Page 101 of Play For Me

They start to explain some convoluted conversation about multi-universe theory but they both start laughing too loud to continue.

“Dude.” Sol leans forward to talk to Jay. He’s using that whisper-shout voice again, and it’s loud enough to be heard by the entire vehicle. “This is so nice.”

“I know,” Jay agrees happily. “Silas has good weed.”

Sol giggles again and I meet Vi’s gaze, grinning.

Then the cheer drops out of Solomon’s voice. “I wish I could always feel like this,” he mutters, slumping back into his seat.

“Like what?” I ask, brushing the hair from his forehead. He’s got his eyes closed now, his head leaning against the window.

“Easy,” he says, sighing. “I feel soeasy. I’m not even anxious at all.”

“You’re always anxious,” Jay says, a note of sadness in his voice that stabs me right in the chest. Vi isn’t smiling anymore either.

“I know.” Sol sighs. “It would be so much better to be like this all the time. Not worried. Notweird.” His voice drops, and I wonder how close he is to falling asleep. “Maybe then I would get to keep her.”

Ice trickles into my veins. “Solomon,” I say, trying to keep my voice even. “What are you talking about?”

He sighs again. “Cecelia.” He draws out my name the way Cade did back at the bar. “Such a pretty name.” He yawns. “IfI could just be like this all the time…if I wasn’t such a fuck-up, maybe I would get to keep her.”

My eyes find Violet’s in the dark interior of the car. She’s staring at me, her eyes wide, looking shocked and sad—exactly how I feel.

Sol lets out a quiet snore and I turn my gaze to him. He’s got his arms crossed over his chest, like he’s trying to curl up into a ball, his expression relaxed now that he’s sleeping.

Maybe I would get to keep her.

I want to cry, right there in the back seat of the SUV. I want to wake him up and make him talk to me, figure out a way to reassure him. To make him realize that I’m not going anywhere. I want to kill his parents and anyone else who ever made him feel like there was something wrong with him, like he was too fucked up to keep me.

But I can’t do any of those things. So instead, I take his hand and watch him sleep.

TWENTY-SIX

SOLOMON

The day after the concert, I wake up to Cecelia in my bed. I don’t remember how we got home, but I’m not complaining. Not when I can pull her warm, sleepy body close to me and bury my face in her hair.

“Morning,” she mumbles into my chest.

“Morning.” I kiss the top of her head. “Please tell me Jay isn’t sleeping on my couch.”

She laughs. “Nope. We dropped him back at his place before we came here.”

“Did Em get home okay?” I feel like a jerk for getting so out of it that I don’t remember what happened to her. But it had been such a stressful night. I’m not usually someone who parties a lot—a couple beers tend to be my limit. But when Silas pulled out a joint and Jay gently cajoled me into joining them, I had barely hesitated. The prospect of getting out of my head was way too tempting.

But I should have kept it together enough to check on Em, and guilt rushes through me.

“Jay was texting her as we left,” Cecelia tells me, and I feel relieved when the vague memory of their conversation seeps in—I had known she was okay after all.

Other things are coming back to me, though a lot of the night feels foggy still. Meeting Cecelia’s parents. The way her oldest brothers had looked at me like I was dirt who didn’t deserve to be in the same vicinity as their sister. Feeling so sappy about Cecelia when she came back over to find me at the end of the night.

“I probably said lots of embarrassing things,” I mutter, and she laughs softly.

“You were very sweet.”

I groan. “Sweet doesn’t mean not embarrassing.”

She presses a kiss against my chest but doesn’t respond. I have no idea if I should take that as proof that I was embarrassing after all. Before I can press her on it, she sits up and stretches. I’m momentarily speechless at the sight of her. She’s wearing one of my old high school soccer team t-shirts and something about that makes my mouth go dry. It’s way oversized on her, so it doesn’t show off her shape, but I don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful to me than she does right now, make-up free, hair tousled around her shoulders, wearing my shirt in my bed.