Page 60 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter thirty-nine

GRAYSON

Mia Hamm, a soccer legend, takes the stage and opens the card in front of her. Lifting her gaze, she calls out Ryleigh’s name, but she’s nowhere to be found.

Sweat beads my brow as the other winners glance my way.

An awkward silence follows as Mia scans the crowd, her smile fading when no one rises from their seats.

Where the hell is she?

I shift, craning my neck as I glance around me in search of Ryleigh, avoiding the pointed gazes of those around me.

I want to share this moment with her, to squeeze her hand as they call her name and watch her walk the stage. But she’s nowhere to be found.

I slink down in my seat, my mind racing faster than my heart. She went to the bathroom twenty minutes ago. What if something’s happened?

Another minute of silence passes, a murmur rippling around me.

“Ryleigh Sinclair? Are you here tonight? ”

Fuck. I have no idea what to do. I want her to have that trophy, but it’s not like I can accept it for her, though the thought crosses my mind.

“Looks like she’s not here tonight,” Mia says, her tone uncertain. “We’ll accept this award on her behalf. Congratulations, Ryleigh!” Mia raises the silver spiral trophy, then leaves the stage at the same time I rise to my feet.

Tripping over the legs of the people beside me, I rush from our row, headed for the exit in the back while someone new takes the stage.

They say something, and the crowd laughs, but I don’t catch it.

All I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears as I plant my hands on the doors that lead to the foyer.

I burst into the hallway, heart galloping as I search both bathrooms with no signs of Ry. I spend twenty minutes, maybe more, checking every inch of the foyer and every hallway, every nook and cranny she might have escaped to until I’m out of options.

My lungs squeeze. The bitter taste of fear coats my tongue as I burst outside.

The photographers and crowds have mostly gone, the area surrounding the theater nearly empty.

I spend ten minutes more walking the perimeter of the building, and still nothing.

Fear pounds against my ribcage, a rabid animal trying to escape as I slide my phone from my pocket and dial her number, but it goes straight to voicemail .

Maybe she passed out, fell, and got hurt? Had a bad coughing jag and couldn’t catch her breath? They might have transported her to the hospital. But wherever she is, she’s alone.

Fuck.

I do a quick Google search of the local hospitals and call, but none of them have admitted a Ryleigh Sinclair or anyone matching her description.

With shaking hands, I dial her number a second time, and this time, when voicemail picks up, I leave a message asking where she is and telling her to call me.

Despair sinks inside me like a boulder—heavy and sharp.

I start walking. I have no idea where the hell I’m going. All I know is I can’t stand here and do nothing.

Another hour passes, and my desperation mounts.

Still no Ryleigh. No call. Nothing.

Signs of life surround me. Traffic and honking horns. Pedestrians and passing conversation. A trickle of music from a nearby car. The sound of dishes clanking from the open doorway of a diner. Yet the silence from Ry is all I hear.

Resigning myself to heading back to our hotel room, I call an Uber, trying to make a plan on the short drive from the Dolby Theater to the Marriot where we’re staying.

If there’s no sign of her at the hotel, I don’t know what I’ll do.

I’m completely out of my depth here. I have no fucking clue what the next move is.

Call her mother? Contact the police?

I shove the thoughts aside, telling myself she’s fine. I’m sure there’s some logical explanation for what happened .

The Uber drops me off at the hotel, and I make my way to the second floor on rubbery legs. Letting myself inside our room, I turn toward the bedroom and freeze at the sight of a slumped form sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the window.

An instant rush of relief crashes through me, followed by the muted stab of anger. “Ry?”

She turns, glancing back at me. Even from here, I can make out the silvery tracks of her tears. Solemn, copper eyes meet mine as I close the distance between us, trying my best not to snap at her for her little disappearing act.

“Ry, where the hell did you go? What are you doing here? You missed your award,” I say, like it isn’t already obvious.

“About that . . .” She glances down at her hands, her throat bobbing with emotion. “It was a pity win. I didn’t really earn it,” she says, her tone flat.

“What?” I blink, confused.

