Page 124 of Play For Me

So why does it hurt to hear him talk like this? Why does this feel almost as bad as it did last night when my dad tried to convince me of the exact opposite?

“I can’t do this,” I say, backing away from the table.

Jay stays seated, like he doesn’t want to spook me. “Solomon, come on.”

“I…can’t Jay.” I’m starting to panic, my breath getting choppy. “Ican’t.”

“Ok,” he says quickly, holding up his hands. “We don’t have to talk now. You want to put on the TV? Or we could?—”

“I’m just gonna go to my room.” The words come out fast, practically slurred.

“That’s fine,” Jay tells me. “Go rest, or whatever. But Solomon?” Somehow, I manage to stop in the doorway, even when everything in me is screaming to run. I owe him at least that much. So, I direct my eyes at him and find he’s looking right at me, his gaze even and steady.

Even and steady and so very fucking sad.

“I’m going to stay out here the whole time. Okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

I nod once, too weak to argue with him, then turn and head back to my room, alone.

THIRTY-TWO

CECELIA

I last exactly one night at the house I share with my cousins before I give up and go to stay at my parents’. There are just too many reminders of Solomon all over our house. Is it childish to go to my mom and dad’s and sleep in my old bed? Maybe, but I don’t give a shit.

I play hooky from my classes and the soccer team. It’s easy enough to get out of training. I just tell Coach Carla I want to start rehab for my knee in the pool at my parents’ house. It’s a bullshit excuse—I haven’t gotten off the couch in hours.

My mom has been her usual amazing self. She stocked the fridge with all my favorite, non-meal plan foods and stood firm against any of my aunts or older female cousins who wanted to come over to help me wallow in my heartbreak—a time honored tradition of Ransome women that I am in no way interested in participating in.

My dad, as it turns out, has absolutely no idea how to handle me when I’m an emotional wreck. I can’t really blame him. I wasn’t lying to Solomon when I told him I never cried. I get upset, sure, but for me that usually results in temper rather than weepiness. So my dad knows how to handle me when I’m planning to go out and kick some ass or how to calm medown when I want to break things, but crying? The poor man is terrified.

He keeps bringing me food even when I don’t ask for it and he’s sent me about a hundred silly memes since I got here. It’s kind of cute, honestly. It’s also really alot, and I’m sick of his hovering within an hour. So it’s a relief when Mom convinces him to go to the store to buy more snacks, even though we most definitely don’t need anything else unhealthy in this house.

It’s less of a relief when, a few minutes after he leaves, I hear the front door open and voices heading down the hallway. I look at Mom, eyebrows raised, and she just shrugs. “They’re worried.”

I’m expecting it to be my aunts and girl cousins but it only takes a moment to realize those are male voices. And then my two older brothers are standing in the entry to the den, their tall, broad frames filling the doorway.

I groan. “Does everyone know?”

“Oh, Ceece,” Wyatt says. “The group chat is on fire.”

“Great,” I grumble, tugging on a thread in the fleece blanket that Dad had tucked around me before he left.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” Mom says, squeezing my shoulder then standing to kiss the boys on the cheek before she leaves the room.

Will plops down on the couch in her place. “Kinda expected you to be holed up with the Littles today.”

I shrug, not looking at him because I’m sure I’m going to cry. “Everyone has class.” I don’t tell him that I didn’t want to be at the house alone.

“Hey.” Wyatt comes over and sits on my other side, nudging my shoulder when I don’t look up. “It’s okay to be sad, Ceece. You don’t always have to pretend to be so tough, you know?”

My temper spikes. “I don’tpretendto be tough. My nature is to be tough, and I like that about myself. I like to be strong and feel like I’m in control of my own life.”

Wyatt studies me for a moment. “Okay. Pretend was the wrong word.” He takes my hand. “But it was pretty obvious you were forcing yourself not to appear upset when you got hurt last week. I’m just saying you don’t need to do that with us.”

I wish he hadn’t mentioned that. Now all I’m thinking about is the way it felt to see Solomon in the doorway to the treatment room, his intense gaze locked on mine, looking like he was going to stand between me and the world and fix everything. The way I had finally felt safe when he wrapped me in his arms.

“Oh, God, is she crying?” another voice says, and my head jerks up to see Silas peering out at me from Wyatt’s phone.