Page 142 of Things I Wish I Said
I wake to afrog in my throat, a cough already building inside my chest.
My eyes flutter open, but I only get a moment’s reprieve to enjoy the soft glow of the rising sun filtering beneath the window blinds before the nagging tickle in my throat demands attention.
A hacking cough bursts from my chest, and this time there’s nothing patient or gentle about it. My lungs rattle as I struggle to pull in a breath.
My chest tightens. Spasms.
A vise wraps around my lungs and squeezes.
I gasp, sucking in air and wheezing.
Bringing my knees to my chest, I curl onto my side, barking even harder.
I can’t breathe.
Sweat beads my brow as my lungs seize.
My entire body aches as I flop onto my back, arms and legs out as I gasp for air, pulling in oxygen like a toddler greedy for candy.
It takes several minutes to gain my bearings before I remember where I am.
A glance at the spot beside me on the bed reveals it’s empty. I should probably be freaked out Grayson’s not here, but I’m too relieved he missed my morning ritual.
I inhale a calming breath, feeling the burn in my lungs before his voice sounds from the door. “Do you always cough like that in the morning?”
Shit.
I glance over at him, remembering the way he held me last night. How he pulled me into his hard chest, the scent of cinnamon wrapping around me. The way he whispered good night into my ear, then kissed the side of my neck.
Maybe it should’ve been awkward or I should’ve been nervous, but I wasn’t. It felt . . . natural. Nice.
Oh, God, didn’t I just troll my mother more than a month ago for using that word regarding John?
But the truth is, when Grayson holds me, I feel invincible, like nothing can touch me—not even cancer.
I swallow as I stare at him. He’s perfect, even now with a furrow in his brow and a hint of reproach in his eyes as he crosses the room, a cup holder in one hand and a take-out bag in the other.
I clear my throat, propping myself up on a pile pillows, ignoring the throbbing in my limbs like I just ran a mile. “Not always,” I answer.
It’s not entirely a lie. Some mornings are better than others. It’s the past week that’s been particularly rough.
“It’s probably just the dry air. Where were you?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I got breakfast.” He holds up the bag, then sets it down in front of me, along with the cup holder, and stares me in the eyes. “You’re okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, yeah. I’m good.”
This is the first time we’ve spent the night together, other than the night Dustin ran him off the road, so of course he doesn’t know what I sound like in the morning. He wasn’t exactly cognizant then. “You brought me breakfast in bed again?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Watch out, I might get used to this.”
“If you stick with me, Sinclair, breakfast in bed will be the norm.” He winks, and I grin, wondering how we got here. Me and Grayson. It almost seems too good to be true until I remember I’m sick, and then I realize it’s not.
But I can sure as hell enjoy it while it lasts.
After breakfast, our Uber takes us on an informal tour of LA. We drive through Rodeo Drive, which is every bit as glamorousas I imagined. We take a quick walk through Sunset Boulevard and contemplate going back in the evening when it’s rich with nightlife. We pass the Dolby Theater and Universal Studios, then stop at a lookout point and take pictures of the Hollywood Sign.
Finally, our car drops us off at Santa Monica Pier where we plan to have lunch and spend several hours before heading to Venice Beach nearby. The salty sea breeze carries with it the distant hum of carnival music while the birds caw overhead.
“Wow,” I breathe as I stand at the edge of the pier. It stretches out into the shimmering Pacific, teeming with life. Tourists bustle about, children laugh and chase seagulls, while street performers entertain the crowds. Bright colors surround us as the glow from the sun shimmers over every surface, casting it in gold.
