Page 72 of Play For Me

She snorts. “People always think stuff like that and it cracks me up because it’s so far from reality. My dad and uncles are honestly pretty lame.” My expression must show my disbelief because her tone gets more insistent. “Seriously. Sure, they hadsome wild years when they first started out.” She rolls her eyes. “My dad in particular. But when they met their wives, they moved on from that stuff pretty fast.”

She pauses, and I get the sense she’s wondering how much to say. “They kind of had a shitty childhood,” she finally says, her voice a little softer. “Their mom took off, their dad was a mess. I think when they finally fell in love, they were just ready to lean into the family thing, you know?” She chuckles. “Again, my dad in particular.”

“I’ve, uh, seen some pictures,” I admit, because it seems silly to pretend like I don’t know what she’s talking about. Cash Ransome’s party days were pretty legendary.

Cecelia laughs. “He was a total fuckboy. Photographed with a different model every night, partying constantly, always getting in trouble. But then he met my mom and that was it. She had an eight-year-old kid and a shit ton of baggage and he was this huge international rock star. But he bought a house in her Podunk town, started therapy to deal with his shit, and became a stepdad without a second thought. And everyone says he was so much happier once he put the party boy stuff behind him.”

“That’s your oldest brother?” I ask.

“Wyatt.” Her expression shifts into something I haven’t seen before. “He’s the best. He’s a concert pianist and he’s married to one of my favorite people on the planet. They have a one-year-old baby girl.”

“Aunt Cecelia,” I say, and she grins. I recognize the expression now—devotion.

“My brother Will has two, so I’m an aunt a few times over.” She picks up the instructions and peers at them. “Is it just me or do all the all the grey pieces look exactly the same?”

“They’re pretty similar. Here.” I slide the pile over and start separating the pieces.

“Anyhow,” she continues, reaching for another pile of bricks. “A lot of the time I’ve spent on the road with the band has been pretty similar to this.” She gestures at the LEGO pieces. “My cousins are super into table top games so we always had a game going.” She grins. “A few years ago, Ransom had a residency in London. The whole family flew out for a long weekend—with everyone’s schedules it was the first time we’d all been together in ages. So my brother Silas sets up this Risk tournament at the house we rented and that ended up being all anyone wanted to do.” She laughs. “Half my cousins didn’t make it to a single show because they were so into it.” She gives me a little grin. “I’m not the only competitive one in the family.”

Again, I find myself surprised at how easy it is to smile back. “I take it you were one of the ones who missed the show? Can’t really imagine you walking away from a game in progress.”

She sighs. “No, actually. It was my dad’s birthday so my uncles surprised him by having all three of his boys come out to play a set with them. Figured I needed to be there for that.” Her expression turns gleeful. “But Dad totally cried like a baby and Rolling Stone published a picture of him all snot-faced, so that was pretty awesome.”

I try to imagine my own father joyfully crying, about anything, let alone something to do with me. The thought almost makes me laugh, it’s so utterly ridiculous.

Cecelia must have seen the humor on my face because she adds, “He’s a total softy, my dad. Cries at just about anything.”

The famous rock God Cash Ransome is a softy. Crazy.

Just then my phone rings, and all the tension Cecelia managed to banish over the last hour comes crashing back in. Sybil had called me multiple times today, and though I ignored each call, just knowing she was trying to get in touch has been feeding my anxiety.

Cecelia must notice the change because she frowns up at me. “Solomon?” She follows my gaze to where I’m staring at my phone like an unexploded bomb. “Do you want me to?—”

The idea of needing the girl I have a major crush on to screen my calls is so mortifying that I spring into action, grabbing the phone from the desk. I sigh in relief when I see the name. Emery. Not my mother.

I bring the phone to my ear. “Hey, Em.”

“What the fuck, Sol!” I wince, pulling the phone away from my ear. By the look on Cecelia’s face, Em’s shriek was loud enough to be heard across the room. “You saw Sybil? Like, you talked to her? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Take a breath,” I instruct, turning away from Cecelia. For the first time since she showed up with her bags of “calm Solomon down” materials, I kind of wish she wasn’t here. I don’t need an audience for this conversation.

“I’m sorry,” Em says, her voice softening immediately. “I didn’t mean to yell. I just…I can’t believe you saw her!” She takes a deep breath. “But I know screaming is the last thing you need right now. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I mutter, fervently hoping her voice is quieted enough that Cecelia isn’t able to hear anymore.Screaming is the last thing you need…yeah, because I’m a freak with ridiculous sensory issues who can’t handle loud noises.

“Why didn’t you call one of us?” she presses. “We could have come up there first thing.”

I rub a hand across the back of my neck, feeling tired. “It’s seriously fine.”

“How could it be fine? I know what that woman is like. I know what you’re like after you talk to her. You should not be alone right now.”

“I’m not alone.”

There’s a long pause. When she speaks again, her voice is careful. “Who are you with?”

Yeah, that’s not a conversation I want to have with Cecelia standing six feet away.

“Can we talk about this later? I’m fine, Em. Seriously. I’ll be home tomorrow.”