Page 51 of Things I Wish I Said

“Why don’t we check in, get all our stuff sorted in our room, and then . . .” I press a kiss to her forehead.

“The anticipation is killing me.”

Grinning, I dip my mouth to her ear. I graze my lips over her skin, and she shivers. “We can order room service,” I whisper.

“Damn. You really know how to seduce a girl. ”

I chuckle under my breath and press another kiss to her face, this time her cheek.

“You really wouldn’t mind? I mean, it’s our first day. I feel like we should go out.”

I squeeze her a little tighter. As long as she’s here in my arms I know she’s okay.

“We’ll go out tomorrow, spend all day and night out, and every other day while we’re here, if you want.

But we endured more than six hours of travel starting at the ass crack of dawn, then several more in the sun, and you’re beat.

I’m beat,” I add when she opens her mouth to argue, because it’s the truth, and because I know she’d rally if I wanted her to.

“And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than have a shower”?I press another kiss to her forehead?“and crawl into bed.” Her cheeks flush and I fight a grin as I deliver a soft peck to her even softer lips.

“Order some food and eat while we watch a movie.” One more kiss, and then I press my forehead to hers. “Sound good?”

“God, I love your brain.”

I laugh, but inside, my heart is pounding at the way the word love electrifies my blood.

“Come on then, sugar mama. Check us in.”

Ryleigh tips her head back and laughs, a full-on belly laugh I can’t get enough of as I open the door for her, and she steps inside.

The interior of the hotel is lavish with crystal chandeliers dripping from the ceilings, a gleaming marble floor, and a plush seating area decked out in jewel tones.

It’s the kind of place I’m used to from years of vacations with my folks, but I don’t mention anything about cost to Ryleigh, since I already know how it will go, though I am curious how she bankrolled this trip.

I know for a fact her mother doesn’t make enough to fly first class and stay at luxury hotels or pay for home-plate tickets at Dodger Stadium.

Not to mention the debt she’s already in following Ry’s treatments.

We step up to the counter and Ryleigh offers the receptionist her ID and bank card, while I feel like an asshole for letting her pay for everything.

After she gives us two room cards and a rundown of all the extra services available to us, she retrieves our luggage, and we head in the direction of the elevators.

“Our room is on the second floor,” Ry says as I swoop in and steal her bags from her. “Grayson, you can’t wheel two bags plus my carry-on.”

“Watch me.” I wink.

She rolls her eyes, then leads the way.

The ride to the second floor is a short one, the walk to our room even shorter.

She swipes the key card, and the door opens with a mechanical click . Both of us step inside, and Ryleigh flicks the light on.

The room is massive. There’s a cozy living space in neutral tones, a sofa, entertainment unit, desk, mini bar, and a nice view separating the bedroom from the rest of the space.

I walk two steps behind, taking in the massive king-sized bed sitting in the middle of the space and swallow, once again remembering her comment at the ball field .

I’m not innocent. At eighteen, I’m far from a virgin.

The only girl I’ve ever been with that meant anything was Rachel.

Everyone else came after her and served as a pleasant distraction, a release from my grief.

The prospect of being with Ryleigh scares the hell out of me.

A lot of responsibility comes with being someone’s first, and potentially their last. I also don’t want to hurt her. Because I love her.

I glance over at her, realizing it’s true.

I fucking love her.

Ry Sinclair made me laugh again.

She made me realize that love is worth giving, even when it hurts. Maybe happy endings are what you make of them.

“So, who gets first shower?” Ry asks, crossing the room and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Her lips curve, and she cocks her head. “Or when you talked about showering, did you mean together?”

A flush of heat travels south as my heart thuds against my ribs.

Her tiger eyes tease as she stares back at me, glittering as if the idea of getting naked together doesn’t faze her one bit. It’s so different from her reaction when I teased her weeks ago, that day in her bathroom.

“JK.” She barks out a laugh, then stands back up, bouncing on the balls of her feet as if the idea of making me blush turns her giddy.

Maybe it does.

And maybe I’m okay with it.

Because anything that makes Sinclair smile is worth it.

I chuckle as she bounds toward me and pecks me on the cheek. “If you don’t mind, I’ll go first.”

“Yeah, sure.” I hand off her bag. My movements are slightly wooden, not wanting to alert her to how much her words affected me.

Once she disappears inside, I exhale and sink down on the bed, laughing a little at myself. I’m like a kid with his first fucking crush. I’m not even sure I recognize myself.

A couple hours later, we’re sitting side by side, a silver cart beside the bed filled with empty plates and the remnants of our dinner.

“I’m going to”?she motions to her wig?“take this off if that’s okay.”

I frown, finding the insinuation I might not be okay with the real her insulting.

She doesn’t wait for a reply to rise from the bed, which I hope is a sign it was a rhetorical question.

My eyes track her movements, sliding from the thin purple cotton camisole she’s wearing to her tiny lace-trimmed shorts.

