I swallowed, watching his fingers flick over the keys, bringing a familiar melody to life. It was the one he’d played the first night I’d met him at The Kinky Starfish.
What had he said it was called again? The Darkest Dawn?
“But,” Reese continued after a moment. “I’m still close with her entire family. Her parents are like the only family I still have, if I’m being honest.”
My eyes floated up to the one and only framed photo in the room we sat in, the family that stared back at Reese as he played. The man in the photo looked like Reese in ten years, and the woman standing next to him shared Reese’s smile. The girl in the photo, the one standing next to Reese, had his eyes.
And though I didn’t have details, I now had confirmation of what I’d always wondered.
They were gone.
His family was gone, just like my father.
“And yes,” he said, still playing that soft, sad melody. “We work together. So, I see her a lot. I see them all a lot.”
“All?”
He nodded, a sickening expression sweeping over his face. “Her. Her parents. Her husband,” he explained, pausing again before he dropped another bomb. “Her kids.”
“Kids?”
At that, he stopped playing, running his hands back through his hair with a huff. “Alright, that’s enough for today. We can pick up on this next week.”
Reese stood without another word and blew out of the room, leaving me alone on the bench. My eyes scanned the photo of the family on top of the piano, and I took a steadying breath before standing to follow.
He was in the kitchen, downing a glass of cold water as I slid onto one of the barstools. He wouldn’t meet my gaze, just stared at his hands splayed on the granite between us, and I knew in that moment he felt ashamed. Something told me he didn’t open up like this to anyone, that maybe I was the first one he’d talked to about Charlie.
And I heard him in my head, asking me to be vulnerable, to sit down at his piano and bleed.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to if I didn’t start opening up, too.
“I’ve never been in love,” I whispered.
Reese looked at me then, the crease between his brows softening. “Never?”
I shook my head.
He stared at me for a long moment, like he wasn’t sure what to say. But the longer he looked, the more his shoulders relaxed. I hoped the change in subject was a welcome relief.
“I honestly find that incredibly hard to believe,” he said, standing straighter as he watched me.
I wrapped my hand around the crystal hanging from my neck with a shrug. “Yeah, well, the piano was the only boyfriend I ever really had time for. I prioritized it over everything, including any social outing that might have somehow landed me in a romantic relationship. The only boyfriends I ever had were the dukes and kings and princes in my favorite books.”
Reese smirked. “That’s what makes you different, you know that right?”
“What, the fact that I tanked my social life so I could focus on piano? And still do?”
“Exactly that. I mean, look at me. I have the talent. I was born with it, as unfair as that is. It just always came naturally to me. And I love playing, I think that’s obvious.” He shrugged. “But, I wouldn’t make the sacrifices to get anywhere with it. There’s a reason I have my masters from Juilliard and I’m a teacher at a prep school in Pennsylvania, playing at The Kinky Starfish for extra cash.”
“You didn’t want it,” I assessed.
And he agreed. “I didn’t want it. Not bad enough to do what it takes, anyway. For me, just being able to play piano and make enough to pay my bills has always been enough. Past that?” He shook his head. “I didn’t have the drive you do. And that’s what makes you different. It’s what will make you successful.”
I smiled, crossing my arms over my chest as my eyes fell to the granite, a blush spreading on my cheeks. “Thank you.”
It was strange, hearing such a genuine compliment from my teacher. The first few teachers I worked with were harsh, showing their love in the way they yelled at me or demanded more from my playing. And I accepted that, because I just assumed that’s how it worked. The same was true when I went to Bramlock, when I started working with the professor who would ultimately drive me to injury.
I swallowed, his face clear in my mind as that box I’d shoved him in creaked open.
“So,” Reese said, pulling me back to the moment. “Is that why you said no to Danny when he asked you out?”
My chest tightened, thoughts still caught back on a warm night in December in north Florida. I shook them away, clamping my figurative hands on the lid of the box threatening to open and spill out all over the counter between us. I considered for the briefest moment being honest in my response to Reese’s question about Danny, considered telling him the truth. But I didn’t know where to even start. I didn’t know how to tell Reese — or anyone — what had happened to me.
And there was no point in telling anyone, anyway.
I’d learned that lesson.
“I can’t really say yes to anyone right now,” I said, voice soft and low. “Right now, it’s just about the piano for me.”
And I can’t stomach the thought of anyone else touching me because the only one who ever has didn’t ask me before he did.
I felt Reese’s eyes on me, and I knew he wanted to ask more questions. I knew he saw the same pain in me that I saw in him. And maybe that was the only reason we saw it at all — because we lived it. You had to understand what that felt like to be able to recognize it, like there was an exclusive club for the eternally heartbroken.
“You did good today,” he said after a moment. “We’re making progress already, and it’s only been a few weeks. So, just know your dedication is paying off.”
I smiled, making a noise with my next breath before popping off the barstool and looking at Reese. “Awesome. Looks like I have a prayer of saving my long-term relationship with my piano boyfriend, after all.”
Reese chuckled at that, and we slipped back into easy conversation as we went over my homework until we saw each other for our next lesson. He walked me to the door, the same way he had with Charlie, and I climbed into my car with my chest still tight.
