Page 120 of Play For Me

He shakes his head, his expression incredulous. “You think I wantyouhere 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’sme.”

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—Ialwaysfeel 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…likethis. 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 toquit soccerfor 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 whereeverything makes sense, I realize that Iwould. 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.