“I think I’m ready to play the song.”
***
Sarah
Reese wouldn’t look at me.
Not as he unlocked his door, letting me into his foyer first before he came in behind me. Not as Rojo nearly knocked me over, barking and wagging her tail in joy at seeing us both. Not as he steered her through the house and out the back door, letting her outside. And not as he silently poured us each a glass of water, one hand unfastening the tie around his neck as the other handled the pitcher.
I watched him yank on the tie from where I sat at the kitchen counter, my palms damp, heart racing. My gaze bounced around, landing on him for only a brief moment before I’d look at the glasses he was pouring water into, or the paintings that hung on his wall, or at Rojo, who was roaming around the kitchen with a toy in her mouth, tail wagging.
I couldn’t look at him very long, either. Not with him dressed like that.
Not with him looking so handsome I wanted to cry.
Jennifer had been with him all night looking like that. She’d been able to stare at his bright smile across what I imagined to be a candle-lit table. She’d been the reason his hair was styled and neat, his jaw freshly shaved, his hard, god-like body covered in a tailored, charcoal suit that brought an edge to him I’d never seen before.
And as he let that tie fall loose around his neck, popping open two buttons on his dress shirt with a sigh of relief, I found I had to tear my eyes away again.
“How was your date?” I asked, breaking the silence as he replaced the water pitcher inside his fridge.
A short, snuff of a laugh came from his nose. “It’s nine-thirty and I’m already home.” He paused, locking eyes on mine. “Alone. So, how do you think it went?”
He slid me one of the waters, staring at the one in his hand before shaking his head. He dipped back inside the fridge, this time pulling out a beer and leaving the glass of water behind. He cracked the can open, chugging half of it in one go.
I stared at the glass in my hand.
“Why are you here, Sarah?”
I lifted my gaze, and I wanted to die when I met his eyes. He watched me like me being in that house with him was the most painful thing, like he was trying to breathe clean oxygen and I was a roaring fire, causing him to inhale hot, black smoke, instead. And when my eyes fell to his lips, my stomach twisted painfully at the smudge of red that marred them.
He’d kissed her.
Of course he’d kissed her.
“I… I told you,” I said, swallowing, hands still fastened around my full glass of water as I tore my eyes away from his lips. “I think I’m ready to play the song.”
“Right.” Reese’s grip tightened on the can of beer in his hand. “But, our lesson is tomorrow. Why did you come tonight?”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I ripped my gaze from his, taking a tentative sip of water before I pushed the glass away. I couldn’t even drink that without my stomach churning in protest. I felt sick — from the day, the week, the news from Reneé, the sight of Reese dressed up for another woman.
But I couldn’t say any of that.
There was only one way I could communicate in that moment.
“Please,” I finally said, voice barely a whisper as I looked up at him once more. “Just… please, let me play. I think I have it. I think I can play it now.”
Reese finally looked at me then — really looked at me — his eyes softening as he considered my plea. After a long moment, he sighed, running his hand over his face before taking another sip of his beer. Then, without a word or a nod or a confirmation of any kind, he turned, leaving me in the kitchen as he rounded the corner into the piano room.
He was just like the man I’d first met.
Gone was my warm, tender Reese who laughed and played, who skated in the park with me and rubbed his dog’s belly in the sunshine. He’d been replaced by the cold, quiet Reese I’d first met.
And somehow, I felt like I was to blame.
I followed him into the room where his piano was, and he was already in his corner, arms folded over his chest where he waited in the shadows. He must have wiped his mouth, or perhaps it was the beer, but the traces of red lipstick he’d worn before were gone now. The room was dark, save for a candle I assumed he’d just lit, and the flame of it flickered around us as I took my seat at the bench.
I flipped the wood cover up, exposing the ivory keys as I tried to steady my breath. I didn’t expect to be nervous, not when I’d played at that piano so many times for Reese, but I was shaking, too aware of the man in the corner of the room. My hands floated over the keys, touching each one softly as I warmed up, the pedal giving way to my foot under the bench. I took my time, loosening my wrists and relaxing my shoulders as I played.
Once I was warm, I pulled my hands away, stretching them up above the keys and rolling my wrists a few times. I cracked my neck next, blowing out a long, slow breath. I felt Reese there in the corner, watching me, waiting — but when I closed my eyes, he was gone. When I closed my eyes, I was exactly where the song said I should be.
