Page 170 of Things I Wish I Said
The hair on my arms stands on end, suddenly certain whatever she needs to tell me has to do with Ryleigh.
“I have some news that I think will be unsettling for you.”
Fuck no. Please no.
“What is it?”
“Ryleigh’s mother, Jill Sinclair, called. She informed me that you and Ryleigh flew home separately from LA.” She pauses, and I sense she’s waiting for confirmation, so I nod, my jaw tight. “I guess on Ryleigh’s flight, they had to divert the plane to Charlotte. While they were in the air, she got sick and fell unconscious.”
The floor spins beneath my feet while my heart crashes into my ribs. I sway, reaching out to the island to anchor myself as ice chinks in my veins. I should’ve been with her. I could’ve helped.
“What happened? Where is she now?” I ask, expecting the worst.
Love never lasts, a bitter voice inside my head hisses.This is what you get for thinking it could.
“She’s at St. John’s in Charlotte. They admitted her for pneumonia and plan to keep her at least a week. So far, she’s doing well.”
My mother’s words do little to ease the nerves fisting inside my chest.
I turn and snatch her keys off the counter and spin around, headed for the garage. “I need to borrow your car,” I call out behind me.
“Where are you going?” Her voice is close, and I can tell by the proximity, she’s following me.
“I have to go to her. I can’t just sit here while she’s in the hospital, sick.”
“Grayson, stop.”
I rush into the mudroom, slipping on my shoes. “I need to see her. I have to help.”
“Grayson, no.”
I twist around, my eyes flashing like blue lightening. “I can’t just fucking leave her there! If she’s sick, I’m going to her.”
I finally manage to get both shoes on and straighten before a hand clamps down over my shoulder. “You need to stop and listen.”
“No. I need to go.”
“Grayson, she doesn’t want you there.”
I freeze, her words sinking into me like hooks—painful and sharp.
“The reason Jill called is because she thought you’d want to know. But she also told me to tell you not to come. She said that what’s best for Ryleigh’s recovery is rest, and she’s worried your visit would unsettle her, do more harm than good.”
I glance away from her, unable to see the sympathy in her eyes without cracking.
Finally, I spin around and head for the door.
“Where are you going?” she calls out.
“I need a minute,” I say, slamming the door behind me as I exit the garage, back outside.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out a pack of cigarettes and shake one out, then bring it my lips while I grab my lighter next, flicking it to life.
The flame dances in front of my eyes a moment before I freeze, halfway to my mouth.
What the hell am I doing?
The girl I love is dying of lung cancer and just blew my heart to bits, and the first thing I do is light up?
