Page 53 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter thirty-four

GRAYSON

The rhythmic sound of the water pounding the shore grows closer as we near Venice Beach. It’s crowded and hot, despite the time of day, but we manage to find a nice spot by the water. A wide stretch of sand meets the ocean with the picturesque Santa Monica mountains as a stunning backdrop.

Dropping the pool towels we borrowed from the hotel onto the sand, and the water we purchased at the pier, I tug my shirt off.

Ryleigh stares—gawks more like—her lips curving, a devilish glimmer in her eye, and I realize it’s the first time she’s seen me shirtless.

“Wow. That is . . . that should be illegal.” She bites her lip while I roll my eyes.

“It’s not like I’m the only good-looking dude with no shirt on.” I scan the beach and quickly realize I’m right.

“Maybe,” she says as she steps forward and slides a hand up my chest, her gaze hungry, “but you are the fairest of them all. Trust me. ”

I arch a brow. “More Disney references?”

She lifts a shoulder. “You’re the prince in my story.”

My heart thumps, but before I can drop my mouth to hers, she takes a step back and tosses the Nike ball cap she always wears to the sand at her feet, followed by her shorts, then carefully tugs her tank top over her head, so as not to disturb her wig.

Whatever retort I had about the prince comment dies on my lips at the sight of her.

I thought her choice of sleepwear was hot, but this . . .

My gaze travels down the length of her in a hot pink bikini, and all the blood drains from my face, traveling south.

She ties the wig back in a knot at the back of her head, then bends over in the tiny swimsuit and snatches her ball cap back up before readjusting it on her head while I watch, transfixed.

Suddenly, it’s a thousand degrees warmer than it was previously, and I desperately need something to cool me off.

I uncap my water bottle and take a pull of the cool liquid as Ryleigh straightens and says, “I’m ready. Let’s get wet.”

I choke, a trickle of water entering my windpipe. Pounding on my chest, I try to clear it while I also try to erase Sinclair’s words and the image they conjure while she laughs her ass off.

Once I can breathe again, I shoot her a dirty look, then drag her down to the water. “Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one.”

“Am I? What are you gonna do?” she says, eyes dancing .

In one swift motion, I bend my knees and pick her up, one arm beneath her legs and the other beneath her shoulders while she squeals over the gentle roar of the waves.

Tearing into the waves, I don’t stop until I’m waist deep, then set her down, plunging her into the water where it rises above her chest.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Ryleigh splashes me.

“Better than what I want to do,” I say, gripping her waist.

“What do you want to do?” Her breathing slows, her voice breathless.

“Keep talking and you’ll find out.”

“Mmm . . . Sounds like a challenge,” she whispers against my lips.

Her breath fans over my mouth, and I close my eyes, prepared to erase the remaining distance between us when a giant wave blasts me in the side of the face.

I straighten, water dripping from my hair and nose, and rolling into my eyes.

“All’s fair in love and water wars,” Ryleigh shouts with a cackle.

My mouth drops, but the corner of my lips curve. “Is that so? Well, if we’re playing by those rules, then . . .” I lunge at her, even as she yelps and starts to run—I grab her from behind.

Lifting her up, I toss her into the water a few feet out and she plunges beneath its cool surface.

I have a moment of panic where I worry she can’t get her hair wet, that she might be pissed I ruined her wig, but when she surfaces, she’s laughing while one hand clutches the top of her head.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she sends another playful splash my way.

“You sure you want to do that. Last time it didn’t end well,” I warn.

“Okay, truce!” She laughs, treading water, just barely able to stand.

“Come here.” I motion for her to come closer, and when she does, she wraps her legs around my waist and her arms around my shoulders.

My heart beats against hers, strong enough for the both of us.

“I love the ocean,” she says, her words whispering against my damp skin.

“There’s something so universally mysterious and powerful about it, you know?

There’s no controlling it or containing its wrath when its angry.

You could visit the beach a million times, come every day for the rest of your life, and it’ll be here just as it always has—strong, steady, and mysterious—ready to soothe the worst parts of life. ”

Her hazel eyes stare out at the long stretch of blue, studying the ocean while I study her, and when she glances back at me, I shiver. “It kind of reminds me of you,” she says.

I swallow. “I don’t have any more secrets,” I say, though the little voice in the back of my head says that’s not entirely true because Ry has no idea her mother asked me to change her mind about treatment .

