My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, and I pressed my fingertips hard over the skin, massaging it as tears pooled in my eyes.
I remembered a time when the thought of him refusing sex would have been laughable. If anything, it was hard for me to keep up with his desire. But time had changed everything. It’d changed me, him, the way we were together. It’d changed our circumstances, our futures, and so much more.
Time had wedged miles between us quickly, but it was taking its sweet time bringing us back together.
I wasn’t sure if it ever really would.
When Cameron’s breathing slowed and a soft snore let me know he was asleep, I slipped from the sheets and into the bathroom once more. I closed the door behind me quietly, turning the lock, and then I leaned my back against it with a sigh. The tears I’d been fighting back fell in perfect symmetry with the closing of my eyes, but I swiped them away quickly, crossing the beautiful pearl tile to run a hot bath.
My mind wandered as I sat at the edge of the tub watching the water rush in, my fingers lazily dancing across the top of it. I liked the way it bubbled out around my fingertips if I pressed into the water just enough, but not too much to submerge them.
And as my eyes lost focus, memories flooded in.
Cameron and I that night after the bonfire — the bubbles in the bath and in our champagne, too.
I heard his laugh like it was my own voice, felt his hands like they’d never left, saw his eyes, the way they’d adored me, as if they were a permanent stain in my memory.
But they weren’t.
All of it had faded, and it was my fault.
When the tub was full, I turned the faucet until the water ceased, and then I sank into it slowly. The tub was wide and deep, exactly how I’d always wanted — one that could cover every inch of me. My neck and head were the only things exposed, and I leaned back against the porcelain, eyes drifting up to the ceiling before they closed.
At first I thought of nothing, other than how good the hot water felt as it warmed me. It was nice, to exist in a blissful moment of warmth inside such a dark night that had left me so cold. But once my body adjusted to the warmth, my brain slowly sputtered back to life.
I thought of Cameron again, but that only ignited that zing inside my chest, so I pushed those thoughts away quickly. Nothing stuck for too long before I was moving on to the next thing — my lesson plans, what I wanted to do in the garden that weekend, what I needed to get started on for Mom’s fundraiser.
And somehow, before I knew it even happened, I was thinking about Reese.
Thoughts of him hit me quickly, and once they did, I was surprised I’d thought of him at all. Then again, I was also surprised it’d taken me this long. Something had shifted in me that night, standing at the fence that used to separate our homes. Reese was a bird landing softly in the rough seas of my life, seemingly out of place yet so confident and calm in his landing that it only made sense he belonged.
I’d smiled so much in one evening, truly smiled, that my cheeks ached.
And I’d also cried in his arms.
When his family was killed, I’d barely even told Cameron. It was after our own loss, and I wasn’t sure how he would handle me grieving over another one. So, I’d cried for Mallory alone, longed to reach out to Reese, knowing there was nothing I could say to make any of it better.
I knew, because there were no words that could heal a loss like that. There was only time, and time didn’t rush for anyone.
It almost hurt more that Reese didn’t hold anything against me, that he didn’t fault me for not reaching out to him. I hadn’t kept in touch with Mallory even before her death. I’d felt slighted by her leaving Mount Lebanon. She was two years older than me, and it was the only time in our friendship that I ever saw that as an issue. She was leaving, so was Reese, and I had to stay to finish high school without my two best friends.
It wasn’t until I’d met Cameron that I ever opened up to anyone else again.
I’d started crying in Reese’s arms thinking about Mallory, about his parents, but somewhere along the way I’d began crying for something else. It was something I couldn’t quite put my finger on — not until I was alone.
It was then that I finally realized it. Part of me was just crying at the way it felt to be held.
I’d almost forgotten.
The way his arms had wrapped around me, the comfort they’d brought, and the way his eyes had found mine when he pulled away — it had all left me breathless.
Reese wasn’t the same boy who’d left town fourteen years ago. He was older now, his hair longer, his chest wider, the muscles in his arms more pronounced. Still, just being around him brought me back to the sixteen-year-old girl I once was, to a time when the world only seemed like infinite possibility and joy to be discovered.
Before the water turned cold, I reached one hand between my tense thighs to relieve the ache there. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep until I found what I’d been so desperate for that evening.
So, I worked myself to a release, thinking of Cameron the entire time. I replayed our kiss, imagined what it would have felt like to have his hands on my body again, thought of how warm his muscles had been under my wandering hands.
Just before I came, another man snapped into my thoughts for one single second. It was just a flash, one that sent me spiraling, and when my orgasm faded and my breaths evened out, the image disappeared and guilt seeped in to take its place.
I flushed, hands running back through my wet hair as I shook my head in disbelief.
It’s just the alcohol, I assured myself. I couldn’t even be sure if I’d really imagined him at all, the impression fading quickly like sand washed by the sea. I stared at the smooth shoreline of my mind and willed it to show me something, anything, but it was tired — and so was I.
My eyes traveled up to the ceiling, and I kept them there, wondering who I was. Wondering if I was even anyone at all anymore.
Then I sank down farther and farther, holding my breath just as the hot water covered my nose. I let it wash away my sin like it’d never even happened.
