Page 119 of Play For Me

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 yourdream.”

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 togetbetter, Cecelia. I amalwaysgoing to be exactly this fucked up.”

“You’re not?—”

He holds up a hand. “Iam. 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 sofrustrating. 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.”