13. Solomon #2
“And your grandpa helped you with that?”
“He did.” I smile at the memory. “He put me on a horse.”
She looks confused. “Had you not ridden before?”
“Nah, he had me riding before I could even walk. But that year, when I was having such a hard time, he started insisting that we go for rides together every day. First thing in the morning, and another after my practices. He never talked to me or asked me questions—just made sure I got out on a horse every day.”
Her voice is skeptical. “And riding a horse magically made you feel better?”
I chuckle. “Nah. But it did help me feel relaxed enough to admit that I was scared.”
She lets those words settle over us, her gaze once again fixed out past the ranch. It’s quiet for so long that I startle when she finally speaks.
“I have no idea who I am without soccer,” she says, voice flat.
“I’ve been playing since I could walk.” I remain silent, letting her work through whatever she wants to say.
“I always knew I was good. When I started getting invites to the U-13 national camps, I wasn’t even surprised.
And I don’t care how egotistical that sounds—being good at soccer was just who I was. ”
I wonder if I should point out that she’s more than just what she can do with a soccer ball, but I decide to bite my tongue. I think she might need to say all of this out loud.
“And I worked my ass off for it. Sacrificed my free time, my sleep, relationships.” Her expression turns grim.
“I used to love skateboarding. I was good at it, too. I never had time to get into competitions, but it was definitely my favorite thing to do in my free time.” She pauses for a beat.
“Then I twisted an ankle doing a trick and that was all it took for me to be done with it. No way was I gonna risk getting injured on a skateboard and have to sit out soccer. So I gave it up, even though I loved it, because I wasn’t taking any chances. ”
“You’ve been dedicated to your sport for a long time.”
She snorts. “All I ever wanted was to make the US Women’s National Team.
My parents took me and my brothers to the World Cup when I was a kid, and I just knew I was going to be on that field someday.
When I got hurt last year…it was like I realized for the first time that it might not all be a given, you know?
Maybe it wasn’t my destiny to be on that team.
” Another long pause. “But the worst part was realizing that hard work couldn’t get me there. Not if my body didn’t cooperate.”
She lets out a long breath. “You think I need to admit that I’m afraid in order to get better?
” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. She just turns to me, her beautiful blue eyes wide and filled with emotion I can’t read.
“I’m fucking terrified, Solomon. I’m terrified that everything I’ve done for my entire life will be for nothing and I’ll never get back to the playing shape that got me national attention.
I’m terrified I’ll get hurt again and it will all be over.
I’m terrified that I won’t have any idea how to live without soccer if it all goes to shit.
I’m just…” her jaw clenches. “I’m just fucking terrified, all day, every day, for the last ten months. ”
I hold her gaze. “Okay.”
She blinks at me caught off guard. “Just…okay?” I nod and she scowls. I shouldn’t find that expression as sexy as I do. “I spew all that bullshit, pour my damn heart out, and all you can say is okay?”
I shrug. “I think it covers things. You’re scared. You want to be the best. You’re willing to work hard.”
She still looks skeptical as hell. “So, what, I just say all that and now I’m fixed?”
That makes me smile. “You don’t need to be fixed.” I meet her eyes—which feels surprisingly easy for once—and smile. “You’re not broken, Cecelia. Just a little shaken.”
Her eyes meet mine and my heart twists. There’s so much vulnerability there, almost a desperation, like she’s begging for my words to be true, begging to be able to believe that she isn’t broken.
“It’s all about finding that one thing that you can trust,” I tell her. “Maybe that’s a person—your cousins or your parents.” Me, I think, but press my lips together before I can say it, because it’s objectively ridiculous to think I could ever have that much of an impact on her.
“Or maybe it’s a place, like the Tennessee farm. For me, it was this ranch, these horses. I knew that I was safe here, with them, and that made it so I could finally accept what I was feeling. Then it got a whole lot easier to face.”
She’s quiet for a long moment. “So you think that now I’ve told you how scared I am, I’ll start to feel better?”
“I think that once you can admit to something, it doesn’t carry as much weight.”
She sighs and tilts her head back, looking up at the wide blue sky. “I just want to play soccer. I don’t want to think about being afraid. I don’t want to admit that fear has been affecting my game. So I just buried it as deep as I could and hoped it would go away.”
“I get that.” It’s a huge understatement, but I don’t want to tell her that I’m an old pro at burying the things I don’t want to face.
We’re both quiet for a minute before she sighs again. “I guess it hasn’t been working out too great for me, huh?”
I snort a little at that. “I mean, you’re still the best player on that team even when you’re playing scared.
” She looks pleased by my words, and that sends fresh warmth to my chest. “But just think about how much better you could be if you’re honest with yourself—and with your trainer,” I add pointedly.
She gives me a sheepish smile. “I was kind of an asshole at that first session, huh?”
“Maybe a little,” I say drily. “But seriously, Ransome, I can help you more if I know what’s going on. So I need you to be honest with me about how your knee feels. Okay?”
She nods, biting her lip, and I know she still doesn’t like the idea of sharing her injury with someone. Hopefully the more she practices telling me what’s going on with her body, the easier it will get.
“And I think you should spend some time figuring out what centers you,” I tell her. “Riding horses is what centered me—what centers you?”
“Playing soccer,” she says immediately.
I grin. “Something besides soccer.”
She makes a face at me, but grunts in agreement. “I’ll work on it,” she finally says.
“I can’t ask for more than that.”
We sit in silence for a little, the only sound the breeze rusting through dry grass and the gentle noises of our horses. “It really is beautiful here,” she says. “I can’t get over this sky. It looks so much bigger than the sky in LA. And it feels closer, somehow.”
“You should see it at night,” I say, looking over at her. Our eyes lock and something passes between us, something that makes my belly tighten and my chest feel light.
“Maybe I can come back sometime,” she says softly.
I should probably brush it off. It’s not just the fact that she’s a client, and there’s a line that shouldn’t be crossed. I also need to protect myself, to keep this crush from getting any bigger.
But as I look at her sitting on a horse here at my favorite place on earth, I can’t bring myself to care about any of that.
“You can come back anytime you want.”