Page 46 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter twenty-eight

RYLEIGH

The second Grayson leaves, all eyes fall to me.

Clearing my throat, I contemplate cracking a joke and clearing the air, but all I really want to do is chase after him.

So that’s exactly what I do.

I turn on my heel without saying a single word and run after his retreating form.

My muscles burn. My chest aches. The air in my lungs inadequate to keep up with my brisk pace.

I suck in a breath, choking over a cough as the air rasps in my lungs. Grayson slows at the sound, allowing me to run in front of him and block his path.

I lean down, hands on my knees, another cough spluttering between my lips as I fight to force the air in and out of my lungs in a steady rhythm.

The muscles in my chest clench.

A cramp spasms in my side .

But it was worth it.

“Shit, Sinclair.” Grayson places a hand on my back, the warmth of his palm soaking through the thin cotton of my shirt. “What the hell were you thinking running all the way over here?”

I raise a finger, unable to speak through the choke hold in my chest.

Another cough rips through me, and I inhale, feeling the burn in my lungs as I straighten.

My stomach ties in knots as I stare at him. He’s so beautiful in the moonlight, it makes my head spin. “What the was that back there?” I wave a hand back toward the fire pit.

The muscle in his jaw flexes, before he turns from me and reaches in his pocket. Pulling out a cigarette, he lights up and takes a long drag.

Fury blooms inside my chest. “What do you think you’re doing?” I say, stomping over to him once more.

“Having a smoke.”

“Well, stop.” I rip the cigarette from his fingers and toss it on the ground at my feet, then stomp it out.

“The hell?” His gray eyes turn to pinpoints in the moonlight as he reaches in his pocket and grabs another.

I rip that one from his fingers too.

“Fine. You want a smoke, then I’ll have one, too.” I hold the cigarette to my lips, motioning for him to give me a light.

His expression tightens. “That’s not funny.”

“Oh, you can smoke, but I can’t? ”

The second the words leave my mouth, he rips the cigarette from my fingers and shoves it back in his pocket, so I ask him again, “What was that back there?”

He shrugs like him kissing me in front of all his friends and his ex-girlfriend was no big deal. “I didn’t feel like kissing her, so I kissed you.”

I stare into his eyes, but I can’t read them. They’re as dark and stormy as the night, with little room for interpretation. “But did you kiss me to get back at her?” I pause. “Or did you kiss me because you wanted to?”

I’m not sure I want the answer.

“Are you for real right now, Sinclair?” he bites out. “You’re seriously asking me that?”

“I think it’s a valid question. I mean, how am I supposed to know anything about how you feel or what you’re thinking when you won’t fucking talk to me, Grayson?

You don’t tell me anything.” I slash a hand through the air.

“Every time anything remotely personal comes up in conversation, you shut down. You know damn near everything about me, but you don’t tell me a thing about yourself, at least, nothing that really matters. ”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Really?” I draw closer, closing in on him. “Because you’d think that something you might wanna share with me, considering the circumstances, is that your father died of freaking cancer.”

“What difference does it make? ”

I throw my hands up. “It makes a huge difference. How you can even stand to be here with me is a fucking mystery. And what about Rachel?” I ask, pouring all my frustration and emotions out for him to see.

“All I know is that you dated a long time. The rest you sort of just glazed over. And then we show up here, you’re completely rattled, and it seems she’s still in love with you. ”

“I’m sorry. It’s not exactly something I like to advertise, Sinclair.

What was I supposed to fucking say?” he snaps.

“That she left me only a week after my father got diagnosed with cancer because she didn’t want to be depressed going into the summer?

Because it was too heavy for her? Because it hurt her too much to wait around as he died?

” His throat bobs as I flinch at his words.

“Or did you want me to tell you that only two weeks after she dumped my ass, my father died.”

The blood drains from my face, my heart thudding painfully in my chest. “Yes,” I croak. “That’s what I want. I just want the truth.”

I want you .

I almost say it, and the realization frightens me more than any cancer diagnosis ever could. Because I can’t want him. I promised myself I wouldn’t.

“I was fucking broken,” he says, his voice cracking over the last word.

“I’ve spent the last year doing everything in my power to numb the pain, and I’ve started to lose myself in the process.