“I overheard a couple of the other nominees talking when I left for the bathroom. Apparently, the award wasn’t really mine. They were still making their decision when they found out about my diagnosis. That’s why it probably took them so long to decide. They gave it to me because I’m sick.”

My thoughts pop and fizz. “So, you just . . . left?”

“I couldn’t go up on that stage and accept that award knowing my cancer is the only reason I got it. Knowing it should’ve gone to someone else.” Her eyes glisten once more, and a swell of anger rises inside of me .

“Okay, but Ry, you left me there without even letting me know. They announced your name, and everyone was staring, looking at me for some kind of explanation. As if they thought I had any clue where you’d gone when I was every bit as clueless as they were.

It was embarrassing. You put me in an awkward position. ”

“The award—”

“Is that all you fucking care about?” I snap.

Ryleigh flinches at my outburst.

“Did you ever stop and think about what your little disappearing act might do to me?”

When she says nothing, I rake my hands in my hair, tugging at the roots until it's wild beneath my fingertips. “When you didn’t show, I panicked, Ry. I searched every inch of that theater, the foyer, and the exits. I even walked an hour around the city in search of you. I called fucking hospitals, Sinclair. Hospitals,” I say again to reiterate my point.

“Because I was scared to death something might have happened. Petrified that you were laid up in the ER, unable to breath and fucking alone, and this whole time you were here?”

Ryleigh stands, but instead of the remorse I expect to see in her eyes, there’s nothing. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I stare at her, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

“That’s it?”

She throws her hands up. “What do you want me to say?”

A wry laugh sounds in the back of my throat as I take a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, I don’t know. How about something like, ‘I know this week hasn’t exactly gone as I planned, but at least I have you?

At least I’m still here, living, and breathing, grateful to have a fighting chance.

’ Or maybe something about how you’re sorry you dragged me clear across the country to your award only to ditch me in a theater full of strangers in the middle of a foreign city? ”

Ryleigh barks out a laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry to drag you all the way here. I didn’t know it was such a hardship.”

I sigh, frustrated about letting my anger get to me. “You know what I mean.”

“And saying this week didn’t go according to plan is an extreme understatement,” she says, beginning to pace. “Do you have any idea how hard these last few days have been?”

“I have a clue. I was here.”

“Did you know that during the interview today, half of it was about my diagnosis? He didn’t ask me about my dreams for the future or give me any playful questions like they’ve done in the past about sports I wish I could play, or things I’m embarrassingly terrible at or family or my life outside soccer.

No!” The vein in her forehead pulses. “He asked me a couple questions about soccer, and the rest were what it was like to battle cancer.”

A pang of sympathy echoes through me, but I don’t dare sympathize with her for fear she’ll mistake it as pity.

“I’m sorry that happened. That sucks.” I shake my head.

“I can’t imagine what that must feel like, but did you really think no one would ask?

That it wouldn’t come up? Like it or not, Ry, your illness is a part of you now. ”

“This was supposed to be about my achievements. Soccer. Not my health. The one thing I didn’t want to be remembered for is this!

” She clutches at her chest. “I thought this was my chance to be remembered for something bigger and better than the shell I’ve become.

I want them to remember The Missile, not Ryleigh Sinclair, the poor girl whose career was cut short. ”

“I get that, I really do. No one is contesting how amazing you were at soccer, and I hate that this happened to you, but maybe it’s time you stop living in the past and start looking to the future.”

She scoffs. “That’s easy for you to say.”

I flinch.

“At least you have a future, though you’ve spent the last year living in the past.”

Her words hit me like a sucker punch.

I inhale, acknowledging she has a point. “Maybe, but that’s over now.”

“Oh, it’s over now? What about how you’ve also pushed everyone away?

Your mom, your friends, and teammates . .

.” My eyes widen. “Did you think Cameron didn’t tell me about how you had essentially gone MIA?

You let your team down, your friends and family down, all because you couldn’t put the past behind you, but I’m supposed to do the same? ”

I swallow. “Maybe I was like that, but I’m better now. I don’t want to live in the past anymore.”

“Oh, really? ”

I nod. “You opened my eyes. You made me see clearly again, showed me that I can still love baseball without my father here to see it. That it’s okay to move on even if he’s gone.”