Page 131 of Play For Me

I need to not think about the dark, serious eyes I have yet to see today.

But that becomes impossible when Gwen approaches me while I’m pulling on my shin guards. “Hey, do you know why Sol isn’t here?” she asks. “I wanted to ask him to tape my shoulder—he does it way better than Anne.”

My head snaps up. “Sol isn’t here?”

She looks confused. “I figured you knew that. You’re the player he works with the most.”

“I’ve been with Devon full time since the injury,” I mutter, my brain whirling. I’m thinking about that terrible fight in Sol’s apartment, when he told me about his meeting with Devon. Before I’d threatened to sit out, he told me that Devon would re-evaluate his position at the end of the regular season and decide whether he should be here for the playoffs.

Rage crashes into me, hot and strong. I’m up off the bench without even thinking about it, striding to the treatment room in search of Devon.

Luckily, he’s not working with one of the other girls. I’m not sure it would have stopped me even if he was. “Hey,” he says, looking up from his equipment when I enter. “I was just going to come get you for your?—”

“You kicked him out?” I yell, not caring who hears me. “You seriously kicked him out before the tournament started?”

“Cecelia—”

“That’s bullshit, Devon, and you know it!”

He steps around me and shuts the door, but I’m not done yet.

“Solomon is the only reason I was able to get back into playing shape this season,” I spit out. “You have no idea how much he helped me with my knee, with my confidence! I would have spent the entire season hiding any pain or issues I washaving if it wasn’t for him and I probably would have gotten injured even worse because of it.”

Devon holds up a placating hand, but his calm voice only pisses me off more. “No one is questioning how effective he was in your treatment.”

“Then what the hell is the issue? Just because you think there was something going on with us, you forget about all the work he did? You had zero evidence that he was behaving inappropriately. Besides, you took me off his schedule!”

“CeCe—”

“I can’t believe you would punish him like this after everything he did for this team. I can’t?—”

“I asked him to stick with us through the tournament,” Devon finally cuts in, and my mouth snaps closed. “He chose to leave.”

“He…what?”

“He said he had a chance to do some work with the cross-country team, and he figured it would be good to get a more rounded experience with more than one sport.”

All the rage in me dissipates, leaving behind a numb feeling.

“He didn’t want to be here for the tournament?” I murmur, more to myself than Devon.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think that’s it. Solomon is anexceptionaltrainer. You saw how much independence we allowed him working with the athletes—that doesn’t happen for just anyone. He’s going to go far after he finishes his degree. Getting some experience with another sport will only help him.”

I nod, but I don’t believe a word he’s saying. Solomon didn’t leave because he wanted more experience. He left because of me.

Could he not even stand to be in the same locker room as me anymore?I think, an ache spreading through my chest.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Devon tells me, “the conversation I had with him isn’t going to affect the team’s evaluation of his work with us. We all know what a good job he did here.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, barely hearing him. I’m too focused on the hurt that’s radiating deep in my chest. It hurts that he would rather leave the team than have to see me. And it really,reallyhurts that he doesn’t want to be here to watch me play. After everything that happened, after all his effort with me this season, after the injury scare—I at least thought he still cared enough to want to support me in my first game back.

Devon is saying something about my pregame treatment, but I’m not really following. I tell him I’m going to listen to my headphones while he works and then climb up onto the table. Usually, my pregame playlist helps to get me focused and fired up, but today, I barely even hear the songs. I just lie there on the treatment table with my eyes closed, ignoring Devon, and wonder how many times my heart can be broken by the same guy.

We’re barelyten minutes into the first half when I know I'm in trouble. We’re not losing—yet—and they’re not better than us. But I can’t seem to get out of my head.

Every time I touch the ball it feels wrong. I’m hesitating too much, overthinking every play. And every single time I plant my left foot, a tiny voice whispers,what if it happens again?

My ACL is healed. I know it is. The last scare didn’t do any permanent damage. I’ve been assured, over and over, that I’m fine to play, by the team doctor, by Devon, by Coach Carla.