Page 74 of Things I Wish I Said
She wouldn’t have seen Dustin hitting Bridgette or whatever the hell happened before I got there.
She wouldn’t have risked her fucking neck to help her or gotten shoved into the island and onto the floor, and I would never have needed to get involved.
Wrong place, wrong time.
And certainly, the wrong fucking person.
My muscles coil as I growl and press the gas, knowing how fucked I am.
“It’s okay,” Ryleigh says beside me. “It’s over now. I’m sure everything will be fine. I’m sure—”
“It won’t be fine, Ry!” I roar. “Don’t you get that?”
She flinches at my outburst, and I add it to my list of things to hate myself for.
Counting to ten, I wait until I'm calm before I pull into the empty lot of a 7-Eleven. Putting the car in park, I turn to face her. “What were you thinking?”
“Me?” She points to herself, eyes wide like she can’t believe I just asked her that.
“Yeah, Ry, you!” I snap. “Standing up to Dustin like that was fucking stupid. Beyond stupid. It was reckless.” I let out a wry laugh. “I mean, did you really think you could take him on? He’s twice your size!”
Her expression hardens to stone, her eyes darkening under the lamplight. “You saw her face. You saw what he did to her. Was I just supposed to ignore it? Stand by and do nothing?”
“Yeah, Ry. That’s exactly what you were supposed to do.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I’m not the kind of person who can sit by and watch when someone needs my help!” she screams, chest heaving with emotion.
I lean forward, getting in her face now. I can smell the scent of her skin, floral and sweet like oranges, and it wraps around me like a vise. “And what would you have done if I hadn’t found you right then? If I hadn’t come in when I did?”
Her mouth parts, but nothing comes out.
“Would you have fought Dustin Fields?” I say with a half laugh. “‘I’m Ryleigh Sinclair, taking on the world, one fucking scumbag drug dealer at a time,’ huh?”
“Stop it!” she yells.
The memory of her pained expression flashes in my head, fueling the flames of my anger. “No. I wanna know what you were thinking in a way that makes sense.”
Still, nothing.
“Maybe you just wanted a nice shiner to match Bridgette’s.”
“I could’ve taken it,” she hisses.
I laugh, bitterness erupting like a volcano. “Oh, you really are careless, aren’t you? Do you think that just because you have cancer your life doesn’t matter? That somehow, you’re expendable? That you have less to lose than everyone else?”
Emotion flashes in her eyes—dark and thunderous—which is how I know I hit the nail on the head.
“Maybe I do have less to lose.”
“Wrong answer.” I grip her arms in my hands, staring into her eyes so she can get a good look at how serious I am when I say, “You matter, Ry. And I know exactly what Dustin is capable of. I’ve heard the stories, watched him brag to his friends. I’ve had bile creep up my throat at some of the things he’s done, the things he’s capable of, and let me tell you, a black eye or a couple of bruises is the least he could’ve done to you.”
I shut my mouth, unable to imagine it because I know I’m right, and the thought of him laying a hand on her makes my stomach roil.
Her eyes fill, glistening in the dim light and snuffing out my anger.
Don’t fucking cry. Don’t do it, Sinclair. I can’t take your tears.
Inhaling, I drag my hands over my face, fighting for control of my emotions.