At the piano in my mother’s home.
I could see it — our old house, the octagon-shaped window with the crack in the veneer. I could feel the sun shining through it, touching that same spot it always did on my left forearm as I played. I smelled the vanilla and lavender, two of mom’s favorite scents, and I felt the long, shaggy carpet under my toes as I played. I was no longer in Reese’s home, but in ours. In the one we’d left behind. In the one I’d never forget.
There, in the corner, instead of Reese, it was her. It was Mom.
And Dad was there with her.
***
Reese
The minute Sarah opened her mouth and sang the first line of Sampha’s song, every ounce of pent-up frustration I’d been carrying around with me all night melted away.
Her eyes were closed, body moving with her hands in a dramatic bend and flow as she poured her heart out at my piano. The strong, raspy voice that came from that girl nearly knocked me off my feet. It was the last thing I expected — the power, the strength — and yet once I heard her, I wondered how I could have ever imagined anything else.
How could I have ever assumed her voice would be soft, sweet, gentle and tentative when everything about her screamed the opposite?
Sarah was the embodiment of strength, of pain, of healing. And in that moment, in my dark little piano room, I watched the woman I’d always known was inside her all along bloom to life.
She emerged from the shadows like an angel, breaking through the shell of the girl who had imprisoned her. But unlike an angel, she didn’t glow softly or sing lightly — she roared, like a wildfire or a lioness, and she belted out the lyrics of Sampha’s song like she were the creator, herself.
Her fingers moved over that piano like I’d never seen before, her shoulders relaxed, face twisting up with emotion more and more as the song progressed. And when she sang the part of the piece I predicted would hit her hardest, when she sang of the time coming, of the loss of a loved one and how the piano held her close and never let her go, she broke.
Right there, at the same piano Charlie had once sat on top of while she listened to me play, the same piano I’d sat at as I mourned everyone who’d ever left me, and the same piano that had once sat in my mother’s home… Sarah Henderson broke.
Her eyes squeezed shut even tighter, bottom lip trembling as she tripped over the lyrics, the emotion too strong. Her fingers stalled, an unscripted pause somehow making the song even stronger as she succumbed to the tears fighting their way through her closed eyelids. I watched those tears stain her face, running over the same dried treadmarks I’d noticed when she was on my front porch, and my next breath burned with the need to hold her and wipe those tears away.
Just like I knew she would, she felt the song.
She felt it the same way I did.
And though she sang about no one knowing her like the piano, I knew n
ow that it wasn’t true.
I knew her, too.
And she knew me.
Sarah was still crying as she sang the last few words, and I was already moving toward her, abandoning my spot in the corner of the room. Her eyes blinked open when I took the seat on the bench next to her, and my hands found the keys alongside hers. We finished the song together, playing the end with tears still streaming down Sarah’s face, and when the last note floated between us, my hands hovered over the keys, but Sarah’s flew to her face.
She buried her pain inside those beautiful hands — the hands that had just brought to life the most emotional piece of music I’d ever heard in my home — and softly, quietly, she sobbed. Her small shoulders shook, and every piece of me broke along with her.
I wished I could save her, wished I could go back in time and take away every single shred of impurity that had ever touched her. I wished I could undo the pain, the hurt, and see her as she once was — whole, untouched, unscathed.
But then again, I knew it was her pain that made her so beautiful.
It was her strength, her unyielding drive, her unwillingness to ever give up or give in that I admired most.
And it was everything she’d been through that allowed her to play with the emotion she just did.
Still, I wished it didn’t have to be that way for her.
The silence stretched between us as I pulled my hands from the piano, my heart breaking for the woman crying next to me. And though I knew I shouldn’t, though I tried to fight against the urge, I couldn’t help but reach for her. It was like trying not to watch the stars that peppered a dark sky — absolutely impossible.
And when I surrendered the fight, when my arms surrounded her and pulled her into me, when Sarah sobbed even harder, burying her face in my chest and twisting her tiny fists in my dress shirt, I knew there was no other place in the world I would rather be.
For the longest time, I held her there against me, soothing her as best I could as she fell apart. It was like she was shedding her skin in the most painful way, fully embracing the raw, ragged being beneath the exterior that had been begging to be set free. Her pain was palpable, and it bled into me like ink on paper, spreading over me in a way that would permanently change me forever.
