30. Cecelia
THIRTY
CECELIA
I’m pretty sure I’m going to throw up.
Who talks to their child like that? The things his dad was saying…and the look on Solomon’s face…I’m torn between wanting to pull him into my arms and wanting to chase after that bastard and kick his ass for making Sol look like that.
I came to his apartment straight after class.
He hasn’t been answering my texts all day.
I told myself I was just coming to pick up the sweatshirt I left here before I’m supposed to be at the soccer facility for a weight training session, but the truth is, I had a bad feeling when I didn’t hear from him. It’s not like him to not respond.
Now I wonder if my instincts were somehow sensing he needed me.
I’d heard them arguing from outside, and it stopped me from knocking. Maybe it was a crappy thing to do, but I’d checked to see if the door was locked and opened it when the knob turned.
I heard Solomon say he wasn’t working with me anymore. And then all the horrible words his dad spewed after.
“I’m sorry,” Sol mumbles, and my attention snaps to him.
“What on earth are you sorry for?”
He shrugs a little. “That you had to hear that. My dad is…well. He’s not the nicest guy.”
I snort at that. “Understatement, Sol. What the hell is his problem?”
A flash of something bitter crosses his expression. “If you find out, let me know.”
I take a tentative step closer. There’s something very closed off about him right now, and it’s giving me a bad feeling. “Does he always talk to you like that?”
He shrugs. “I don’t see him much.”
He’s not really looking at me, his posture rigid. I wonder when was the last time that we stood in a room alone like this and didn’t touch each other?
“Solomon.”
“Don’t you have weight training?” he asks, and it reminds me of what I’d overheard when I first walked in.
“What did you mean when you told your dad you weren’t working with me anymore?”
Somehow, he gets even more tense. “I think Devon will want to talk to you about it at training tonight.”
“Why don’t you just tell me now?”
He closes his eyes. “I’m tired, Cecelia.”
I’m starting to get really worried now. I don’t like how cold he sounds, not at all like himself. And I don’t like that he won’t tell me what’s going on.
“Please just tell me,” I press. “Did something happen today? You haven’t answered any of my texts—”
“Devon took me off your treatment,” he says in that same flat voice, still not looking at me. “He saw us waiting for your parents after meeting the surgeon yesterday. He saw us hug.”
My blood goes cold. “That’s ridiculous. We’d just gotten good news! Of course we hugged.”
“I kissed the top of your head, Cecelia,” he mutters. “He could tell it was more than just friendly.”
“So what, he demoted you?” Anger is starting to mix with the worry. “Over a hug and a kiss to my hair?”
“Not exactly. It makes sense for him to take over your treatment with the scare you had. I’m just going to be working with some of the other players until the end of the regular season.”
I don’t like this at all. I don’t want to work with Devon all the time. Devon isn’t the one who can read my mood—or my body—from twenty feet away. Devon isn’t the one I trust.
And then something he said jumps out at me. “What do you mean, until the end of the regular season. What about the tournament?”
He shrugs. “He said we’d re-evaluate. I’m…I’m not sure they’ll ask me to stick around for the tournament.”
Fresh rage courses through me. There’s no fucking way they’re taking him off the training team for the tournament. Not over a hug.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say. “I’ll get this fixed.”
“Please don’t.” He sounds tired now. “I don’t want him to get any more pissed off with me. I still need a good evaluation for my grade.”
“Sol, I’m not going to just sit around and let you be treated like this!”
“There’s nothing you can do, Cecelia.”
“I won’t play!”
The second the words leave my mouth, the room seems to freeze, the air suddenly heavy. Sol finally drags his eyes up to look at me, but I can’t read his expression.
“Don’t say that,” he grits out, voice tight. “Don’t even joke about that.”
“Sol—”
“You’re not going to threaten to sit out the tournament, Cecelia. This is soccer. This is your dream.”
I know that he’s right. Two months ago, I would have been horrified that the words would even cross my mind. But standing here looking at him right now, I realize that I’m not just spouting nonsense. If not playing would help Solomon…I can’t say I’d rule it out.
I think he must read that in my expression because his suddenly turns panicked. “Absolutely not. Don’t even think about it. I am not worth fucking up your soccer career over.”
“So you’re the only one who gets their career fucked up?”
He runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard. “I’m not worth it, Cecelia,” he says, his voice cold.
“Don’t say that.” His face is shifting back into that closed off expression it wore when his dad was going off on him, and I hate it. I reach for his arm, but he pulls it back.
“You need to get going,” he says. “You’re supposed to be in the weight room.”
I gape at him. “I’m not going to leave you like this. We need to talk about—”
“I’m tired. I’d like to be alone.”
All of a sudden, I feel like crying. I hate the blank look on his face. Hate the hurt I sense below it. I hate how his father talked to him and I hate that our relationship is messing with his clinicals.
“Please,” he says, his voice firm.
“Okay,” I tell him, because I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do right now. “I’ll come back after training and we can—”
“No. I don’t want you to come over tonight.”
That hurts. I try to tell myself that he’s just upset, but it hurts all the same. “Sol, I’m not going to leave you alone after all that.”
There’s a beat of silence. “You should. You shouldn’t want anything to do with me.”
I jerk back. “What are you talking about?”
I watch as his jaw clenches. “It doesn’t matter. Please just go.”
The urge to cry gets stronger. Jay told me that when Sol gets like this, sometimes the best thing is to let him be alone for a while.
“If that’s what you want,” I manage, even though every instinct is fighting me to throw my arms around him instead.
“You rest tonight and we can talk about it tomorrow, when you’re feeling better. ”
Something shifts in his face, a flash of anger replacing the blankness. “Tomorrow? You think I’m magically going to be better tomorrow?”
