Page 153 of Things I Wish I Said
The soccer field was always my favorite place in the world, a safe haven, an escape from the mundane. Today, it feels like the enemy, a punishment I don’t want to face.
I stand at the halfway line, just outside the center circle when Sandy walks over and drops a ball in front of my feet, then directs the camera crew before spinning back around. “Okay, we’re going to get you dribbling the ball. This is your time to impress. Remember, this video will showcase the national winner. It needs to look like it. Speed is your friend. Go when you’re ready.”
“Speed is your friend.”
Right.
I swallow over the coppery taste of fear.
Maybe if I hold my breath, I can get to the goal line without hacking up a lung. Maybe for just this one sprint, my muscles can manage what they once did so well.
I inhale, filling my lungs as I tell myself I can do this, then take off.
A burst of energy propels me, and the first couple yards whiz by. My feet move quickly, dribbling the ball back and forth while blood pounds in my ears.
My lungs burn like they’re on fire. A few more feet, and flames lick my chest, threatening to swallow me whole.
A persistent ache builds in the back of my throat, and my muscles scream.
I can feel the spasm building. Sense the muscles clenching, my lungs tightening. Any minute I’m going to blow.
My body slows, unable to hold the pace as a weight settles over me like a weighted blanket. My legs are rubbery, tied down with weights, my chest filling with quicksand.
A barking cough erupts from my chest, louder than the blare of an air horn, and every bit as startling. Knives stab my ribs with each body-jerking hack, and I falter. I stumble, nearly falling to my hands and knees onto the field.
I right myself, still coughing as I sway and the world tips around me.
Breathe. Ryleigh, just breathe.
Another torrent of coughing wrack through me like an earthquake. I bend in half as I suck wind, my vision blurring.Tears spring to my eyes and my cheeks flush, well aware I’m being watched.
I straighten and place my hands on my hips, still struggling for enough air to calm my overzealous lungs, fighting to settle my racing heart.
Irritation flickers over Sandy’s hard features before she turns to speak with one of the cameramen. I’m only yards from them, and yet I hear the word cancer being uttered in the distance.
Shame colors my cheeks before Sandy turns back around, pity altering her gaze. Her blue eyes are sharp, her mouth a forced smile. “Great job, Ryleigh,” she says like I’m five. Adding insult to injury, she offers me a thumbs-up and another plastic smile, then says, “I think we’ll just skip the weight room for today and stick with what we’ve got. Our editors are pretty amazing.”
I stand on the field, chest heaving while my heart goes haywire, feeling about two feet small. I want to tell her no, that we’ll retape the footage, that it wasn’t good enough, but I know I can’t do better. The chemo and cancer have wrecked my body. My lungs are wasted.
And this is all that’s left of me.
My throat stings—throbs—because the cold hard truth hurts to swallow.
Chapter thirty-seven
GRAYSON
“Damn, you look good.”I come up behind Ryleigh where she’s been primping in the bathroom mirror for the past thirty minutes.
Dropping a kiss to her shoulder, I admire her reflection. The white dress she’s wearing showcases her athletic frame, clinging to her every curve. The recent sun she’s gotten gives her a sun-kissed look that makes her glow. “There’s only one problem,” I say, mouth mashing into a thin line.
Ryleigh clasps the white-gold hoop in her ear, then stares back at me with a frown. “What?”
“Every guy is going to be looking at you.”
She rolls her eyes and turns in my arms, a grin curving her freshly glossed lips. “Doubtful.”
I release an exasperated sigh, though I think she’s mostly joking; at least, I hope she is. “Have I not told you how fucking incredible you are? And you still don’t believe me?”
