Page 44 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter twenty-seven

GRAYSON

The sun hangs low in the sky, casting an orangey glow over the smooth, dark water of the lake. I step into the clearing at our usual spot with Ryleigh beside me, our breath mingling with the crisp night air and the chorus of crickets.

Already, I can see the silhouette of my friends waiting for us in the distance, and I brace myself for the shit I know they’ll give me since I’m out of commission for the summer season.

Turns out, my doctor’s visit revealed two fractured ribs from the impact of the airbag, which means no baseball until college in the fall.

We close the distance, trekking across the sand to where they’re seated at a picnic table by the tree line. Cameron spies me first and stands, giving me a slap on the back before he makes a show of checking out the current status of my injuries. “Healing up nicely, De Leon. ”

I nod. Even though some bruising remains, the skin around my eye and the gash on my head is mostly back to normal.

Ryan, our catcher, stands and slaps my hand. “Hey, man. I heard what happened. All things considered, you got off lucky. Glad you’re all right though.”

Trent follows with a fist bump while I grunt out a response. I’m well aware of how much worse things could’ve been.

“Hey, Ryleigh.” Cameron grins, turning his attention to her.

“Hey, Cam.”

Cam?

I stare down at her, my eye twitching.

I know I have no claim on her. Hell, I was the one who insisted this thing between us remains platonic, but as I watch Cameron check her out, I’m finding it hard to remember why that was a good idea.

I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the way they’re staring at each other as I place my hand on her lower back and guide her to the far end of the picnic table, taking the seat directly beside her before Cameron can.

“Hope you don’t mind, but we invited a few more people that said they’d stop by later.”

I peer across the table at Trent before turning an accusatory look on Cameron. “I thought you said it was just gonna be us?”

Cameron shrugs. “You know how people talk. We asked a few of the guys and the next thing you know everyone’s coming.”

“Damn it.” I told Ryleigh tonight would be low-key and nothing like Kip’s party. Not that she minded Kip’s party. She had a blast. I, on the other hand, would like to avoid any sort of drama tonight. “Hannah’s not coming, is she?”

“No.” Trent shakes his head. “I checked. She’s on vacation with her folks, so you’re good.”

I glance over at Ry, unsure of what she’ll think about more people than we expected being here.

Her face has thinned in the weeks since her last chemo treatment, revealing a sharp jaw and even more defined cheekbones, and I can’t help but notice the shadows beneath her eyes have deepened.

A cough seems to have cropped up, unpredictably rearing its head on and off throughout the day.

Today, she looks tired, and when I asked her about it, she simply shrugged me off and said she isn’t sleeping well.

I’m not sure I believe her.

“You good with staying?” I ask, secretly hoping she wants to bail and watch a movie at my place.

“You worry too much.” She rolls her eyes, then jabs me with an elbow, and I catch Cameron tracking the movement.

A smug smile splits my face as he leans down to the cooler and pulls out a couple beers. He offers Ryleigh one first, but she declines, and when he slides one to me, I push it back toward him. “I’m good.”

His brows rise as he mumbles, “Refusing to drink again, De Leon?”

Beside him, Trent cracks the top on a beer of his own. “You really gonna stay away from Dustin for good this time?”

“Yep. I’m done. ”

“That deserves a toast.” Cameron holds his beer out. “To De Leon, who fucked our whole team by fracturing his ribs. Tonight’s loss is for you.” He tips his beer toward me, then clinks it against Ryan’s and Trent’s before taking a sip.

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.” He smiles.

“It’s our last summer to play together and you’re out for the second half of the season, so no, we’re not letting this go,” Trent pipes up.

“I’d play if I weren’t headed to George Mason in the fall, but I need to heal.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Trent mutters.

“Where’s the food. I’m starving,” I ask, changing the subject.

“Brandon’s bringing it. Should be here in ten. We ordered a chicken salad for Ryleigh like you said.”

“Actually, pizza sounds great,” Ryleigh says.

“I fucking told you.” Cameron pounds a fist on the table in victory. “Ryleigh’s not the prissy salad type.”

It irritates me that he knows this about her, but what he doesn’t know is Ryleigh’s been eating clean ever since her diagnosis, and I can’t say I don’t feel at least a little bit smug that I have insider information he doesn’t.

Ignoring him, I turn to Ry. “It’s okay. I had him order you a salad. I’ve got you covered.”

