4. Solomon #3
We ride for a good long while, Em and Jay eventually veering off toward the river while Red and I continue up into the lower hills. I stop at the crest of one, looking out over the land stretched before us, the cloud-dotted sky huge and endless over my head.
“Hey,” Red says, bringing his horse up beside me. “This was a nice day. I’m glad you guys came up.”
“Me too.” I let my gaze wander down toward the ranch house, a big part of me wishing I could send Jay and Em on back to school without me, that I could stay here in this calm, quiet place that had changed my life all those years ago.
“You’re gonna be pretty busy this semester,” Red says, reading my mind.
“Yeah. The clinicals will probably take up a lot of time.” A lot of time is probably an understatement.
The program is designed for plenty of hands-on work directly with athletes.
I’ll likely be working between twenty and forty hours a week with the team I’m assigned to, attending practices, working in the weight room and treatment room, even attending some away games.
In addition to the clinicals, which is practically a full-time job on its own, I’ll be taking a few regular courses. It’s going to be a lot.
He’s quiet for a moment. “You know it’s going to be okay, right?” he asks.
“Sure.” I try to make my voice easy, but I’m not sure he buys it.
“Seriously, Sol. You’re the smartest person I know. They never would have let you into that dual degree program if they didn’t think you could do it. You know this stuff front and back.”
“It’s not the knowledge part I’m worried about,” I mutter. I know I’m smart enough to do this work. I excel in all my coursework. But this project isn’t taking place in a classroom.
“It’s the one-on-one stuff,” he surmises.
“Yeah.”
We both know that working directly with another person isn’t always easy for me. It’s something I’ll have to get used to if I want to actually work in my field, but I know there will be a rough few weeks while I get used to whoever I’m assigned to.
“You’re selling yourself short,” Red says softly. “You’re so much better at all that than you used to be.”
I scoff. “Bullshit.”
“You are, son. Don’t discount how hard you’ve worked.”
For some reason, my mind goes back to that party. To watching Cecelia Ransome dancing with her cousins, wondering what it would be like to be so free, so sure of myself, so unbothered.
And then, when I actually had the chance to interact with her, instead of just watch her like a creeper, I lost my shit over a little spilled punch.
But I don’t say any of that to my grandfather. What would be the point? I never had any chance with a girl like that.
She’s not what’s important right now anyway. The only things I should be focusing on are my classes, my clinicals, and graduating with my master’s in two years. Not some unattainable girl who probably forgot all about me the second I walked away from her.
Or, worse, judged the hell out of my rude behavior and decided I wasn’t someone she wanted to see again.
Stop, I tell myself, fighting back the exhaustion that has been threatening to take me down since the party. Just stop.
“I’ll get there,” I tell my grandpa, since I know it’s what he wants to hear. “Might be a few rough days at the beginning, but I can get through it.”
He’s quiet for a moment, long enough to make me nervous. “Maybe it would help to talk to someone—”
“Red.”
He ignores the warning in my tone.
“It doesn’t have to be a big deal, Sol. I’m sure the university could recommend someone.”
“I don’t need a shrink.” Just thinking about it has cold sweat gathering on the back of my neck. Sitting in a little room with someone, knowing they were observing me, wondering if they could see through my attempts at keeping my shit together—absolutely not.
And what would be the point? I already know they’d recommend testing.
Diagnoses. A label.
I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I’ve gotten this far without going through all that bullshit and I’ve done okay. I’m four semesters away from graduating at the top of my class in a highly competitive program. The last thing I want to do right now is rock the boat.
“There’s no shame in it,” Red presses. “Just because your parents didn’t think—”
“Seriously,” I cut in, because I absolutely do not want to go there right now. “I’m not interested. I have a good handle on things.”
I can feel his gaze on the side of my face but I refuse to look over.
Finally, he sighs. “Okay, Sol. Whatever you’re comfortable with.
” His hand lands on my shoulder once again, giving that firm pressure that usually helps to calm me.
“But I want you to let me know if anything gets too difficult. Okay?”
“Sure,” I say, trying to keep my voice light, knowing there’s no way in hell I’m ever going to confess to him—or anyone—when things are too hard.
“And make sure you get your ass out here every few weeks,” he goes on, and I get the feeling he’s doing a little bullshitting of his own right now, trying to sound easier than he really feels. “Getting on a horse is good for your soul.”
At least we can agree on that, I think, as I nudge Solitaire with my knees and start to guide him back down the hills to the barn.