Page 141 of Things I Wish I Said
“Grayson . . .” She closes her eyes, her breathing shallow before she blinks, the emotion in her gaze gone. “Tell me more about baseball?”
“What about it?” I ask, only slightly disappointed in the change of subject.
“Do you think you have a chance of going pro?”
I exhale, clasping my hands behind my head. “There’s a chance. If I keep my head on straight. I actually had a scout for the minors expressing interest before I committed to George Mason.”
“What happened?”
I shift, itchy at the thought of talking about myself. Sometimes it feels like everything about my past is painful. My father had a hand in nearly every part of my life. But I won’t close myself off from her, not anymore. “’I had several colleges approach me when The Waves, a minor league team out of North Carolina, wanted to sign me, but I would’ve had to wait for the draft, and a week later my father was diagnosed.”
My throat works as I push my emotions down. “I just wanted him here when I signed, you know? I wanted him to witness it and be a part of it, and I was afraid if I waited, he might not be.” I shrug. Turns out my fears were founded. “So, I made it seem like it’s truly what I wanted, rather than a decision hastily made with him in mind.”
Ryleigh reaches out, threading her fingers through mine, and I let it ground me.
“Is that why you started hanging out with Dustin?” she asks.
“Pretty much.” I’m not proud of it, but unwilling to sugarcoat it either. “Baseball was always our thing, you know? From the time I was little it’s something we shared, something we both loved. It’s like the cliché about the rich guy trying to make it to the top, but once he gets there, he glances around and no one’s there to share it with. That’s me.” I glance over at her, searching her eyes for understanding, for some proof I’m not crazy. “I know I should be thrilled I’ve made it, that I’ve reached my dreams, but I’m not. Because my best friend isn’t even fucking here to see it.”
The moment the words leave my mouth it hits me.
That’s exactly what Ry has become to me. My best friend.
Ryleigh slides her hand from mine to my face, cupping my jaw. “Who says he can’t see?”
My heart thuds so hard I nearly moan. I want to ask her if she really believes that, but I don’t, too afraid of the answer.
“Every time I pick up a ball or a bat or I stand in front of the plate, I think of him. It’s why I let myself screw off my seniorseason in high school, and it’s why I was on the fast track of messing up college ball before I even got there. It’s just all one massive reminder of him and how he’s gone.”
“But don’t you think he’d want you to still play? To live up to your potential and see where it can take you?”
“That’s the worst part, because I know he would, but I’ve fucked it all up all the same.”
“It’s not over, Grayson. Not yet. Your ribs will heal, and then you’ll be ready in the fall to come back better than ever.”
I grunt. “I’m surprised you don’t hate me.”
“Why would I hate you?”
“Because you’d give anything to play again. You had soccer stolen from you while I’m pissing baseball away. One of us has a choice and the other doesn’t.”
“I don’t know how I’d react in your shoes any more than you know how you’d react in mine.”
I scoff. “You’re being generous.”
“Am I? Or is it simply a truth you don’t want to hear because giving yourself grace is a lot harder than beating yourself up over it.”
My chest tightens as I stare down at her.
She’s right.
I haven’t given myself grace or room to grieve in a long-ass time.
Part of me thinks I’ve forgotten how.
Chapter thirty-three
RYLEIGH