CHAPTER SIX
* * *
Reese
The following Wednesday, I leaned up against the door frame of Charlie’s classroom. I let my aide take our kids down to lunch a little early so I could walk down to the kindergarten wing. I hadn’t seen Charlie since Friday night, and when I finally did, I smiled.
She was bent down beside one of the small round tables where a group of four kids sat. Three of them were girls, all who were talking to each other as they dropped various objects into the little tub of water in front of them. They’d converse together, scream out sink or float, and then giggle in delight as they found out which it was.
But Charlie wasn’t tuned into them. Instead, she was talking softly with the boy at the table, one with dark hair and bright blue eyes. He was looking at a book of bugs, and Charlie pointed to each one, reading the description next to it as the little boy traced the pictures with his fingertips. He looked up at her from time to time, his little eyes wide and curious, and she smiled down at him with the same adoration.
As I watched her, I realized how much I’d missed her.
It had been a long, boring first weekend in Mount Lebanon. I met up with a few old friends in town on both Saturday and Sunday, all of whom I quickly discovered I’d grown apart from. I was so over the forced conversation and awkward looks of sympathy by the time Monday rolled around, all I wanted was to see the one familiar face that still actually felt familiar.
But Charlie hadn’t shown up for lunch on Monday, and I was disappointed by her absence on Tuesday, too.
Maybe she was just busy, but something told me there was a reason she was avoiding that café.
After a few moments, Charlie glanced at the watch on her hand and stood, smoothing her hands over her white skirt. “Okay, everyone. It’s time for lunch. Line up single file by Miss Robin.”
I laugh
ed as they all jumped up, hurrying to find their places in line. Robin made sure she had them all in order before she held up one finger to her lips. They all mimicked her, stifling laughter, and then I swung out from the door frame to allow them to pass by. A few of them giggled when I made faces as they passed, which earned them a stern look from Miss Robin. I chuckled, and once they’d gone, I turned back to Charlie.
She was humming a slow tune, her back turned to me as she tidied up the tables. I couldn’t help but study her for a while. She seemed tired, her dark eyes tinged with a bit of sadness that matched the tone of the song she sang. Somewhere inside that thirty-year-old woman, there was a sixteen-year-old girl. I’d seen a hint of her Friday night. She was still there, but she was hiding.
I just didn’t know why.
“You know, you’re not supposed to have favorites,” I said with a gentle rap of my knuckles on the door frame.
Charlie jumped a little, pressing a hand to her chest with a small smile once she realized it was me.
“What’s his story?” I asked, nodding toward the table where the little boy had been sitting.
She shook her head, gathering a handful of colored pencils and dropping them into the box on the middle of the table. “I don’t have favorites,” she argued with a shrug. “Jeremiah just learns a little slower than the others, he needs a little more one-on-one attention.”
“What you mean to say is he’s one of the few who isn’t a complete brat?”
She smirked then, casting me a sideways glance as she pushed a chair in. “You’re a brat.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m sure.” She laughed, pulling a stray strand of hair up that had fallen at the nape of her neck. She tucked it back into place with a bobby pin. “Did you need something?”
“Just a lunch buddy,” I replied hopefully. “I know you were only forced into one week of lunch dates with me, but I’ve been pretty lonely this week. The other teachers said I smell.”
“Well, they aren’t wrong, are they?”
“Smelly teachers need love, too.” That earned me another smile, which I’d come to cherish from Charlie, so I took a few steps closer, sliding my hands inside my pockets. “Besides, I have something for you.”
Her doe eyes found mine then. “For me?”
I nodded. “Come on. Grab your lunch and let’s go. I’ll have you back before the kids, I promise.”
She chewed her thumbnail, shaking her head when she realized she was doing it and quickly drying it on her skirt. It was strange, like she didn’t trust me, or maybe like she didn’t trust herself. But I waited patiently. I wasn’t in a rush.
After a long moment, she grabbed her scarf from her desk and wrapped it around her neck. “Okay. But I only have thirty minutes.”
I smirked. “Deal.”
***
There were two libraries at Westchester — one for grades K through eight, and one for grades nine through twelve. Both were massive, two floors each, but the lower grade library was brighter, more colorful. We were hidden away in the back corner of the second floor, our lunches spread out on one of the private study tables. The library was quiet, save for our hushed conversation and the laughs coming from a middle school lunch study group a few aisles down.
“You’re good with them,” I said as I took the last bite of my soup. I licked the spoon clean, dropping it inside the Tupperware and popping the lid back in place. “The kids.”
Charlie smiled, twirling her own spoon around in her yogurt. She’d played with her food more than she’d eaten it, but I didn’t press her on it.
“It’s not hard to be. They’re so young. Creative. And it’s their first year of school. I get them at their happiest.”
“Not yet scathed by the rigorous Westchester curriculum, huh?”
“Exactly. Their homework is still fun at this age.”
“They’re going to hate it when they get to me.”
At that, Charlie laughed.
“They all really look up to you,” I added, tucking my empty Tupperware back into my bag. “I have some kids in my class who said they had you and you’re still they’re favorite teacher.”
