36. Cecelia
THIRTY-SIX
CECELIA
We sit out there for a long time, me on Sol’s lap, his arms wrapped tight around me, his chin resting on my shoulder. My attention shifts back and forth from the fire to stars overhead. I can’t believe how beautiful it is out here, or how good I feel to be with him again.
We talk a little bit about the weeks when we weren’t together, catching each other up. He tells me that he’s pretty sure he failed an anatomy quiz while in the “midst of heartbreak.” I laugh like it’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard—because it is.
“Worst case scenario, you got a B.”
He gives a mock shudder just to make me laugh.
“Your treatment went okay with Devon?”
“Yeah, it was fine. Not as easy as it was with you.” I look back at him. “Do you think you’ll ask to come back to the team now?”
“I think it’s probably too late. My advisor already talked to the cross-country coach about me helping out with them.”
I don’t like that answer at all, and I’m sure he can tell.
“But I can help you with your training outside of the team,” he says.
I can’t help pouting a little. “Do I get my massages again?”
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through me. “Baby, you get all the massages you want.” He kisses the side of my head. “This way, I can just come to all your games and watch. I get to be your biggest fan boy.”
“You’ll come to my games?”
“Every single one. Assuming you go far in the tournament—”
I turn to him and glare and he chuckles, squeezing me tight.
When it’s time to add more logs to the fire, he explains what to do and lets me handle it myself.
“Cade and Ash always act like this is some hard skill to conquer,” I tell him, using the poker to stoke the flames.
“I can’t wait to build the biggest fire ever the next time we’re at the farm just to fuck with them. ”
He gives me an exasperated look, but his tone is fond. “You seriously can make a competition out of anything, can’t you?”
I climb back into his lap. After nearly three weeks without touching him, I don’t want to be anywhere else. He seems to agree with me, because his arms go right back around me again.
“We should probably come up with a plan,” I say eventually, my tone careful.
“Like, how we should handle it if your dad shows up or something triggers you.” He doesn’t respond, and part of me wonders if it was a mistake to bring this up.
But I want to be in this with him for the long haul, and I figure that’s going to require some awkward conversations sometimes.
“It scared me when you shut down,” I tell him. “I don’t say that to make you feel guilty, I know it’s not something you chose. But I just want to know what I can do next time to make sure you’re not alone.”
He squeezes me harder. “A plan would be good,” he says, and relief rushes through me. “Having plans in place helps me feel calmer, actually. Knowing what to expect.” He kisses the side of my head. “I’m sorry I scared you.”
I tsk. “We said no more apologies.”
His lips come to my neck. “Actually, I think you said every time I was tempted to apologize, I should kiss you instead.”
My voice is amused. “Did I say that?”
He presses hot kisses across my skin. “I might be paraphrasing.”
I relax into his arms, feeling even better than I did earlier when he told me he loved me. Being able to talk about the hard shit without him getting embarrassed or shutting down on me makes me feel secure in a way that’s hard to put into words.
It makes the whole thing feel more real, I guess.
“I’ll talk about it with my therapist,” he murmurs. “Get some ideas for how to keep communication open when I’m having a rough time.”
I settle back against his chest, gripping the arms he keeps tight across my middle. “That sounds good.”
Eventually, I start to yawn. I napped in the car, but that game took a lot out of me. So did crying like a baby on the equipment room floor, but there’s no point in dwelling on that when I feel so content and happy.
“We should head in,” he tells me, and I shake my head immediately.
“It feels too good out here. I wish we could sleep right here, with the stars and the fire.” And Solomon’s arms around me.
He makes an amused sound. “I would suggest getting some sleeping bags, but I feel like I need to warn you—we get snakes out here.”
I immediately bring my feet up and rest them against his knees, making him laugh.
“Yeah, a bed is sounding better and better,” I mumble.
“We can sleep in my room.” He laughs softly. “You’ll be the first girl I ever had in there.”
“I bet it’s filled with trophies and medals and ribbons from spelling bees and shit.”
“I do possess a trophy or too. And multiple ribbons from kicking ass in multiple spelling bees, thank you very much.”
I laugh, feeling so happy I don’t quite know what to do with myself.
When I yawn again, he presses his lips close to my ear. “You can fall asleep if you want to,” he murmurs. “I can carry you inside later.”
“If you’re trying to remind me how big and strong you are in the hopes of getting lucky, don’t worry. I’m a sure thing.”