Part of me wonders if she thought of me when she chose these particular pajamas for the trip or if she always wears ones like this.

They’re both feminine and sexy as fuck, and any irritation I feel at her for thinking I’m not okay with her just as she is vanishes, replaced by a simmering heat in my veins.

She disappears into the bathroom, and I jerk my gaze away, leaning my head back against the headboard, trying to get my mind right before she returns .

This trip isn’t about that.

It’s about her, not me, and I don’t want to turn it into anything else.

When she returns, she’s wearing one of her colorful scarves tied around her head. She sinks down onto the bed, her leg brushing mine, and a spark of heat follows.

“Why the scarf?” I ask, playfully tugging one end of it.

It’s stupid to be disappointed, but I kind of thought she’d come out with nothing on, and it pains me a little that she didn’t, like she’s afraid I might think any less of her without anything on her head.

She shrugs, saying nothing.

“Sinclair, you can be real with me. You don’t need it. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I know.” She bites her lower lip with her teeth, and I want to trap it with my own.

More than that, I want to erase whatever insecurity this is, but I know I probably can’t do that in one night if I haven’t been able to in the weeks I’ve known her. So I don’t push. But I make a silent vow to have her sleeping without it by the end of the trip.

“What’s your favorite part of the trip so far?” I ask, nudging her leg again.

Her smile is instantaneous, bright enough to light the sky. “That’s easy. The moment we pulled up to Dodger Stadium and I got to see the look on your face.”

I search her eyes for the lie and find none .

“What about you?” she asks.

“This.” I motion between us. “Right here. Right now. Just being with you like this. That’s been the favorite part of every day since we met.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she whispers.

“Why?”

“Because I might believe them.”

“You should.” I reach up and brush a thumb over her cheek. “Your body and cancer might let you down, but I never will.”

“Grayson . . .” She closes her eyes, her breathing shallow before she blinks, the emotion in her gaze gone. “Tell me more about baseball?”

“What about it?” I ask, only slightly disappointed in the change of subject.

“Do you think you have a chance of going pro?”

I exhale, clasping my hands behind my head. “There’s a chance. If I keep my head on straight. I actually had a scout for the minors expressing interest before I committed to George Mason.”

“What happened?”

I shift, itchy at the thought of talking about myself.

Sometimes it feels like everything about my past is painful.

My father had a hand in nearly every part of my life.

But I won’t close myself off from her, not anymore.

“’I had several colleges approach me when The Waves, a minor league team out of North Carolina, wanted to sign me, but I would’ve had to wait for the draft, and a week later my father was diagnosed. ”

My throat works as I push my emotions down.

“I just wanted him here when I signed, you know? I wanted him to witness it and be a part of it, and I was afraid if I waited, he might not be.” I shrug.

Turns out my fears were founded. “So, I made it seem like it’s truly what I wanted, rather than a decision hastily made with him in mind. ”

Ryleigh reaches out, threading her fingers through mine, and I let it ground me.

“Is that why you started hanging out with Dustin?” she asks.

“Pretty much.” I’m not proud of it, but unwilling to sugarcoat it either.

“Baseball was always our thing, you know? From the time I was little it’s something we shared, something we both loved.

It’s like the cliché about the rich guy trying to make it to the top, but once he gets there, he glances around and no one’s there to share it with.

That’s me.” I glance over at her, searching her eyes for understanding, for some proof I’m not crazy.

“I know I should be thrilled I’ve made it, that I’ve reached my dreams, but I’m not.

Because my best friend isn’t even fucking here to see it. ”

The moment the words leave my mouth it hits me.

That’s exactly what Ry has become to me. My best friend.

Ryleigh slides her hand from mine to my face, cupping my jaw. “Who says he can’t see?”

My heart thuds so hard I nearly moan. I want to ask her if she really believes that, but I don’t, too afraid of the answer.

“Every time I pick up a ball or a bat or I stand in front of the plate, I think of him. It’s why I let myself screw off my senior season in high school, and it’s why I was on the fast track of messing up college ball before I even got there.

It’s just all one massive reminder of him and how he’s gone. ”

“But don’t you think he’d want you to still play? To live up to your potential and see where it can take you?”

“That’s the worst part, because I know he would, but I’ve fucked it all up all the same.”

“It’s not over, Grayson. Not yet. Your ribs will heal, and then you’ll be ready in the fall to come back better than ever.”

I grunt. “I’m surprised you don’t hate me.”

“Why would I hate you?”

“Because you’d give anything to play again. You had soccer stolen from you while I’m pissing baseball away. One of us has a choice and the other doesn’t.”

“I don’t know how I’d react in your shoes any more than you know how you’d react in mine.”

I scoff. “You’re being generous.”

“Am I? Or is it simply a truth you don’t want to hear because giving yourself grace is a lot harder than beating yourself up over it.”

My chest tightens as I stare down at her.

She’s right.

I haven’t given myself grace or room to grieve in a long-ass time.

Part of me thinks I’ve forgotten how.