“I appreciate that, truly, I do, but I really do think I’ll eat the pizza. ”

Everyone at the table bursts out laughing like her choosing pizza over salad is some kind of rejection, when the truth is she hasn’t eaten anything other than fruit, vegetables, and chicken since I’ve started hanging out with her.

The night she had beer at Kip’s, followed by the breakfast sandwich she ate the morning after, is the only time I’ve so much as seen her put anything into her body that isn’t good for her.

“You sure? I’ll eat salad, too,” I whisper, wondering if she feels weird being the odd one out.

“I’m sure.” She offers me a reassuring smile before focusing her attention back on my friends.

What she eats shouldn’t bother me.

Pizza isn’t the enemy. It’s not the end of the world. But I can’t help but feel like this is just one more sign she’s giving up—that she’s done trying in every capacity.

This thought eats away at me while we wait and stays with me all through dinner. We’re barely done eating when cars start pulling into the lot, and I’m already over this party. If it weren’t for Ryleigh, I would’ve ignored the invitation.

As it is, I’m starting to wonder if the real reason she wanted to come so badly was to see Cameron, especially with the way they’ve been exchanging looks for the past thirty minutes.

Our little stretch of the sandy beach starts to grow crowded. At least two dozen people have arrived with several coolers of beer. Music is playing softly in the background, and a small group throws a Frisbee in the waning light while flames from a small beach fire illuminate everything around us .

I’m standing with a group of guys from the team while Trent talks my ear off about his upcoming season at a local, Division 3 college.

But I’m only half paying attention because I’m too damn focused on Sinclair and my former best friend while they share a private conversation that keeps her smiling the entire time.

She tips her head back and laughs, and the sound digs its nails into my back.

Or maybe that’s jealousy.

All I know is I’m replaying every single thing I ever said to her about loathing relationships and my disbelief in happy endings, hating myself a little more.

What could possibly be so fucking funny?

“Shit,” Trent hisses beside me.

I glance over at him, frowning at his stricken expression before I follow the trajectory of his gaze.

And then I see her.

Rachel O’Toole.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” I hiss.

She’s coming this way, and I feel a brief wave of relief at the silence in my heart beneath the familiar swell of anger.

Cameron takes a minute out of his flirting with Sinclair to glance over his shoulder, and his face pales.

She’s still walking in our direction, and I curse under my breath as Cameron swivels back around. “Don’t look at me,” he says, eyes wide. “I sure as shit didn’t invite her. ”

I turn my furious gaze on Trent, heart pounding against my fractured ribs.

“Dude. She’s a grade-A bitch. I would never.”

I curse my luck as she draws closer, suddenly hit with the urge to run.

I’ve spent the better part of the year avoiding her.

I’ve skipped football games and parties, school events, and even my senior prom in an effort to dodge her.

And, okay, maybe I skipped those things because I was over it all.

Because I had a good taste of what life is really like and the pain it can offer, and I was just done.

But Rachel is literally the last person on the face of the planet I want to see tonight, and only a few yards stand between us.

“She’s looking this way,” Ryan says, and I groan.

Trent grunts. “I have to say, she might be an ice queen, but she’s a hot ice queen.”

I punch him in the arm.

“Ow!” he hisses.

I don’t care how hot she looks. Rachel O’Toole can wear all the tight, short red dresses she wants, and I wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.

“Who is she?” Ryleigh asks, glancing between us.

Everyone falls silent, waiting to see what I’ll say.

The muscle in my jaw tightens. As much as I’d like to avoid an explanation, I know Sinclair won’t let it go without one. “Just an ex,” I mutter .

Sinclair blinks, a knowing in her eyes I don’t like. “She’s the one you dated for three years,” she says—a statement, not a question.

“That’s her, all right,” Cameron answers for me.

“When was the last time you talked to her?” Trent asks.

I cast him a dirty look. “When do you think?” I snap.

I haven’t spoken to her since she dumped my ass for inconveniencing her with a terminally ill father.

“From what Beth Anne says, she’s still into you,” Ryan adds.

“Maybe you should talk to her,” Trent says. I stare at him like he’s nuts. “All I’m saying is people change.” He shrugs, and I glare a hole right through him.

I don’t care if Rachel comes to me on bended knee begging for another shot. Every time I see her, it’s just another kick in the balls—a painful reminder that people you love leave.

“Hey, Grayson. Can I talk to you?”