29. Solomon #2
“I’ve been busy. School.” I hate the sound of my own voice. I can hear it changing, hear it going dull, all the emotion sapped out. I learned to do this at a very young age—to do everything I could to hide my feelings from my parents. To hide myself.
“Yeah, well, if you would have picked up the phone you would have known that I was planning on being near campus this week and wanted to talk to you.”
“Right,” I mutter, trying not to let his tone hurt me. It’s no different from how he usually talks to me. My father has always made it clear that my intellect is endlessly disappointing to him.
He stares at me for a minute, like he’s waiting for something. Finally, he throws his hands up. “Well?”
“Well what?” Even as I say it, there’s a part of me that’s wincing. Don’t ask so many stupid fucking questions all the time, a memory of his voice rails in my head. Can’t you just figure it out for yourself for once?
I try to never, ever ask my parents questions.
“Well,” he grinds out. “Aren’t you going to open your fucking door so we can go inside?”
My heart rate kicks up. I don’t want my dad in my apartment. I don’t want him anywhere near my life. But I also don’t want to deal with the humiliation of having him lay into me out here in the hallway where anyone could walk by.
“Fine,” I mutter, shouldering past him to open the door. He follows me inside but I don’t move past the kitchen. I’m not going to offer him a drink or invite him to come sit in the living room. He can say what he needs to say to me and then leave.
His gaze darts around my space, taking it in. He hasn’t been here before, and neither has my mother. My parents have never shown any interest in where I’m living or what I’m doing.
Not that I ever would have invited them over in the first place.
“I have school work, Dad,” I say, trying to keep my voice neutral. “What do you want?”
“I want you to arrange a meeting for us and Cecelia Ransome’s parents.”
I have no idea what I was expecting him to say, but it was not that. I stare at him, trying to make the words make sense, until he huffs at me. “Did you hear me? We need to meet with the Ransomes.”
My stomach drops. It’s such a weird feeling. When I’m with one of my parents, I usually manage to go numb. It’s the best way to get through whatever verbal beating they want to give me. But somehow, the sound of Cecelia’s name on my father’s lips manages to break through that protective numbness.
Absolutely not.
“I’m going to need you to back up about ten steps,” I say. “Because that doesn’t make any sense.”
He sighs, like I’m disappointing him already. “Your mother saw you with the Ransome girl in San Jose,” he says. “I did some checking and found out you’ve been working with her on the soccer team this month.”
I snort. “You did some checking, huh?”
He ignores me. “That girl’s mother runs one of the state’s largest charitable foundations.”
I already don’t like where this is going. Cecelia had told me about the Ransome family’s foundation and how her mother has been running it for decades. I know the foundation means a lot to the entire family.
And that means I need to keep my father far away from it.
“What does that have to do with you?”
He glares, obviously not happy that I’m talking back. “That foundation owns a prime piece of real estate in Venice. They’re using it for some youth center.” He rolls his eyes like he can’t think of a sillier use of desirable land. “We want them to sell it to us.”
I just stare at him for a long beat. “So you want me to introduce you to my client’s parents so you can offer to buy their youth center?
” He stares right back. “You realize how insane that sounds, right? What are you planning to do with the center, anyhow? I can’t imagine you’re suddenly jumping to get involved in the non-profit sector. ”
He grits his teeth. “That land is surrounded by valuable parcels. The development we’re drafting could be worth hundreds of millions.”
“So you’d be tearing down the center,” I surmise. “And replacing it with…what? Condos?” That sounds right up my dad’s alley.
“It’s a mixed-use development,” he grits out. “Retail, entertainment.” His glare sharpens. “And yes, condos.”
I shake my head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What the fuck is your problem? This is business.”
“Not for the Ransomes.”
He scoffs. “The Ransomes will take the money, just like anyone else would. Don’t live in a fantasy world.”
There’s no point in arguing with them. “I still don’t see what this has to do with me or Cecelia. You want the foundation’s land, get your lawyers to make an offer.”
He looks even more pissed off. “We’ve tried. They won’t take a meeting with us.”
“And you think they’ll change their mind if their daughter’s intern athletic trainer suggests it? Are you hearing yourself?”
“Watch your mouth,” he says, voice low. “This is what you’re going to do—you invite us to one of her games and then you introduce us to them when it’s over. Easy.”
“Dad—”
"We’ve looked into this, Solomon. Her mother is at every local game she plays. She wouldn’t be suspicious of your parents coming to watch a game with the team you’ve been working on.”
I almost laugh. It wouldn’t be suspicious for a typical student trainer’s parent to come to a match. My parents, though? Yeah, not so much.
“All you have to do is introduce us,” he takes out his phone and I see his calendar app open on the screen. “What’s the game schedule this week?”
“I’m not going to do that.”
He blinks up at me. “What the fuck do you mean you’re not going to do that?”
“I mean I’m not introducing you to the Ransomes so you can try and buy their land and tear down their youth center.”
His entire body goes rigid. He actually looks like he wants to hit me, something that he hasn’t done since I hit a growth spurt at fourteen and became taller than him. “You’re going to do your part for this family for once in your life.”
For a second, I picture it. Bringing my father and his poison over to the Ransomes.
The Ransomes who actually give a shit about each other.
Who show up for each other, whether it be cramming into the green room at Silas’s show, or watching Cecelia’s game, or eating Vega’s cupcakes until their stomachs hurt because she’s working on a new recipe.
I think about the absolute wrecked expression on Cash’s face when Cecelia got hurt.
How she told me he cried on stage in front of tens of thousands of people and a Rolling Stone photographer when all his boys came out to play with the band for his birthday.
I think about Will calling her at least a dozen times after her injury, even though she was still too mad at him to answer.
I think about the way the Littles formed rank around Violet that first night at the Sigma party when that asshole was rude to her.
I think about Cecelia kneeing him in the balls because he made her best friend cry.
This is a family that actually loves each other. And the idea of bringing either of my parents into that circle makes me feel physically ill.
“I’m not going to do that,” I say again, voice stronger now, not quite so numb. “In fact, you should stay away from them.”
“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” he snarls out. “Where the hell do you get off thinking you can tell me what to do?”
“I’m done with this conversation.” I make a move to step around him to open the door, but he grabs my arm. The rage in his eyes makes me feel like a scared little kid again, and I actually raise a hand as if to protect my face.
He notices. It only pisses him off more.
“You’re going to do what you’re told, Solomon. This requires zero effort from you. Don’t be such a drama queen.”
I shake his hand off my arm. “You should go.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Not until you stop acting like a child.”
“Dad—”