I stared at the wheel with the key in the ignition but not turned for what felt like a lifetime, Charlie’s eyes in my mind just as much as my professor’s.
Reese and I shared a similar pain, but there was a difference — because he didn’t run from his.
I’d fled Bramlock the morning after my professor assaulted me, too much of a coward to even tell my roommate that I wasn’t coming back. And here was Reese, living day in and day out with the woman he loved, the woman who didn’t love him in return, prancing around him and reminding him of everything he had lost.
They worked together.
He was a part of their family.
Reese thought I was the dedicated one, the strong one, the driven one. I may have given up what was necessary to chase my dream, but it was him who was strong. It was him who was dedicated.
He loved that woman so much that he put himself through a daily self-flagellation just to keep her in his life.
I didn’t know how to feel about that. I didn’t know if I was even allowed to feel anything at all.
But as I turned the key and backed out of his driveway, it was the only thing on my mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
* * *
Reese
The following week, Sarah stood beside me backstage at the end-of-the-year concert with wide eyes and hands wringing together like she wanted to squeeze the sweat out of them.
“You’re going to be fine,” I assured her, straightening one of my students’ ties. He smiled up at me when I was done, scampering off to join his friends as I stood again. “And once you hear these kids play, you’ll understand why you shouldn’t be nervous at all. They’re still learning basics.”
“I’m not nervous,” she fi
nally said.
I cocked a brow. “Those three words are the most you’ve said since you got here.”
Sarah smiled, letting her shoulders relax a little. “I’m just excited. It reminds me of my recitals when I was younger. I mean, we did shows at Bramlock, but I couldn’t ever get excited about those, because they were always for a grade. You know?” She shrugged. “Today, I just get to play for me.”
“You get to play for you,” I agreed with a nod. “You know, it’s been so long since I was in school, I almost forgot that pressure. Of course, for me, it wasn’t bad — mostly because I didn’t give a shit about anything.”
Sarah smirked.
“But, for you? For someone who cares and wants to excel?” I shook my head. “I can’t even imagine that kind of pressure. And your uncle told me your professor at Bramlock was Wolfgang Edison. He’s a legend, an absolute legend. I mean, his parents even named him Wolfgang,” I added with a laugh. “He was literally born to play. I’m sure that was a lot of added pressure, being taught by him.”
I glanced over at Sarah, and when I did, my smile slid from my face like a runny egg. Her wide, cat-like eyes were doubled in size now, like she’d seen a ghost, and her face was pale and long. She didn’t respond to my assessment, and my stomach sank with the realization that I’d said something wrong, said something to make her nervous when she’d been only excited.
“Sarah?” I reached for her, but she cleared her throat and moved away from the touch. I still had that hand extended toward her when someone else’s hand clapped me on the shoulder.
“Ah, another year come to an end,” Mr. Henderson said, sidling up beside me. “You know, this concert has only gotten better since you’ve been with us, Reese. I was just talking to some parents out on the floor, and they all agree.”
Sarah was staring at the piano on the stage — the one waiting for her — like it was a bomb she knew would detonate at any moment. She wouldn’t look at me, and my stomach sank further as I tore my gaze from her, forcing a smile at her uncle, instead.
Way to fucking go, Reese.
“I’m just thankful to be here,” I said, sliding my hands in the pockets of my slacks.
“Ah, we’re lucky to have you,” Mr. Henderson said. He always looked like he’d just indulged in a glass of wine, his cheeks high and rosy, smile a little too wide as he turned his gaze to his niece. “And we’re extra lucky to have you, Sarah. It’s been so long since I’ve watched you perform…” He shook his head. “How old were you last time? Fifteen?”
Sarah blinked, but otherwise, didn’t acknowledge her uncle’s question.
I cleared my throat, leaning toward Mr. Henderson. “She’s a little nervous. Why don’t we give her some space to get ready, I wanted to go over the program with you one last time, anyway.”
He winked conspiratorially, offering one last break a leg to his niece before we made our way farther backstage. I glanced over my shoulder at Sarah, hoping she was relieved to have us gone, but she didn’t move an inch.
She was still staring at that piano.
I should have been focusing on what Mr. Henderson was saying as we roamed around backstage, should have had my attention fixed on Charlie as she trotted over to us with last-minute changes. But all the while, I listened to them and spoke to them with my mind on an earlier conversation.
I ran through everything I’d said to Sarah, wondering where I’d gone wrong. I wondered if just talking about Bramlock made her uncomfortable, if it reminded her of her injury. Or maybe she missed her professor. I knew I would have seen me as a downgrade from Wolfgang Edison, but it had been Sarah who’d asked her uncle if he could get her lessons with me. She’d been the one to ask for me by name.
Still, something I’d said had rattled her. And I felt the weight of that guilt as her uncle introduced her on stage, bringing the concert to a start. It was too late to do anything about it now. All I could do was hope I hadn’t messed her up too bad, hadn’t shaken her confidence so much that it’d show in her playing. It didn’t stop me from feeling like an ass as I tucked myself behind the stage right curtains, watching the light and shadows play on her face as she took her seat on the bench.