“Really?”
I nodded, smiling at the tinge shading her fair cheeks. “Really. Quite the impression you’ve made on these little minds, Mrs. R—” I caught myself. “Pierce.”
She watched me for a moment before her eyes fell back to her spoon. “I love my job. It sounds silly, but I’ve always wanted to do this. I’ve always wanted to teach. It doesn’t feel like work to me, coming to Westchester every morning.” She smiled. “It’s where I’m happiest.”
My chest tightened at her admission. Part of me was glad for her, that she’d found what she loved to do, that she’d secured a job that wouldn’t ever feel like a job to her. But the other, stronger half of me wondered why her home wasn’t where she was happiest. In my opinion, it should have been.
“I didn’t know I wanted to teach until after I’d tutored for a while at Juilliard,” I admitted. “I always kind of thought performing for crowds was what made me happiest. But all the restaurant gigs I had, all the weddings and parties, even Broadway — none of that made me feel as good as it did when I taught a kid how to read music, or how to perfect a piece they’d been struggling with.”
Charlie finally took a bite of her yogurt with a smile. “It’s pretty magical, isn’t it? Nothing in the world like that feeling.”
“There really isn’t.”
“Do you still play?” she asked. “Outside of the classroom, I mean.”
My chest tightened, and I shifted in my seat. “I’ve thought about maybe finding something in Pittsburgh. It’s been hard, since… everything,” I admitted, catching her eyes. She understood what I didn’t have to say. “Playing doesn’t really bring me joy the way it used to. Before.”
Her face bent. “That makes me so sad. You play more beautifully than anyone else I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, well,” I said with a shrug. “My ability to play like that faded pretty fast after everything happened. Almost as fast as the inheritance my family left for me.”
“Blew it, huh?” Charlie asked.
I smirked like it wasn’t a big deal, but the memories of long nights spent doping and throwing my money away hit me like a fist to the chest. “Surprised?”
“A little.” She tilted her head to one side. “I’m sorry, Reese. I know it doesn’t help or mean anything, but I am.”
I watched Charlie dip the spoon back in her yogurt, both of us quiet.
“Some of the teachers are getting together for happy hour on Friday,” I said after a minute, changing the subject. “You should come.”
She shot me a look under one lifted brow. “Not really my scene.”
“What? Can’t throw down with the crew for a while?”
“I barely talk to any of the other teachers,” she confessed. “And besides, I have a date with Cameron that night.”
“Oh.”
It should have been easy to hear her say that. It should have hit me like common sense. She was going on a date with her husband, as she should on a Friday night.
But it sliced through me like a rusty blade on an old wound.
“That’ll be nice. I was bummed I didn’t get to spend more time with him at dinner this past weekend.”
Charlie paused, lifting another spoonful of yogurt to her lips. But she dropped it back into the tub without taking a lick. “Yeah, just bad timing, since there was a game that night. I’m sure he would have loved to get to know you more, too.”
“I’m sure. Next time,” I said, hoping to comfort her, but she just chewed her thumbnail.
Lunch was almost over, and it didn’t feel like the smoothest segue in the world, but I was running out of time. Swallowing, I reached into my messenger bag for the gift I’d brought her. It was wrapped in simple brown parchment paper with her name in neat script on the front. I slid it toward her with two fingers, watchi
ng as she eyed it before glancing up at me.
“What is it?”
“Well, open it and find out,” I teased.
She ran her fingers over the top of the paper as she pulled it closer, her nude nail polish nearly blending in with it. A strand of her hair fell out of place and over her eye as she ripped the first piece of wrapping, and that’s all it took for her to cover her mouth with a gasp.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, peeling the paper back slowly. “Is this…”
“It is. The one and only good thing I have to show from my inheritance.”
She shook her head, glancing up at me briefly before unwrapping the book all the way. It was an old copy of Anna Karenina, one that would have likely been thrown in a donation bin by the unsuspecting average American. The lower right-hand corner of the dark brown cloth cover was badly bent, the spine stretched and worn, and as she flipped through the pages, she revealed the various stains that riddled the pages within.
To someone else, it would have been trash. But to her, it was gold.
“It’s a first edition,” she said, almost as a question. “It’s beautiful. Where in the world did you find it?” She narrowed her eyes then. “Wait, is this one of your surprises? Please tell me you didn’t steal this from Juilliard.”
I barked out a laugh.
“Nope, actually bought this one. It wasn’t too long after the shooting, actually,” I said, voice softer as I watched Charlie flip through the pages as gently as she could. “I passed by an older couple selling books out of old boxes in front of a bookstore in Manhattan. They were closing their doors after ninety years. It was the woman’s father’s store before he passed it on to her.”
Charlie’s brows bent together. “That’s so sad.”
“It is. But they were in good spirits. They told me a lot of great stories, and I bought a few books from them, this one included.”
She shook her head, closing the book to run her fingers over the gold text on the cover. “This must have cost a small fortune, Reese.”
“They practically paid me to take it,” I lied. “Trust me, it would have been crazy for me not to buy it at the price they offered.”
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 6