Page 63 of Things I Wish I Said

Chapter forty-one

RYLEIGH

I have no idea how much time has passed since I lost consciousness on the airplane. When I wake, I’m on a gurney, being strapped down in the back of an ambulance.

The wail of a siren fills the silence as two EMTs work above me, taking my vitals. They ask me questions, but I’m too disoriented, too out of it to answer, and it’s not long before they’re ushering me into the emergency room.

Whatever they gave me in the ambulance to stop coughing and relax my chest worked. My lungs inflate, chest rising as the doctor checks me out. At some point, they administer an IV and more meds. One of them makes me sleepy, and I pass out.

The next time I wake, it’s to a nurse checking my blood pressure. This time, I’m more coherent. “What hospital am I in?” I can’t be in St. Francis. I know those walls too well.

“You’re at St. John’s in Charlotte.”

I frown, propping myself up. “Charlotte. But I was headed home to—”

“They had to divert the flight.” The nurse pats my hand. “You passed out, sweetie. They had no choice but to make an emergency landing.”

I close my eyes, sinking back into my pillow.

Shit.

More medical bills, none of which will be covered by our shitty insurance. Worse of all, I’m not even home yet. As soon as my mother finds out, she’s going to totally freak.

I open my eyes, focusing back on the nurse’s kind face. “My mother. Does she know?”

The nurse nods. “They called her at the airport before you even arrived.”

“But how . . .?”

“Flight records.” She offers me a wan smile.

Right.

Charlotte is about a four-hour drive from us, so if they called her as soon as we landed, that means she’ll probably be here sooner rather than later.

Which means I’ll have to explain what the hell I was doing on a plane a day early without Grayson.

Damn it.

I clear my throat, noting the tightness in my chest as I ask, “What's wrong with me? I mean, was it the cancer or . . . something else?”

The nurse sets my chart down. “Let me get the doctor, and he’ll explain everything.”

“That bad, huh? ”

“You’re going to be okay,” she says, with a warm smile before she disappears.

A minute later, a light knock sounds followed by a deep baritone. “Ryleigh?” I nod as an older doctor comes into view. He has salt-and-pepper hair, thin lips, and kind eyes. He reminds me of my grandfather who passed when I was little. “Glad to see you up.”

“What’s wrong?” I ask, cutting to the chase.

“You have a case of bacterial pneumonia, I’m afraid.

It’s not uncommon for someone with your condition.

In fact, it’s quite easy for a lung cancer patient like yourself to develop pneumonia or other infections.

We have you on some strong antibiotics, but considering your situation, we’ll probably want to keep you here a bit longer than normal patients for monitoring, since there can be complications. ”

“How long?”

“A week, maybe more.”

A week? All I see are dollar signs.

“Can’t I just take meds at home?”

“We really need to deliver these intravenously and even after—”

“Listen, I’ll sign a waiver, whatever the hospital needs so you’re not liable. I just can’t stay here.”

“Legally, I can’t keep you. But, Ryleigh, this is serious. A lung infection like this could kill you if not handled properly. You need treatment and in-house care. At least stay until you’ve had all your meds, then decide. ”

I want to tell him no, to refuse—I mean, what’s the point of treating a terminally ill patient, anyway?

But for some reason, I hold back. Maybe I’m just tired of fighting.

“Fine.” I sigh.

“Good. Rest up and let us know if you need anything. I’ll be back in to check on you in the morning.”

“Thanks,” I mumble as he turns to leave.

An hour later, the door to my room creaks open and my mother’s face appears . . . followed by John. I curse under my breath, bracing myself for the lecture I’m sure will follow.

“Ryleigh?” My mom’s face falls when she sees me, and she storms the room, racing to my side. “Oh my gosh. When they called me, I was so scared.”

Leaning across the bed, she takes me in her arms, her familiar vanilla scent enveloping me.

I breathe in deeply, letting the familiarity soothe me.

“I’m okay, Mom.”

She pulls back, checking my face, arms, and legs as if taking inventory. Two ears, check. Two eyes, check. All limbs, double check.

“Baby, what the hell happened? Do you have any idea how worried I was when they called me from the airport? I thought you were coming home tomorrow.” She glances around the room, then, “Where’s Grayson?”

I swallow, my gaze flicking to John who stares at the floor like he knows .

“One question at a time, Mom.” I huff.

She shoots me a look that says I better start talking.

“As for why I’m here? Apparently, I have pneumonia. Couldn’t stop coughing. Couldn’t breathe and passed out on the plane. As for the other stuff . . .”

I guess there’s no sugarcoating the truth. I might as well break the news to her now. At least I don’t have to lie.

“The award ceremony, the whole trip really, didn’t exactly go as planned. It’s a long story, and if you don’t mind, I’d rather go into detail later, but . . .” I take a deep breath. “Grayson and I broke up.”

Even though I’m expecting the dagger in my ribs that comes with that statement, it still hurts. Still takes my breath away.

Mom’s face falls. “Oh no. Honey, I’m so sorry. You two were so good together, and I know how much he cared about you.”

