’s hard to imagine.

Before I got sick, my career was always going to be soccer.

In a matter of months that changed, and ever since I’ve sort of been .

. . floundering. Just going through the motions and not really living.

My time spent with Grayson these past few weeks has been the closest to living I’ve done since before I got sick.

“It’s hard when soccer is all I’ve ever been, all I’ve ever known. I feel like nothing without it.”

Grayson reaches out and grabs my hand. “You’re not nothing. You’re a lot of things, Sinclair, but never nothing.”

I swallow, my insides melting at his words. All the touching, the lingering looks, and flirty banter, I need to know if they mean something or if it’s all fake for him. If this thing between us goes off the rails, I have a lot less to lose than he does. It makes it a little easier to be reckless.

“Why did you leave me that night at the party?” I blurt.

His eyes harden, and I can already see him starting to shut down, to turn his emotions off. It’s the same thing he always does when I ask him anything personal. He did it moments ago when I asked about his father, then changed the subject like I wouldn’t notice .

I always notice.

“Because I never should’ve kissed you in the first place.”

“Because this ends at the end of the summer?” I ask.

“Partly,” he says, yanking on the ends of his hair.

“And what else?”

“I’m not doing this.” He glances away from me, his throat bobbing. “I’m not that guy, Sinclair. The kind that can stick around, that catches feelings. The happy-ending guy.”

“Is it because I repulse you?”

“What?” He rears back as if I’ve slapped him. “No!” He shakes his head. “If you remember correctly, I kissed you.”

“Yeah. I do remember,” I say, voice thick, “and I’ve been trying to puzzle it out in my head ever since, because the second our lips touched, you jerked back like the room was on fire. So that leaves a lot of room for assumption and none of it is good.”

Grayson drags a hand over his face. “It wasn’t that, I swear.”

“Then what? Because what I remember barely even qualifies as a kiss. It was so short-lived, it—”

“It qualifies, okay?” he snaps.

I fall silent, staring at the anguish painted in the lines of his face.

“The second my lips touched yours, it was like a fucking bomb went off. It was alarm bells and sirens. Fireworks. Stronger than any fucking drug I could take. Sharper than any knife. Is that what you want to hear? ”

My heart beats like a bass drum, chest heaving like I’ve just run a mile as he stares me down, thunder crashing through his eyes.

“If that’s true, then . . . why?”

“Because we can’t go there.”

“Because I’m sick? Because you’re afraid of hurting me . . .?”

“Yeah, Sinclair. I’m scared to death of breaking you, and it has nothing to do with you being sick.

At least not like you think.” He trails off, clutching his face in his hands as his words echo through my heart.

“I took your book,” he says, giving me whiplash, “and I’ve barely gotten past the first couple chapters. ”

I frown, annoyed and frustrated, having no idea what the hell he’s talking about until I remember the romance novel at the hospital. The one I’ve held onto for months without finishing.

“So?”

“So, I can see where it’s headed. The wounded hero who doesn’t believe in love meets the cute bakery owner, and by the end of the book, he’ll magically be healed because love conquers all.

” He pauses and shakes his head. “And I will never be that guy, Ry. I can’t give you anything.

Hell, I don’t want to fall for anyone. I don’t even want to date. ”

I shift onto my knees, trying to come to terms with what he just said.

So, it’s not because he doesn’t want me? Or is it?

“If I weren’t in the picture, had I never made this wish, would you have hooked up with someone at that party?”

I don’t need his answer because I can see it in his eyes .

I scoff. “It’s not because I’m sick, huh?” I glance away from him, fighting the lump in my throat. “Maybe it’s just because you’re not attracted to me.”

“Are you fucking serious right now, Ry?”

I shrug, saying nothing.

“I think you could tell just how untrue that statement was when you were grinding up against me.”

I flush, remembering how hard he felt against the small of my back. “Then it is because I’m sick.”

“It’s not—”

“Then why? Explain it to me like I’m a freaking toddler, Grayson,” I say, feeling my temper rise. “Because if I were any other girl, we would’ve done a lot more than kiss, and you know it.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches. “I’ll hurt you. When this ends, and we part ways, you’ll be hurt if we . . . take things too far.”

“Wasn’t it you who said it’s not always about liking someone? That sometimes it’s just about sex?”

He flinches. “Yes, but—”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t believe in happy endings either?

” I snap. “Look at me? Does it look like fate has been kind to me?” I laugh bitterly.

“I’m not asking you to marry me. God, you make me sound so pathetic, like some sap of a girl who just fawns all over the first boy to give her attention. Like I can’t get—”

His mouth is on mine before I can finish the sentence.

Goose bumps cover my skin as sensation floods my senses.

His tongue slides into my mouth as his hands slip beneath the hem of my shirt where he palms my breasts, roughly, like he’s trying to prove a point.

Message received.

I gasp, my heart beating so hard I’m sure he can hear it. If he’s testing my resolve, he’ll lose.

I reach for the waistband of his shorts, but he shifts his body, hovering above me so that I have to lean up to touch him.

His mouth finds my jaw, my neck, the sensitive skin just below my ear where the sound of my breathing is all I can hear.

My thoughts scatter, filled with nothing but Grayson when he returns to my mouth and nips my lower lip.

I moan in response and slide my hands into his hair, tugging before dragging my nails over his scalp, eliciting a throaty moan that sets my insides on fire.

I move my hands lower, clutching at his shirt when his hands slip beneath my bra once more, his touch featherlight before he grips my breasts harder, sending the ball of heat building in my center farther south.

Needing more, I arch, reaching for him and dipping my hand below the elastic of his gym shorts where I grip him.

He curses against my mouth, so I pump my hand.