The room applauded politely, and Sarah smiled briefly at them before tilting her head to each side and stretching her wrists out in front of her. She rolled them twice, and when she dropped them to the piano, her eyes caught mine for the briefest second.
That second felt like a lifetime.
I didn’t believe in a god, but if there was one, I was sure he’d touched the hand of time then, holding it still, stretching one second until it felt like hours. I’d also have sworn he’d unveiled my student in that slow stretch of time, that he’d helped her remove a mask I didn’t even realize she was wearing — perhaps, no one did.
Sarah Henderson may have been my student, and she may have been my boss’s niece, and she may have been sixteen years younger than me. None of that changed the fact that she was irrefutably the most beautiful entity to ever grace that stage.
Her long lashes graced her high cheeks as she blinked, eyes watching me from where I stood backstage. Those eyes were dark and deep, like an endless pool of emotion that had yet to be locked down with a word to describe it. Her full lips parted in a breath, her shoulders pulling away from her ears as she relaxed, and I found myself taking a breath with her. As usual, she was dressed modestly, covered from collarbone to ankle in the flowy dress she wore. But for the first time since I’d known her, she wasn’t wearing black or burgundy or navy blue. This dress wasn’t dark at all. It was bright, cheery, a mustard-yellow that painted her like a sun. The contrast of color made it hard not to appreciate the unique umber shade of her skin, the dark freckles that speckled her cheeks — and the crystal that hung from her neck sparkled in the light like a tiny chandelier.
Why was it that I hadn’t seen her, not really, not until that exact moment?
All of that hit me in the one split second she held my gaze, and then, the hand of time kicked back in gear, and her eyes descended to the piano. In the next breath, her hands began to move, and I slipped away with her to another planet.
I’d listened to Sarah play in my home for the last month. I’d watched her sit there at my piano, her brows furrowed and delicate fingers stretching out over the ivory keys I’d played on for years. But in all those times, I’d never seen her play. We’d been practicing, working on technique, focusing on tension, tackling the hurdle of emoting while working.
That wasn’t how she played on that stage.
For the first time, I felt the song Sarah was playing. We hadn’t discussed which one she would choose, but as she played through the slow, melancholy notes of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody, I felt all the things that made me human slip away like she’d stripped me bare — along with the rest of that audience. Her body moved in time with the rests, her eyes closing in the most powerful moments before shooting open as her fingers moved quickly over the keys.
The song started with these long, dramatic and deep notes with purposeful rests, but as the song stretched, so did her fingers, picking up tempo and flying over the keys in what seemed like an impossible feat if you were anyone who hadn’t been studying piano your entire life. I knew the kind of concentration it took to accomplish the musicality of the piece she was playing, and somehow, she made it seem effortless, like her hands were moving of their own accord and she was just the body that hosted them.
She was spectacular.
Time shrank away with her on that stage, and before I could grasp what we’d seen, what we’d heard, Sarah was standing and the crowd was cheering in a deafening roar. Her uncle screamed from beside me, his pinkies shoved in his mouth as he whistled around them, tears glossing his eyes.
I scanned the audience and found he wasn’t the only one moved to tears.
The entire room was on their feet, many of the parents blotting wetness from the corners of their eyes. I knew Sarah had moved them, and perhaps they were
even envisioning their own children being able to play like her one day. I wondered if they’d ask me, if they’d inquire if their kids stood a chance to do what she’d just done.
And I wondered if I’d have the heart to tell them there wasn’t a chance in hell.
We may have only been working together for a month, but it was long enough for me to know that no one worked as hard as Sarah Henderson. She would make it not just because of her talent, but because of the sheer drive she had to get to where she wanted to be.
Sarah was an unstoppable force, like a Category 5 hurricane, and we’d all just been wrecked by her power.
When she finally made her way backstage, the crowd still cheering, her uncle wrapped her up in a bear hug while talking a thousand miles a minute. It was actually quite comical to watch, since she was taller than him. I just stood to the side, letting them have their family moment before Mr. Henderson scurried back out to the stage to introduce the first group of students.
It was just me and Sarah, then.
She worried her bottom lip as her eyes found mine, one hand floating up to clasp her crystal necklace like she’d find the thoughts in my head if she rubbed it hard enough. “Well?”
I laughed. “Well?” I tucked my hands in my pockets and took a step toward her, shaking my head. My voice was low, meant for only her to hear when I spoke again. “You were sensational, Sarah.”
Her cheeks flamed, that bottom lip slipping from between her teeth as she smiled. She let out a long, exaggerated breath, like she’d genuinely been worried. That just made me laugh harder.
“I felt it, Reese. For the first time since…” She paused, swallowing. “Since my injury, I sat down at that piano and wasn’t afraid of it. I was ready — ready to bleed, to be vulnerable, to trust the keys again.”
I nodded, because I knew that feeling — that sensation of coming home again. It wasn’t the piano that ever changed, or ever left. It was the human who played it that shifted over time. And sometimes, that made it hard to ever come back together, to ever find that same relationship.
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 60