Page 42 of Things I Wish I Said

I glance up and to my right toward the voice, to see a loft overlooking the space on the far end of the room. A woman with a shaggy blonde bob peers over the railing, her expression one of concern.

“Yeah. It’s me, Ma.”

“I was so worried about you! Where were you last night?” She disappears, her voice trailing behind her, punctured with the sound of her footsteps before she appears behind us at the bottom of a winding staircase. “You know you’re supposed to call if—”

Her words die in her throat, and I don’t need to witness the shocked expression marring her otherwise elegant features to know why.

One hand covers her mouth, I imagine to stifle a gasp, as her blue gaze fills with tears. “Oh, Grayson.” She steps forward, hands reaching toward her son, her voice thick. “What happened?”

Grayson takes her hands and squeezes. “I’m okay, I swear, but there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

She starts as if she forgot I was here, but the second she glances my way, her worry transforms.

“‘Ma, this is—”

“Ryleigh Sinclair,” his mother finishes for him. Stretching a hand out in offering, a smile brightens her face. Only the subtlest hint of concern for Grayson remains. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, taking my hand. “I’m Victoria. My, aren’t you stunning.”

My cheeks heat at the compliment. “It’s nice to meet you, too. Grayson’s told me a lot about you.”

Even though it’s a lie, it seems like the right thing to say.

“Has he now?” She glances up at him with an arched brow, as if she knows I’m full of shit before turning back to me. “So, what brings you over here this afternoon, my dear? Are you supposed to be a diversion for why my son looks like he got in a fight?”

Beside me, Grayson grimaces.

I bite my lip, fighting a smile. “Something like that.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmurs.

“Mom, I know you’re going to want to talk about what happened, and I’ll explain everything. I owe you that much, but can it wait? At least while Ryleigh’s here?”

Victoria stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Fine. ”

Grayson’s eyes widen, clearly expecting her to put up more of a fight.

“Why don’t you go change,” she says, flicking her gaze down to his dirtied T-shirt, “while Ryleigh and I have tea on the patio.”

“Are you sure—”

“We can chat.” She cuts him off. “Get to know each other. Then, once you’re up to it, you can explain your appearance and why I never got a phone call saying you weren’t coming home.”

Something tells me this wasn’t the first time Grayson disappeared for the night without texting her, but he just nods before glancing over at me, a wrinkle in his brow.

“It’s okay.” I smile, resting a hand on his arm to reassure him, not missing the way his mother’s hawklike gaze zeros in on the gesture. “Seriously, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?”

I nod, surprised when he draws me in for a hug. “Thank you, Sinclair,” he whispers into my hair.

My entire body comes alive at the contact, and once he releases me, I watch him walk off, heading for the stairs. Victoria takes my arm and directs me toward the kitchen where she quickly sets about preparing two cups of tea.

A few minutes later, I’m sitting across from her on a patio that feels a bit like being ensconced inside an arboretum, wondering what to say. I have nothing in common with this woman, yet I find myself wanting to make a good impression .

“I guess I should thank you for loaning me your son,” I say, finally, fidgeting with my cup. I haven’t forgotten she knows about my cancer or that she’s the one who approved my wish.

Victoria hums in response. “The thanks all go to him. I might have been the one to give it my stamp of approval, but he’s the one who agreed to it. I’m not sure we would’ve been able to grant it otherwise.”

“I’ve actually been trying to figure out why he did.”

“I suppose that’s his story to tell,” she says with a sad smile. “But I will say that taking on your wish was no small feat for him . . . after everything.”

I frown, having no idea what she’s referring to. I’m half tempted to ask, but I don’t want her to think I’m nosey. That, and part of me feels like maybe Grayson should’ve already told me.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I let him off the hook so easily.” Her blue eyes find mine over the rim of her mug.

“After how freaked out Grayson was about facing you, yeah, I kind of am.”

“It’s because I knew I’d get more information from you than him. He filters everything he says around me, especially when it comes from a place of worry. So, tell me, who gave my son a black eye and a wound that looks like it could’ve used stitches?”

I flinch, my guilt at not taking him to the hospital returning like the swing of a pendulum.

