Page 169 of Things I Wish I Said
God, I’m a jerk. The realization burns into me like a branding iron. Because John is right. Thatishow 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.”
Chapter forty-two
GRAYSON
The flight home isquiet.
I sit in my seat like a scarecrow, stiff and unyielding, a hollow version of the man I was a week ago. The place where my heart used to be is carved out like a jack-o’-lantern. Empty.
When we land, I exit the plane, moving on autopilot to baggage claim where I grab my suitcase and call an uber since my car is still in the repair shop.
Once my driver arrives, I throw my bag in the trunk and slide inside. It’s then I allow my thoughts to drift to Ryleigh.
I wonder if she got home all right, who picked her up at the airport, and what she told her mother about us and why she came home early.
I have to wonder because she won’t answer any of my texts, and she sure as hell won’t take any of my calls. I’ve left her at least a dozen messages since she left the hotel last night, and all of them remain unanswered.
On the ride home, I think about her the entire way, so when the driver nears my exit, I tell him to headsouth until we reach Hocking. Going to her house is the last thing I should do. If everything she said to me in the hotel wasn’t perfectly clear, her silence is. But I can’t seem to help myself where she’s concerned.
The driver pulls up to the house and I get out, asking him to wait as I take the sidewalk quickly and knock on her door.
Several minutes pass, but no one answers.
I knock again, but there’s no movement inside. No noise. Nothing.
I peek in her windows like a fucking stalker, but it seems no one is home. Either that, or they’re ignoring me and doing a damn good job of it.
With a sigh, I get back in the car, and this time make it all the way home.
I pay the driver, then watch him pull out before I enter the garage, and walk through the mudroom into the kitchen. My steps falter, surprised to see my mother sitting at the island, a glass of wine in front of her. Maybe I’m crazy, but it seems like she’s waiting for me. It’s something that would’ve pissed me off a few weeks ago, but now, I’m oddly grateful for.
Mom takes a sip of her wine, and it’s then I notice her trembling hand.
Something’s wrong.
Every muscle in my body tightens, preparing for the blow.
“Hi,” I say, my tone wary. I set my suitcase down and stop beside her. “What’s going on?”
Her smile falters, while I wait. “I have some news that I think will be unsettling for you.”
