Page 113 of Play For Me

“It’s okay to make soccer your priority, but it is not your whole life. You have your parents and your brothers and the Littles and the rest of your family.” I shake my head. “You’re such a bright light, Cecelia. And you’re stubborn as hell, so I know you’re going to make a beautiful life for yourself no matter what you do. Soccer or not.”

I can’t tell if she buys it, but she allows me to pull her back into a hug. I don’t know how long we stand there like that, me holding her as her body trembles. Eventually, I see Cash pull up to the glass front door over her shoulder and set her gently on her feet, kissing the top of her head. I keep her hands on my shoulders for support as I reach over to pick up the crutches.

Sam gets out of the car and comes up to open the front door for us, so I can help Cecelia through. Just before we’re outside, she raises a hand to wave at someone behind me.

I turn my head, not thinking much of it, but my entire body seems to go cold as I see who’s standing there.

Devon is standing back by the entrance to the sports medicine center, in full view. And from the look on his face, I’m pretty sure he’s been there for a while.

He saw us.

TWENTY-NINE

SOLOMON

The email comes on Sunday night. Devon wants to see me in his office first thing in the morning. Cecelia, still groggy from the stress of the last few days and her pain meds, is next to me in bed, a movie playing in the background while she dozes. I’m glad she’s not awake. She’s got enough to worry about right now, and I don’t want to tell her about the email. Not until I know what Devon has to say.

The next morning, I pace in front of the training office, feeling like I’m about to be sick. It was easy to push away my suspicions last night, cuddled up with Cecelia in her bed, watching her sleep. My academic career never seems to matter much when I’m close to her.

But standing here in the soccer facility now, I can’t help but think how much it would suck to lose this. All the work I put in, all my effort. My parents would definitely find out—my grandpa refuses to tell them any specifics about my schooling or life in general, but I know for a fact they have contacts at the university. I’ve gotten enough disappointed emails when my grades dip even slightly to make me aware they’re keeping their noses in my business.

It’s not that I care about disappointing them—they’d been pissed as hell when I chose athletic training as my major and I still didn’t back down. But the idea of them calling or showing up to lecture me is not appealing.

God, I really hope I don’t get kicked out.

Finally, the office door opens and Devon sticks his head out. “Barnes,” he says, voice flat. My panic swells and I stand to enter his office. He gestures to the seat in front of his desk and I take it, putting my sweaty palms under my thighs.

He studies me for a moment before sighing. “You know what I saw yesterday.”

I nod, mouth dry.

He waits for me to say something, his jaw tightening when I don’t.

The problem is, I’m really bad at lying. Always have been. It’s because of the way my brain works—things tend to be very black and white in my mind. Strangely enough, my inability to lie used to drive my parents crazy. Even harmless white lies seemed beyond my grasp, so I had a bitch of time when, for instance, they wanted me to feign happiness to be at some boring political event. Or kiss the ass of one of their colleagues who I actually despised. It’s one of the many, many things they spent years trying to change about me.

I’m better at white lies these days. But I still figure it’s better that I just keep my mouth shut and speak only when spoken to, rather than try to convince Devon that nothing is going on with Cecelia.

His gaze sharpens when I remain silent. “Fine. I guess we’ll get right to it. Are you in a relationship with CeCe Ransome?”

I let out a breath, stomach churning. “Devon, I’m not going to pretend that Cecelia and I have not gotten close. We spend a lot of time together.” I force myself to hold his gaze. “But I canguarantee you that our friendship has not gotten in the way of her treatment.”

Okay, so it’s a partial truth. No one would describe what we have as a mere friendship. On the other hand, we’ve never explicitly called it anything else. Whatistrue is that my feelings for CeCe have not gotten in the way of my ability to treat her. If anything, caring about her as much as I do makes me even more committed to her wellbeing. If she’d been permanently unable to play because her injury, it would have fucking crushed me.

He studies me for a long time, looking more pissed by the second. “I asked around,” he finally says. “None of her teammates would say if they’ve seen anything.” Before relief can hit me, he continues. “But the student manager mentioned to me that Cecelia wasn’t in her room at curfew the night you accompanied the team to the away match in San Jose.”

Oh, shit.

“Do you know anything about that?” he asks.

I swallow hard. “We ate dinner together that night,” I tell him. “And hung out for a while. I’m not sure if that would have been the same time as the curfew check.” Again, not a technical lie. And I’m not about to offer up the information that she stayed all night.

He stares at me for a long moment, and I force myself to hold his gaze. Finally, he sighs. “Look, Barnes. You’ve done a good job with Ransome, there’s no denying that. But we have rules in place for a reason, and I have to think about what would happen if people start to talk.”

Shit.Shit. He’s going to kick me out of clinicals. My entire college career is about to explode and there’s nothing I can do. My brain feels too sluggish to even come up with an argument, to even let me attempt lying my way out of this.

“Especially,” he continues, “when we’re talking about such a high-profile athlete.”

I think back to the beginning of the semester, the email I’d gotten from my advisor about my assignment and my first meetings with Coach Carla and the training staff. There had been so much talk about the need for discretion, about protecting Cecelia.