Ultimately, my allegiance lies with Grayson, but that does little to abate my fears he’s not yet done with Dustin. I know he says he has everything under control, but I’m not sure I believe him. Once the dust settles and the bruises fade, he might reconsider if he’s desperate enough.

A sigh escapes my parted lips, before I blurt, “It was Dustin. I only met him once by accident, so I don’t know much about him, but he sort of . . . ran Grayson off the road, and he hit a tree.”

Victoria gasps, her hands curling into fists. “I told him to stay away from that boy.” She shakes her head, her voice thick. “I knew it was only a matter of time before he got hurt.”

“He says he’s done with him now.”

“I hope you’re right.” She sags like a deflated balloon, clinging to her steaming coffee cup. “Tell me, how bad was it?”

When I say nothing, she asks, “Did he almost kill him?”

“It was bad,” I say, hesitating to tell her how bad.

In truth, Grayson is lucky to be alive.

Her gaze drifts past me, focusing on something in the distance when she says, “Ever since his father died, he hasn’t been the same. Seems now he’s intent on getting himself killed.”

“His father . . .?”

If she notices my questioning tone, she doesn’t show it.

She continues to stare straight ahead, lost in thought.

“I’ve stood by and watched him slowly try to destroy the one thing he loves while destroying himself in the process, and I feel like I’m powerless to stop it.

I can’t get through to him. Then again, maybe this is all my fault.

Maybe if I’d handled things better . . . ”

She sighs and sets her mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of her, looking me in the eyes. “I withdrew after Antonio died, when he needed me most. And we . . . we weren’t as forthcoming with how long he had left when Grayson asked. We didn’t want him counting down the days, waiting . . .”

She scrubs a hand over her face while my stomach somersaults to my feet.

Grayson’s father is dead. His parents didn’t split like I assumed.

“Oh. I-I didn’t know,” I say, unable to hide my ignorance any longer. If I can feel the shock on my face, I’m sure she can see it.

“He didn’t tell you?” Her brows rise as I shake my head.

She chuffs. “Why am I not surprised? He won’t talk about it—about him.”

“What happened?”

She stares at me for a moment, and I get the sense she’s hesitant to tell me.

A beat of silence passes before she clears her throat and says, “It was a year ago in May. Cancer.”

My heart stops. That single word. The same one radiating inside my chest like the beat of a gong.

Cancer.

Grayson’s father died of cancer, and now he’s granting my wish, and a mere twenty-four hours ago, I sat in my bedroom and told him I was done with treatment.

I try to say something, but nothing comes out .

My stomach roils as I try to come to terms with the fact I share the same disease as the one that stole his father from him—that I will likely see the same fate.

“I, uh, I didn’t know,” I say, realizing too late I’ve already said this.

Why? Why would he grant my wish?

It’s cruel, heartbreaking.

I glance inside the house, to the sprawling kitchen and the stairs I now know lead to his bedroom, thinking once again about the news I delivered yesterday.

How I told him my treatment failed, that my cancer spread.

I can’t even begin to imagine being in his shoes, but I’m guessing it felt a little like twisting the knife.

The pressure in my chest grows as I remember his words.

“I needed something to take the edge off.”

If I didn’t blame myself for what happened to him before, I do now.

A nagging voice in the back of my head wants to know if he was upset because he cares about me or because it reminded him of his father—maybe it was both.

I shove the thought aside. It’s selfish and irrelevant, and something I have no right thinking about.

Now more than ever, his behavior at Kip’s party makes sense.

I acted as if a kiss was no big deal, but now I understand why it spooked him.

Now some of the pieces of the puzzle are coming together, I can comprehend his hesitation where I’m concerned.

The fact that I have cancer does make it worse for him .

At the end of this, Grayson needs to be able to walk away from this wish unscathed. I need him to be okay—more than okay. It’s suddenly important that he’s somehow better off because of me, not more broken than I found him.

I clear my throat, hoping it’ll clear my head as I ask the one question still plaguing me. “Why would he agree to the wish?”

No matter how you slice it, I can’t imagine being in his position and wanting to help me.

Victoria bites her lip as if deciding whether to tell me. “Did you read how Wishing Well got started?”

I shake my head, feeling slightly foolish and wholly ignorant. Teaches me for not reading the fine print.