Page 52 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter thirty-three

RYLEIGH

I wake to a frog in my throat, a cough already building inside my chest.

My eyes flutter open, but I only get a moment’s reprieve to enjoy the soft glow of the rising sun filtering beneath the window blinds before the nagging tickle in my throat demands attention.

A hacking cough bursts from my chest, and this time there’s nothing patient or gentle about it. My lungs rattle as I struggle to pull in a breath.

My chest tightens. Spasms.

A vise wraps around my lungs and squeezes.

I gasp, sucking in air and wheezing.

Bringing my knees to my chest, I curl onto my side, barking even harder.

I can’t breathe.

Sweat beads my brow as my lungs seize .

My entire body aches as I flop onto my back, arms and legs out as I gasp for air, pulling in oxygen like a toddler greedy for candy.

It takes several minutes to gain my bearings before I remember where I am.

A glance at the spot beside me on the bed reveals it’s empty. I should probably be freaked out Grayson’s not here, but I’m too relieved he missed my morning ritual.

I inhale a calming breath, feeling the burn in my lungs before his voice sounds from the door. “Do you always cough like that in the morning?”

Shit.

I glance over at him, remembering the way he held me last night. How he pulled me into his hard chest, the scent of cinnamon wrapping around me. The way he whispered good night into my ear, then kissed the side of my neck.

Maybe it should’ve been awkward or I should’ve been nervous, but I wasn’t. It felt . . . natural. Nice.

Oh, God, didn’t I just troll my mother more than a month ago for using that word regarding John?

But the truth is, when Grayson holds me, I feel invincible, like nothing can touch me—not even cancer.

I swallow as I stare at him. He’s perfect, even now with a furrow in his brow and a hint of reproach in his eyes as he crosses the room, a cup holder in one hand and a take-out bag in the other .

I clear my throat, propping myself up on a pile pillows, ignoring the throbbing in my limbs like I just ran a mile. “Not always,” I answer.

It’s not entirely a lie. Some mornings are better than others. It’s the past week that’s been particularly rough.

“It’s probably just the dry air. Where were you?” I ask, changing the subject.

“I got breakfast.” He holds up the bag, then sets it down in front of me, along with the cup holder, and stares me in the eyes. “You’re okay?”

I nod. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”

This is the first time we’ve spent the night together, other than the night Dustin ran him off the road, so of course he doesn’t know what I sound like in the morning.

He wasn’t exactly cognizant then. “You brought me breakfast in bed again?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Watch out, I might get used to this.”

“If you stick with me, Sinclair, breakfast in bed will be the norm.” He winks, and I grin, wondering how we got here. Me and Grayson. It almost seems too good to be true until I remember I’m sick, and then I realize it’s not.

But I can sure as hell enjoy it while it lasts.

After breakfast, our Uber takes us on an informal tour of LA.

We drive through Rodeo Drive, which is every bit as glamorous as I imagined.

We take a quick walk through Sunset Boulevard and contemplate going back in the evening when it’s rich with nightlife.

We pass the Dolby Theater and Universal Studios, then stop at a lookout point and take pictures of the Hollywood Sign.

Finally, our car drops us off at Santa Monica Pier where we plan to have lunch and spend several hours before heading to Venice Beach nearby. The salty sea breeze carries with it the distant hum of carnival music while the birds caw overhead.

“Wow,” I breathe as I stand at the edge of the pier.

It stretches out into the shimmering Pacific, teeming with life.

Tourists bustle about, children laugh and chase seagulls, while street performers entertain the crowds.

Bright colors surround us as the glow from the sun shimmers over every surface, casting it in gold.

I clutch my phone in my hands, lifting it and snapping pictures as I direct Grayson to stand with the Ferris wheel at his back. “Come on. Just one,” I say when he groans.

I grin as he begrudgingly obliges, and smile as I snap a couple of him.

Once I’m finished, I pocket it and hook my arm in his, staring out at the scenery. “It’s like stepping into a postcard. Have you ever been?” I ask him, realizing I don’t know the answer.

“No. This is a first for me, too.”

“Well, come on.” I tug him forward.

We take our time strolling along the wooden planks, soaking in everything around us while I snap a couple more photos of the bustling boardwalk. We pass a street performer playing a lively tune on a saxophone, adding to the festive atmosphere, and I drop a couple dollars inside his case.

After an hour in the arcade, we eat lunch at Cha Cha Chicken, then spend some time in the aquarium where we see everything from the local sea life to bull sharks.

“We have to go on that,” I say, pointing to the Ferris wheel.

“Is this a bad time to tell you I don’t like heights?”

I snort out a laugh, sure he’s joking when I glance up to find him staring at the ride like it might explode. “Oh, you’re serious.”