I can’t even pick up a fucking baseball without thinking of him.

Without remembering how much he loved the sport and how much he taught me.

” His Adam’s apple bobs. “He wasn’t supposed to die like that.

It wasn’t supposed to be so soon. And she left me right when I needed her. ”

He straightens and runs his hands through his hair. The pain emanating from him is palpable, reaching for me like a lasso flung into the air, catching me and pulling me in.

“Fuck!” he hisses, then starts for the edge of the lake where he drops down beside the water.

I follow him, taking a seat on his right, the silence stretching and pulling between us like a bow ready to snap.

“When my parents told me about my father, I was shocked. One of the first things I asked was how much time he had left, and they gave me some bullshit answer about how the doctors didn’t really know.

Said that if we’re lucky, he’d make it a year.

So, you can imagine my surprise when my mother headed to the drugstore to refill his meds, leaving me to keep him company.

He must’ve known, somehow . . . and he wanted to talk.

He fell asleep, and a few minutes later, he took his last breath, leaving me shocked to my core. ”

I reach out and take his hand, giving it a little squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

“I saw how quickly he was deteriorating. I wasn’t blind, but I blindly believed what they told me.

Or maybe I just wanted to believe it.” He rakes a hand through his hair.

“My mother came home, and I was a fucking mess. I was in pieces. Shocked. I thought I did something somehow. The only way she could calm me down was by admitting the doctors gave him a couple of months at most, not the year like they had said. They thought they were doing me a favor. My mother told me they didn’t want me spending all my time at his bedside, counting the days like dominoes, waiting for everything to fall.

But I would’ve rather known. At least I would’ve been prepared. ”

I don’t wait for permission, and I don’t speak. Words do little to repair wounds. Instead, I reach out and pull him into my arms, holding him close to my heart where I wish I could keep him forever.

“I miss him,” he whispers into my neck, like it’s a sin he’s afraid to confess.

“It’s okay to miss him. But he’d want you to be happy.”

He stiffens, and I close my eyes, wondering if this is the moment where he’ll pull away and reject me, the one where his walls go back up.

Slowly, he pulls back, cupping one side of my face in his calloused palm. “You make me happy.”

I swallow, afraid to move and break the spell we’re under. “No, I don’t,” I say, my throat raw.

“You do. This last month, I’ve laughed more than I have since I lost him. You make me forget to be so damn sad all the time.” His other hand rises, and he drags his thumb over my lower lip while my heart crashes into my ribs.

“Grayson . . .”

“You asked me why I kissed you.”

I nod, my resolve to keep him at arm’s length crumbling .

“I kissed you because I couldn’t stand another second of pretending I didn’t want to.

Because watching you flirt with Cameron drove me fucking crazy.

Because when I touch you, everything else fades away.

All the shit in my life feels bearable. Like I can move forward as long as I have you.

Simply put, life is just better with you in it. ”

A sob escapes the back of my throat, and then his mouth is on mine, and he’s kissing me like his life depends on it. Like we’re the last two people on the face of the planet and the world’s existence depends on us. Like he is the Earth and I am the moon, just caught up in his orbit.

Butterflies take flight in my chest.

My toes curl.

The pulse drumming inside my ears reaches an ear-splitting decibel.

His mouth slants, his tongue brushing against mine as his hand tightens around my waist, and I’m hit with the scent of leather and cinnamon, bringing me back to his bedroom the other night when I sat there and promised myself I’d help him.

Losing his father nearly broke him. I’d hate to think of what losing me only a year later would do.

I place a hand on his chest and push him away.

The breath rasps in and out of my lungs as I come back down to earth, staring into gunmetal gray. “I thought you didn’t believe in love and happy endings?”

“I believe in you.”

My stomach twists. “But I’m . . . Grayson, we both know how this ends. You can’t . . . I can’t . . . I don’t want to hurt you, and it’s not like I have any control over my outcome.”

Grayson brushes a thumb over my cheek, his expression sober as he gazes into my eyes.

“I’m well aware of what this would mean, Sinclair, and I don’t know what the future holds any more than you do.

But I do know I want you in it, no matter how long or short that is.

” He presses his lips to mine, and I shudder. “I’m all in, Ry.”