Page 117 of Play For Me

“And we were right,” he says, derision filling his voice. “Do you think it’s admirable that you couldn’t even cut it in such an immature area of study? You should be ashamed of yourself. This is exactly what your mother and I expected from someone as mentally deficient as you are.”

It’s crazy, how those words can still hurt me. You’d think after all this time, I’d become immune. But no, the stabbing pain in my chest is every bit as strong as it was when he said the same shit to me ten years ago.

He keeps going, angry, hateful words spilling out of my father’s mouth, but I don’t really hear him anymore. My gaze shifts to the floor, his words turning to a buzz in my ears. I’m shutting down, the way I have a hundred times before, my brain trying to protect me from what this man can do.

I’m so out of it that I actually jump back when another body appears in my line of sight. I look up to see Cecelia standing there, looking shocked and angry.

Fuck.

“What the hell is going on?” she asks, looking between me and my father. “Who is this?”

“This is a private matter,” Dad says, giving Cecelia his best condescending glare. “And none of your business.”

“Considering you’re spewing hateful shit to my boyfriend, yeah, I’d say it’s my business.”

My dad blinks, looking confused.

The numb awfulness is still pulsing through my limbs, but there’s a little part of me that can’t help be amused. “Brent Barnes, meet Cecelia Ransome,” I say, enjoying the speed at which the color drains out of my father’s face. “Guess I introduced you to a member of the Ransome family after all.”

His eyes flash with rage and I take an instinctive step back, immediately feeling a bolt of shame at my reaction. Apparently, I will never grow out of being a terrified kid.

“Miss Ransome,” Dad says, straightening his tie and turning away from me. He manages to smooth out his expression, and I have to fight back nausea. It was always so chilling to see him do that. To turn from the snarling monster of my childhood into his charming, affable public persona.

“I’m sorry you walked into the middle of a disagreement. Our tempers got heated but we were just?—”

“I heard you,” she snaps, looking disgusted. “I heard what you were saying to him.” She tosses me a quick, concerned glance and I feel my cheeks flushing. What had my dad been saying while I blanked out? I mean, I can guess, most of it, but I’m not sure how vulgar he got.

She’s the last person in the world I would ever want to hear that shit.

“It’s time for you to go,” Cecelia says, voice firm.

I can see the struggle on my father’s face. He doesn’t want to leave, but he doesn’t want to risk pissing off one of the Ransomes. At least if he leaves now, it will give him time to come up with some spin to explain what Cecelia overheard. Hell, Sybil might even be successful. My mom lives for that PR shit.

Dad rearranges his features into something calmer, something understanding. Funny, I never had trouble reading his expression, either. Survival instincts, I guess.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding,” he says to her, all smooth and confident. “Solomon, we’ll talk soon.”

I manage not to shudder, my eyes already back on the floor. Part of me wants to watch him walk away, to assure myself that he really is gone and can’t affect me, but the instinct to hide, even if only just my eyes, is too strong.

The door clicks shut behind him, leaving us in silence. It stretches so long I almost think she must have followed after him. It wouldn’t be too crazy of an assumption. Why on earth would she want to stay here after what she just overheard?

“Solomon,” she finally murmurs, her voice filled with enough pity to make me sick. “Was that your father?”

THIRTY

CECELIA

I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up.

Who talks to their child like that? The things his dad was saying…and the look on Solomon’s face…I’m torn between wanting to pull him into my arms and wanting to chase after that bastard and kick his ass for making Sol look like that.

I came to his apartment straight after class. He hasn’t been answering my texts all day. I told myself I was just coming to pick up the sweatshirt I left here before I’m supposed to be at the soccer facility for a weight training session, but the truth is, I had a bad feeling when I didn’t hear from him. It’s not like him to not respond.

Now I wonder if my instincts were somehow sensing he needed me.

I’d heard them arguing from outside, and it stopped me from knocking. Maybe it was a crappy thing to do, but I’d checked to see if the door was locked and opened it when the knob turned.

I heard Solomon say he wasn’t working with me anymore. And then all the horrible words his dad spewed after.