“Sol—”
“I’m not going to get better, Cecelia. I am always going to be exactly this fucked up.”
“You’re not—”
He holds up a hand. “I am. It’s taking everything I have not to curl up in a ball on the floor right now. When you leave, that’s probably exactly what I’ll do. I won’t be able to eat or sleep or take care of myself for days. All because my—” He slams his mouth shut, like he’s already said too much.
“All because what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
I want to scream. This is so frustrating. The person I love is standing here, clearly hurting, and he won’t tell me why.
“Solomon,” I say, taking a step closer. “If you need to curl up in a ball to feel better, then that’s what you should do. But I want to be there for you while you do it.”
He shakes his head, his expression incredulous. “You think I want you here for that?”
It feels like he physically hit me, the pain is so sharp. I actually take a step back. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything about it, just continues in that same, not-quite-Sol voice I hate so much.
“I don’t want you hanging around while I’m freaking the fuck out, Cecelia. I feel shitty enough already without adding that embarrassment to it.”
“You don’t need to feel embarrassed. It’s me.”
But he ignores that, too. He runs his hands through his hair again, but this time, he tugs at the strands. I want to pry his fingers away, to soothe him, to do something to take that awful look off his face. But then he continues, and the whole world seems to tilt sideway.
“This was a mistake. Letting myself get close to you. It was…this was a mistake.”
Fear slams into me. “What are you saying?”
“This. Me and you. It shouldn’t have happened. I let myself get carried away.”
I just stare at him. “Are you seriously trying to break up with me because…because…I don’t even know why! I don’t even know why your dad was here or why he was so upset!”
He stares at a point over my shoulder, not meeting my eye.
“There’s nothing to break up. We never said we were anything official. We’ve just been spending time together.”
“Bullshit,” I cry. “Just because we didn’t name it doesn’t mean it was nothing.”
“I need to focus on school and you need to focus on your injury rehab and soccer.”
“That’s the most pathetic excuse I’ve ever—”
“Devon was right,” he interrupts. “It wasn’t okay for me to get so close with a client. Your recovery should have been my only focus from the start. I fucked up by allowing this to get so complicated.”
Complicated? It hasn’t felt complicated for me in weeks. It’s felt right, in a way nothing else ever has.
“Solomon, don’t do this,” I whisper, panic making it hard to breathe now. “At the very least, don’t make decisions when you’re upset.”
He finally meets my eyes. “That’s the thing, Cecelia—I always feel this way.
Sometimes I can bury it for a while or ignore it, but it always comes back.
” He shakes his head, the motion angry, jerky.
“I tried so fucking hard with you. To keep it together, to not act like…like this. I tried harder than I ever have before. And I still couldn’t do it. ”
I can’t help it—I move to touch him. To hug him, to take his hands, anything to get that look out of his eyes. The shame I see on his face makes me feel sick.
But Sol moves back a step. “You don’t need this shit, Cecelia. You of all people don’t need this.”
“Don’t tell me what I need!” I cry, the first tears starting to spill over. When he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me, frustration and fear well up inside me. “Solomon, I’m in love with you.”
He flinches, full out flinches like he’s just been struck. Like my words are something that causes him pain. “No, you aren’t,” he whispers, starting to turn away.
Something snaps inside me, panic flooding my system, and I reach out for him. “Don’t do this. Please don’t. Please, Solomon.” But he just stares at the wall, expressionless, and it suddenly occurs to me what I’m doing.
I’m begging. Me. Begging a man to stay with me.
Who the hell am I right now? In what universe would I beg a man for anything? In what universe would I offer to quit soccer for a guy?
But I suppose that’s the problem. Because as I stand here staring at him, wishing he would pull me into his arms where everything makes sense, I realize that I would. I would beg him to stay. I might even refuse to play in the tournament. That’s how much I love this man.
I guess love does that—makes us forget who we were before we met the person. But I don’t think I can afford to forget any more.
I draw myself up to my full height, wiping my face, breathing deep until my inhales don’t sound shaky anymore. “I won’t keep you any longer. If you want to be at home by yourself, that’s fine.” I think I see something flashing in his eyes, but I’m already turning around, turning away from him.
In my hurry, I twist my leg and let out a little yelp of pain.
“Shit,” he mutters, moving toward me, but I hold up a hand.
“It’s fine. Just stepped wrong.”
“At least let me—your knee—”
I let out an incredulous laugh, the sound bitter and horrible. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to break my heart and then try and take care of me.”
He doesn’t say anything for a long time. A little spark lights in my chest and I wonder if maybe he’s going to take it all back. Maybe he’s going to explain what happened today and we can go back to how we were just a few hours ago when he left me in my bed this morning. Maybe he’ll—
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice low and flat. “I’m so fucking sorry, Cecelia.” And then, before I can even look over my shoulder to get one last glimpse at his face, he turns around and walks to his bedroom.
I don’t know how long I stand there in his kitchen, motionless, completely in shock, wondering what in the hell just happened.
When I don’t hear anything from Solomon’s room, I have no choice but to leave him alone in his apartment.
I don’t go to the soccer facility for weight training. It might be the first time I’ve ever skipped a training session, but I just can’t make myself go back to campus. Instead, I go home, back to the house I share with my best friends.
I find the other Littles sitting on the couch, a spread of Thai food in front of them, something loud on the TV. “Ceece!” Cade calls when he sees me. “You’re just in time for…” he trails off, eyes sharpening. “CeCe?”
The others look over at me, their expressions morphing to the same worry I see on Cade’s face.
“What’s wrong?” Vega asks immediately.
It’s a struggle to get the words out. A struggle to not to burst into tears or throw up on the spot. I swallow, hard, and manage to say it.
“I think Solomon just broke up with me.”