He barks out a laugh, loud and deep, from his chest. I think it’s the first time I’ve heard him laugh like that since before everything went wrong. I snuggle into him, making a happy sound.
“Did you know that your name means peace?”
He stills behind me. “It does?”
I turn a little so I can see his face over my shoulder. “You never looked it up?”
He shakes his head, a weird expression on his face. “I always hated my name,” he admits. “I’m named after my grandfather—not Red, my dad’s dad.” He shrugs. “My dad never stopped telling me that I wasn’t living up to my namesake.”
I’m going to seriously kick his dad in the balls if I ever see him again.
“Did you look it up?” he asks.
I give him a sheepish smile. “I mean, maybe. It’s not like I was obsessing about you before you finally gave in and slept with me.”
He laughs again. “I finally gave in?”
“Hey, I totally kissed you first.”
“Yeah, and if you’ll recall, I didn’t need a lot of convincing.”
“Anyhow,” I say, mock-exasperated. “I was trying to tell you that I think it’s a very appropriate name for you. You make my life much more peaceful.”
His face softens as he gazes down at me. “You have no idea, do you? How much you get to me.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah, Cecelia. It’s a very good thing.” He smooths my hair back from my face and when he speaks, his voice sounds a little thick.
“What about your name? What does Cecelia mean?”
I snort. “Blindness.”
“Seriously?”
“Yup. Cecelia means blind or blindness.”
“I take it that’s not the reason your mother chose it.”
“My dad named me, actually,” I say. “When Will was born, my parents let Wyatt name him, and he gave him a W name to match. Then with Silas, they picked an S name to match my mom. I got the C name to go with Cash.” I roll my eyes at him. “Saint Cecilia is the patron saint of musicians.”
Sol laughs. “Well, that tracks.”
He’s quiet for a while after that, for so long that I do start to doze off in his arms. When he speaks again, it’s soft enough not to jolt me.
“Your mom and dad were really nice to me today.” His voice is even thicker now. “I kind of figured they must hate me.”
“I wouldn’t let them hate you,” I say firmly. “I was upset about what happened, Sol, but I never hated you for it. I knew you were going through something.”
His laugh is shaky. “Your mom hugged me when she saw me. And your dad hugged me like, four times.”
“I told you he was like that.”
He’s quiet again, the only sound the popping of the fire. It’s getting low again, dying out.
Sol clears his throat. “I’m pretty sure your father has hugged me more times than my own dad ever did.”
That stabs at something in my chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears sting at my eyes and I turn my face to the fire, hoping he doesn’t notice.
Of course he does. Sol always notices me.
“Cecelia? What’s wrong?”
The urge to hug him is overwhelming. I turn in his lap so I’m facing him fully, burying my face in his neck.
“I went home for a few days after…everything,” I say, my voice muffled against his skin.
“And my family was amazing, like they always are.” My voice cracks.
“But all I could think about was how unfair it was that you didn’t have that. ”
“Hey,” he tells me, and I can hear the regret in his tone, like he thinks it’s his fault I’m upset. “I had Red. I had Jay and Em.”
“I know.” I pull back and look up into those dark, serious eyes I love so much. Usually, I feel a little disappointed when he doesn’t wear his glasses—because the man is seriously, ridiculously hot in glasses—but tonight I’m glad that there’s no barrier in front of his eyes.
“When I was at home, I kept thinking that I wished I could give you what I have. This whole big, crazy group of people who would love you so much. You deserve to have a family like that, Sol.”
He blinks at me a few times, surprised. He opens his mouth and I can see the desire to deny it rising up in him. The urge to tell me that I’m wrong, that he doesn’t deserve good things, and God do I hate that he’s ever thought that about himself.
But then I watch as he nods, once. Determination fills his expression as he looks down at me.
“Maybe,” he says, his voice shaky. “Maybe I do deserve that.”
I kiss him, because I have to. My chest feels so full, like there are too many good emotions swelling inside me, and I don’t know how to put it into words. The fact that he can even admit that he deserves better makes me want to cry all over again.
So I kiss him instead, my hands tangling in his hair as he pulls me even closer against him.
“You definitely do,” I whisper against his lips, then pull back enough to smile up at him. “For now, let’s just focus on being happy, okay?”
His lips curve into a grin before he kisses me back. “Being happy, and making sure you win your next game.”
I laugh. “I like that plan a lot.”