10. Solomon
TEN
SOLOMON
A week later and it’s pretty clear I should have gone with fear.
Cecelia has already missed one of our scheduled sessions and spent the other barely acknowledging me while she rushed through the rehab workout I had planned.
When I told her I wanted to try some ultrasound therapy, she rolled her eyes, told me she didn’t have time for “this bullshit,” and left the session early.
So, yeah. It’s not going great.
“She hates me,” I tell Jay as we leave the student commons after lunch on Thursday. “Like, she really hates me.”
“I’m sure she doesn’t.”
“No, she definitely does.”
“How long you think we’re gonna keep having this conversation?” he asks, stopping to dig through his bag. “Because we’ve been pretty much going back and forth for the past two days.”
Since he has zero spatial awareness and just stopped in the middle of the crowded walkway, I grab his elbow and pull him away, giving an apologetic smile to the girl who nearly walked into us.
“When she thanked me for helping her cousin, I thought that might be it, you know?” I say, ignoring his last comment. “Like maybe we could be on even ground now. But then she—”
“Skipped a session,” Jay says, sounding bored. “I know, Sol.”
“Because she hates me,” I mutter.
He finally finds whatever he was searching for in his bag—a miracle, really, considering what a trash heap it is in there—and nudges me back to the walk. “She doesn’t hate you. She doesn’t even know you. She just doesn’t want to do this training program.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense! She’s obviously driven and motivated to have a good season.
” I shake my head, thinking of the first game I’d witnessed yesterday.
I figured if she wasn’t coming to work with me directly, I could at least watch her face off against an opposing team, see how her injury was affecting her play.
The answer was not very much. The girl is scary good. Like, probably the best I’ve ever seen. I was supposed to be watching how her knee was responding to her movements, but I kept getting distracted by her play.
She’s aggressive, confident, and fast. So freaking fast. Cecelia is small compared to a lot of girls on the team, but that doesn’t hurt her game in the slightest. The only thing more impressive than her speed is her tenacity—she’s all over every loose ball, forcing turnovers, constantly making herself a nuisance to the opposing players.
She seems to delight in getting in the way, causing as much chaos on the field as she possibly can.
I couldn’t help laughing when I saw her break a tackle and shoot the defender a wide, “fuck you” grin.
The opposing teams in this conference must hate her. And I’m pretty sure she’s the kind of player who would revel in their animosity.
What really got to me was the look on her face while she was playing. Determination, concentration, and something lighter that I was pretty sure looked like pure joy. It was the expression of someone who was exactly where they were supposed to be and knew it.
“Maybe she’s just busy,” Jay says. “Maybe she wants to focus on school and playing and all this rehab shit feels like it will take up too much time.”
“She’s not going to be able to play at all if she doesn’t keep up with her rehab,” I mutter, knowing how petulant I sound.
I can feel Jay side-eyeing me for a moment before he snorts with laughter. “Oh my God, your feelings are hurt!”
I snap my gaze to him. “What are you talking about?”
He shakes his head, still laughing. “That’s what this is. You have a huge crush on the girl—”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“—and you’re upset that she doesn’t want to spend time with you.”
“That’s not it at all.” But my stupid cheeks are getting warm for some reason, and I duck my face so he won’t see it.
Of course he notices anyway, and now he’s laughing so hard he can barely walk. “Oh, buddy,” he says, wiping at his eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d be so gone over a girl.” He slaps my shoulder. “I guess it happens to all of us at some point.”
I shake his hand off. “I’m not gone over anyone,” I say, pleased by how flat my voice is. “I would just like to get a good grade since this is, you know,” I glare at him, “the biggest fucking assignment of my college career.”
He just shrugs. “You should tell her that, then. Tell her you need her to cooperate so you don’t fail the assignment. And if she refuses, talk to her coach.” Whatever he sees on my face has him laughing all over again. “Unless you’re afraid to talk to her.”
“Of course I’m not afraid.”
“Sorry, let me rephrase. Unless you’re afraid she’s going to yell at you if you try to put your foot down.” I glare at him and he throws his hands up. “I don’t blame you, man. Cecelia Ransome is terrifying. I bet she’s even more scary when you’re secretly in love with her.”
We’re finally at the English building, where we’ll go our separate ways, but that doesn’t stop me from giving him a good shove before I head for the front door.
“Talk to her,” he shouts as he walks off. “She won’t bite.” I hear a loud guffaw of laughter. “But maybe you wouldn’t mind if she did!”
I hate him sometimes.
My afternoon class is my poetry seminar, which is usually one of my favorites.
It’s not required for my major—I finished my English pre-reqs my sophomore year—but I’ve always really enjoyed poetry.
My grandpa started reading it to me when I was a kid, back before I moved in with him.
He thought it might help me have a better understanding of the way people expressed emotion—something I was struggling with hard core at the time.
I’m not sure if it really helped the way he hoped, but I liked the reading all the same. There was something relaxing about reading poetry. About analyzing the author’s intentions and making my own interpretations.
Maybe I’m just as big of a nerd as Jay is always telling me.
Today, it’s a little more difficult to get lost in the reading. I’m very aware of the fact that Cecelia’s cousin is right across the round table, doodling in his notebook while the professor talks. Every once in a while, I think I feel his eyes dart up to land on my face.
I understand why once class is over. “Hey, it’s Solomon, right?” he asks, approaching me as I slip my books into my bag.
“Uh, yeah.” I nod at him. “You’re Ash?”
He nods then jerks his head to the door. “You have another class after this?”
“Nah. Heading to the library.”