“Yeah.” I shrug, though her acknowledgment of his feelings twists the knife a little deeper. “I’m sure you’re probably upset I didn’t at least give you a heads-up that I was leaving early and flying alone, and I’m sorry for that, but I just couldn’t be there any longer.”

I make no mention of how I left him there like a coward, because I knew when he came back and tried to convince me to stay I would.

“And I’m sorry about getting sick. I know the last thing you need are more bills,” I say my throat thick. “I tried to see if they’d discharge me with a prescription, but—”

“Stop that nonsense.” My mother reaches out, cups my face in her hands and meets my eyes. “That is none of your concern.”

“But—”

“No buts. You need meds. We’re getting you the meds.

End of discussion.” Mom presses a kiss to the top of my head, then rises to her feet.

“I’m going to see if I can find the doctor to talk about your infection, and then I’m going to grab us some coffee.

How about you, dear, would you like some tea and honey? It would probably do you some good.”

I nod, grateful for once she’s here. “Yeah, that sounds nice, actually.”

“Good.” She squeezes my hand, then turns and kisses John on the cheek before heading out the door, leaving me alone with him.

I stare down at my hands, the awkward silence stretching between us. The last time I was in the same room as him was the day I overheard him propose to my mother and they acted like it never happened.

He releases a pained sigh, then shuffles toward the chair in the corner of the room. Pulling it forward, he scoots it directly beside the bed, his face a somber mask.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him so serious.

“Listen, Ryleigh, I know we never really hit it off. I’m not really sure if I did something wrong or gave you some reason to dislike me, but I’m well aware of where I stand with you.

I just”—he glances away from me, and his throat bobs—“I’d really like it if we could try, if you could give me a chance, because I care about your mom a lot.

I love her, actually, which means I love you too, even if you want nothing to do with me. ”

“It doesn’t really matter what I think, does it? You’ll have my mom all to yourself soon. No need for my blessing when I’ll be out of the picture.”

John frowns, confusion etching a crease in his brow. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m not doing the trial. I’m refusing further treatment, and chemo didn’t work, so . . .”

Shock colors his features. His eyes round, and his mouth goes slack. Looks like I’m not the only one Mom keeps secrets from.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

“You and Mom. I know you’re engaged. Just like I know you’re waiting for me to either die or get better.” I scoff. “I’m sure it’ll be a hell of a lot quicker if I die.”

John flinches. “Is that what you think I want?”

When I say nothing, he rakes a hand through his hair and mutters a curse under his breath. “If that’s what you think, then I can see why you don’t want anything to do with me.”

He reaches out and takes my hand in his.

I almost pull away, but something in his eyes tells me to remain still.

“Ryleigh, I want a future with all of you. Your mother, you, and my Katie. When I picture having a family, I picture all of us. I imagine weekends where you come home from college, and we go to dinner or the beach or the movies. I imagine family vacations with all of us. And it’s not just me, but Katie, too. She looks up to you. ”

I try to blanket my surprise, but I must fail because John snorts.

“I know my daughter is hard to read. She’s in that tween stage where I never know if she’s going hug me or bite my head off, but she would love to have you as a big sister.”

I shake my head, not wanting to believe it.

If he’s right, then it makes me the one in the wrong—the selfish bitch who refused the one person who loves my mother like she deserves.

The one person who can give her all the things I can’t.

“Then why lie about it?” I ask. “I overheard you guys. You mentioned waiting on me to get engaged and then gave you plenty of chances to tell me, but you didn’t. ”

He grimaces, his expression sheepish when he says, “I thought you hated me, and we didn’t want to upset you at a time when you needed to be at your strongest.”

For the first time in my life, I realize my mother is now a “we,” and instead of being mad about it, I’m . . . oddly grateful.

“I also know it’s only ever been you and your mom, and I always got the impression you felt like I was taking her away from you, and I didn’t want you to think that. I guess I foolishly hoped to change your mind about me before we announced the news.”

God, I’m a jerk. The realization burns into me like a branding iron. Because John is right. That is how I’ve felt. And rather than confront my own feelings and work through them, I decided it was easier to hate him .

I want my mother to be happy; I always have.

It’s part of the reason I decided not to continue treatment.

Because without me here, she can move on.

She and John can get married and start a life together without me or my illness getting in the way.

But now I realize that was just an excuse, a cop-out.

“You’re right.” I swallow through the thickness in my throat, afraid to bring on another coughing jag. “And I’m sorry. I’ve been unfair when all you’ve ever been is good to me.”

John shakes his head. “I love you, kiddo, and I don’t want you to apologize.” My heart squeezes. “But how about a fresh start? When we get back home, maybe you and I could get a coffee together or dinner or go shopping. Just you and me. What do you say?”

Shock pulses through me. I have no idea why I thought John just wanted me out of the way before when he so clearly doesn’t. I’d been so blinded by my own preconceptions about him, I misjudged him entirely.

But it seems he cares. Truly cares.

The thought is as wild as it is enticing.

I’ve never had a father . . .

Maybe having one now wouldn’t be so bad.

I nod, a small smile curving my lips. “I think I’d like that.”