“You don’t?” Her fingers rake through the bottom of my hair, and I bite back a groan.

“No.” I shake my head.

After grabbing food from some of the nearby street vendors, Ryleigh and I settle back into the sand.

Sprawled out on our towels, we people-watch while we eat, waiting for the sun to set and basking in the amiable silence while I try not to dwell on how tired she looks or how she had to stop and take a break on the walk back.

Slowly, the sun dips toward the horizon, and the beach is bathed in a breathtaking symphony of colors, the sky erupting in a fiery blend of crimson, gold, and deepening violet, each hue melting into the next with a painter’s grace.

The surface of the ocean glitters, mirroring the colors with a liquid path of molten light that stretches toward the shore.

Silhouettes of palm trees and distant mountains frame the scene, their dark forms contrasting sharply against the vibrant backdrop, while the soft murmur of the waves and the cool evening breeze create an almost magical atmosphere.

“Now this looks like a postcard,” I say.

“Best sunset ever.” Ryleigh leans back on her arms. “My mom’s getting married,” she blurts.

I glance over at her, but she’s staring straight ahead. “They’re engaged?” I ask .

She nods, her mouth tipping into a rueful smile. “I mean, there’s no ring on her finger, and if you’d ask, they might say they’re not, but I overheard them. I heard John propose. I saw the ring, but they’re hiding it from me.”

I place my hand on her back, warming her skin with my palm. “I’m sorry, Ry.”

Finally, she glances over at me, her expression stricken. “They’re waiting for me to die.”

“No, they wouldn’t. You don’t know that,” I say, refusing to believe it. I spoke with Jill myself; I know how badly she wants Ryleigh to fight.

“I so much as heard them say it, and why not?” She gives a little shrug. “It would be a lot easier. It’s no secret I’m not his biggest fan.”

I sigh, pulling her into my arms. “You need to talk to your mom. Tell her you know.”

“Probably,” she mumbles against my shirt, then straightens and composes herself before returning her attention back to the setting sun.

Silence stretches between us, both of us taking in the view, the blaze of fiery orange on the horizon.

“You know, I lied before.”

My stomach sinks, and I turn to her. “About what?”

Her eyes reflect the colors of the sunset, and it takes her a minute to speak.

“About not being scared. Because I am. Scared, I mean.”

I swallow, and my heart kicks. “What are you afraid of?”

“A lot.” This time she does turn to me, and the pain I see in those whiskey-hued depths is nothing short of devastating. “Dying. Being known as nothing but my disease. Being forgotten.”

I want to lash out. Scream. I want to tell her she’s not dying, that she can still beat this. There’s still time. She still has options.

But I don’t.

I have no idea what she wants to hear or if she wants to hear anything at all.

“Impossible,” I say, bringing my hand to her face. I brush her cheek with my thumb, caressing the soft skin. “I could never forget you, Sinclair. No one could. And you’re a hell of a lot more to me than an illness. Cancer is the last fucking thing I see when I look at you.”

“Really?” Her voice breaks over the word.

I nod. “Really.”

“Do you want to know why I couldn’t finish that book?”

I think about the novel in my suitcase, the one whose ending I’m on the cusp of finishing, and I’m not sure I want to know why she couldn’t, but her question burns through me all the same. “Why?”

“Because I’m afraid of how my own story ends, but it’s looking more and more like I won’t get the ending I want. And maybe you’re right,” she says with a shaky smile. “Maybe all happy endings are just fairytales. But I’m not sure I want to read a story without one. ”

I swallow, unable to speak through the lump in my throat as I reach out, my chest cracking in two as I place a hand over hers, wishing I could give her more comfort than my touch, but I can’t. It’s all I have to give.

Leaning toward me, she lays her head on my shoulder and whispers, her voice a whisper as she says, “Thank you for being here. For being you.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I say, swallowing over the words I really want to say. That my offer to pay her mother’s debts and fund her treatment still stands.

Instead, I wait until she glances back out at the ocean to ask, “Have you ever been to the Hamptons?”

She laughs. “Even if I squeeze a trip into my soccer schedule, somehow I don’t think a potter can afford a vacation in the Hamptons.

” I blush, feeling foolish for the question, but buoyed when she says, “You know, if I could go back knowing what I know now, I still probably wouldn’t change a thing.

I’d still play soccer. Still give it everything I had because I loved it that much.

But I do see all the things I missed out on.

You know, kind of how they say hindsight is twenty-twenty? ”