He seems to consider for a moment before nodding. “Mind if I walk with you?”
There’s a big part of me—the part that really doesn’t like meeting new people or talking to anyone I’m not already comfortable with—that wants to say hell no. Instead, I take a breath and force my discomfort down. “Sure.”
It’s immediately apparent to me that Ash isn’t one of those people who needs to fill every second with conversation.
He says something about the reading we just had then lapses into a silence that he doesn’t break until several minutes after we’ve left the building.
Normally I’d be grateful for the quiet, but today I wouldn’t mind a distraction from my very loud brain, which is wondering why the hell he approached me.
“So,” he finally says. “I, uh, might have been walking behind you earlier. You and that Jay guy?”
Oh, fuck. Did he hear Jay tease me about my crush on Cecelia? I might actually kill my best friend.
“I wasn’t trying to listen in,” he continues. “But I think I heard you mention CeCe is giving you a hard time.”
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit. Is he going to tell me off for talking about her? God, did he hear Jay say I might enjoy her biting me? I think I’m going to throw up.
“She’s not—I mean, it’s—I wasn’t saying that—”
He holds up his hands, stopping my stuttering. “Honestly, I’d be shocked if she wasn’t showing you a hard time.” He smirks. “My cousin never quite got the hang of playing well with others.”
“She plays well with her teammates,” I point out.
“Yeah, because she knows them,” he says. “That’s the other thing about Ceece—she’s the most loyal person you’ll ever meet. Once she has your back, she has it forever.”
I blow out a breath. “Well, I don’t think I qualify in that department.”
He doesn’t argue. “That’s why I figured you needed some advice.”
I blink at him, surprised. “Wow. I mean, that would be great. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
Ash nods. “CeCe isn’t great about asking for help from others. Never has been. She needs to be really comfortable with you before she’ll let you help.”
“And how do I get her comfortable?”
“You need to find some common ground. Right now, she sees you as the person who could get in the way of her playing. And in her mind, that’s the absolute worst thing that could happen.”
Common ground, I think. I’m not sure what that looks like when it comes to Cecelia Ransome, but I figure soccer might be a good place to start.
“I don’t want to get in her way,” I tell her cousin. “I want to make sure she gets to keep playing at a top level without getting hurt.”
He nods. “That’s good—you both want the same thing. She just needs to see that.”
I nod, thinking about my options. “Any tips for getting her to trust me?”
He tilts his head, thinking. “Maybe try to take some of the pressure off. Talk to her outside of the training room.” And away from her coaches, I think, remembering how adverse she was to wearing tape on her injured knee just on the chance they might see and start to question her ability to contribute.
“Maybe I should try to get her to play some one-on-one with me,” I muse, mostly to myself, but Ash brightens immediately.
“That’s perfect. She’s always happiest when she’s playing soccer.” He shoots me a warning look. “But do not let her win. She hates that shit.”
I find myself grinning because yeah, I can totally see that about her. “I would never.”
He gives an encouraging nod. “Good. I think if she can see that you have her back, she’ll chill out about the training sessions and stop giving you such a hard time.”
I watch him out of the corner of my eye, thinking about what he said about Cecelia and loyalty. I would put money on the fact that all of the Ransome cousins are similar in that way. Which makes me wonder why Ash doesn’t seem to be betting against me when it comes to Cecelia.
“Why are you trying to help me out?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets, looking a little uncomfortable. “I heard about what happened at the party.”
My insides freeze up. Is he feeling sorry for me because I was clearly such a basket case that night? Does he realize there’s something wrong with me or—
“Violet is my twin sister.” His jaw tightens. “And I fucking hate that that punk put his hands on her when I wasn’t there to do anything about it.”
Oh. So maybe this doesn’t have anything to do with my freakout after all.
“Yeah. I mean, that guy was a total prick.”
Ash snorts, the sound angry, then looks at me. “I really appreciate that you stepped in.”
“It’s really no big deal, man,” I say quickly. “It’s not like I was gonna just stand there and let him manhandle a woman right in front of me.”
“A lot of people would,” he points out. “I’m just glad you were the guy sitting on that couch that night.”
I shift, feeling uncomfortable. In all honesty, the aftermath of that event made me pretty much forget all about what had happened with Violet.
“I’m pretty sure one of her cousins would have handled it if I hadn’t been,” I tell him.
He laughs. “It probably would have been CeCe, who would have then ended up in jail. So, yeah, definitely glad it was you.”
“She still managed to knee him in the balls,” I say, a smile coming to my lips as I remember the furious look on her face. That had been right before the whole punch thing, and I hadn’t thought about it since.
Ash shakes his head. “She’s a fucking menace,” he mutters. Then he meets my eye again. “But she’s also one of my favorite people.”
I nod, having no problem believing that.
“Which is another reason I want to help you out.” He looks more serious now. “Playing soccer is the most important thing in the world to her.”
I could point out that it’s pretty obvious her family is the most important thing to her, but it doesn’t really feel like my place to argue.
“She never talks about it, not to anyone, but I think she probably has some hang-ups about her injury,” he continues. “And I don’t want that to hold her back from getting healthy.”
“I don’t want that either.” I think again about the way she’d looked during the game the other day, the pure joy I’d seen on her face. Her injury holding her back would be a damn tragedy.
Ash nods, then glances down at the phone in his hand. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” He types a quick text then turns his attention back to me. “Good luck. Try to be patient.” His lips tilt in a knowing smile. “And try not to let her bully you.”
I snort a laugh. “I’ll do my best.”