A bubble of laughter bursts in my throat. “You’re really afraid, aren’t you?”

He eyes me warily. “Maybe.”

“Oh, now we’re definitely going on.”

I tug him forward and quickly buy our tickets while he does everything in his power to talk me out of it. “This is crazy. We can do anything while we’re here and you want to ride a Ferris wheel?”

“Yep,” I say, popping the p .

He groans, and when it’s our turn to board, I have to drag him on like his legs are filled with cement.

We board somewhere in the middle, and slowly rise as the wheel stops every couple of seconds for others to load. When it pauses at the top, we have a gorgeous view of the pier and beach below. “This view is incredible,” I say, staring down in awe.

Grayson grunts in reply .

I glance over at him to see him staring straight ahead, his face ashen.

I press my lips together so as not to laugh. “Relax and check out the view. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“No way am I looking down on this thing.”

“But you’re missing out.”

He shakes his head, his hands gripping the rails on the cart until his knuckles turn white.

“Here let me sit beside you,” I say, rising.

“Don’t. Move,” he says between gritted teeth.

“Why?”

“You’re rocking the car.”

I roll my eyes and stifle a laugh as I shift to his side anyway. “It’s not like it’s gonna fall off,” I say, taking the seat beside him, only for the car to buck wildly.

“Oh shit.” Grayson tightens his grip, clinging to the railing like Spider-Man.

Reaching out, I loosen his white-knuckled grip and thread my fingers through his. “You weren’t kidding, were you? You’re terrified.”

“Terrified is a strong word,” he croaks out.

I swallow a laugh.

“Being up this high doesn’t bother you at all?” he asks.

“Nope.”

He huffs out a breath. “Aren’t you scared of anything?”

“Afraid not. ”

He shakes his head, and I’m pretty sure he’s holding his breath.

“Just breathe,” I add because the last thing I need is him passing out on this thing. I doubt I have the lung capacity for CPR. “It’s actually really pretty if you can just calm down and enjoy the view.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as the Ferris wheel creaks to life and we descend a few more feet. “They’ve got to be about done boarding people,” I say, just as we slowly start to move, this time without stopping.

Grayson doesn’t relax though until we near the bottom, but quickly tenses back up as we start to rise again, and as adorable as a frightened Grayson is, I feel a pang of remorse.

Maybe if I distract him . . .

“There was this little carnival that came to town every single summer when I was little. It wasn’t much.

They had a few rides, games, and a petting zoo, but I remember going every year.

I’d get a candy apple and ride the Ferris wheel without fail.

When I started growing older, I’d dream about one day having a boyfriend, and how maybe he’d take me, and we’d ride together. ”

Grayson glances over at me now, his mouth a tight line. He's not relaxed by any means, but he’s listening.

“And there was always one thing I wanted to do.” I allow my gaze to drop to his mouth, those full lips which I know taste exactly as he smells—like cinnamon .

Every time we’ve kissed, he’s initiated it, and for once, I want to be the one to take his mouth with mine. For once, I want to distract him from the fear clawing through his veins like he’s distracted me from mine.

His throat bobs, a whispered “What?” coming from his parted lips.

“This.” I close the gap, brushing my lips over his.

He’s tentative, following my slow, languid pace. Every time the car shifts or rocks, he stiffens. The muscles in his back pull taught beneath my fingers, and his mouth slows.

But I want to make him forget. Erase his fears. Occupy all his thoughts until there’s room for nothing else. Until he forgets where we are or what we’re doing. Until he forgets his own name.

I shift closer, turning and lifting one leg over his.

“What are you . . .?” he croaks.

Once I’m straddling him, I drop my lips to his neck, nipping and kissing my way up to his jaw. Grayson’s breath hitches in his throat and as we near the bottom, I rock my hips lightly, enough to grind into him but not enough to shift the car.

The pace of his breath quickens when I find the sensitive hollow of his throat, bringing my mouth to his ear where I nibble on his earlobe, whispering, “Touch me,” at the same time I slide one of his hands beneath my shirt.

With one hand on my ass and one on my breast, he holds me in place while sliding beneath my bra .

I grunt and my mouth slants, ravenous as his hands glide over me.

I drag my teeth over his lower lip, and my eyes flutter open. Somehow, we’ve wound up on top again and the Ferris wheel has paused, so I pull back. The blacks of his eyes are wide and wild, the gorgeous gray nearly gone.

“Now look,” I breathe, glancing to our right where the pier and ocean stretch out before us.

Grayson follows my gaze, his throat bobbing as he takes in the scenery before turning back to me; only this time when he looks at me, the fear has faded and has been replaced with lingering lust and an emotion I can’t name. Then he whispers, “Definitely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”