Eventually, her sobs grew softer, her grip on my shirt loosening as she sniffed, but still, I held her. And she held me.
Even though the room was completely silent, I still heard her voice. I could close my eyes and see her moving with the music, changing right before me like a butterfly emerging from its cocoon. And when her sobs had finally quieted altogether, her breathing steady once more, I pulled back, the tips of my fingers gently finding the smooth skin of her jaw. I lifted, reveling in the feel of her warmth against me as her eyes finally met mine.
“Sarah,” I breathed, searching her honey eyes as they glistened in the soft flicker of the candlelight. “What you just did, it was more than anything I ever could have expected. It was otherworldly,” I said, trying to explain, though words seemed to fail me in that moment. “It was more beautiful than I could ever say. And I know it hurt. I know it didn’t come easy.”
Her little face warped then, tears flooding her eyes again as she watched me.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whispered.
That broke the levy, the tears that had washed over her eyes breaking free and streaming down her cheeks. But before they could fall far, my rough hands were there, wiping them away, my eyes still searching hers for some kind of understanding as I tried to erase her pain.
Sarah leaned into my palm, closing her eyes as a long, slow breath escaped her parted lips. Then, her eyes opened again, connecting with mine in what felt like a new universe. She wasn’t the same girl who had walked through my door earlier that night. And when she looked at me, I felt her in a way I never had before.
In a way I’d never felt anyone.
“Reese?” she finally whispered.
“Yes?”
She sniffed, eyes flicking between mine as her fingers fisted in my shirt again. She pulled me closer, just a centimeter, and her gaze fell to my mouth before she spoke again.
“Will you kiss me again?”
I audibly groaned at her request, my next breath leaving my chest in a singeing burn. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, couldn’t pull away, couldn’t tamp down that feeling in my heart that her words had spawned. It beat loud and steady in my chest, urging me to answer her plea, to pull her into me and kiss her breathless.
“This is dangerous,” I said instead, the words croaking out of my dry throat. I still held her, and she held me, our eyes dancing across the short space between us. “I hurt you before, and I swore I never would again.”
“Please,” she spoke again, and this time, she broke with the word. Her eyes glossed, her bottom lip trembling before she sucked it between her teeth. “Please, Reese. Kiss me. Kiss me like I’ve never been kissed before, like I’m not damaged, like I’m new and whole and pure. Please,” she pleaded on another cry, swallowing as she tried to keep her composure while she broke what was left of the wall I’d put between us. “Erase the memories I have. Take away what I’ve seen and felt and fill me with the memories of this kiss, of a man touching me because he cares about me.” Sarah paused then, her hands twisting my shirt even more. “Of a man touching me who I want to touch me, and a man I want to to touch, too.”
My own eyes watered, but I sniffed back the urge to give in to those emotions. The pain I felt for her was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the admiration and care I felt for her, too. And in that moment, with that last request, there was only one thing I could do.
I kissed her.
My hands framed her face, pulling her into me with gentle care as my lips found hers, soft and surrendering, yet firm with desire. There was no one in the world I wanted more than Sarah, and I poured everything I had into that kiss to help her see it was true.
She bent under the weight of my lips, falling limp in my arms as I pulled her in closer. Her hands crawled up my chest, wrapping around my neck and into my hair as she tugged, asking for more. And I delivered, thumb brushing her jaw as I tilted my head to one side and slipped my tongue over her silk lips before she opened her mouth to let me inside. And when I tasted her — truly tasted her — a guttural groan erupted from my chest like a volcano.
Sarah gasped as I swept my tongue over hers, sliding my hands from her face to wrap around her small frame and pull her into me. The candlelight danced around us as we melted together, the kiss as alive as the hearts beating rapidly in our chests. Her hands explored me, mine held her, and when she finally broke for a breath, the energy between us crackled in an unbearable heat.
“Take me to bed,” she breathed, her eyes searching mine.
One arm swept under her legs, the other cradling her back as I lifted her from that bench and carried her across the house to my dark bedroom. The only light that reached us was from the moon outside my window, and it cast Sarah in a soft, cool glow as I gently laid her in my sheets. My lips were on hers in the next instant, stealing her breath again, my body sheltering hers as I slid between her legs. Her core was warm against me, and she gasped when I rocked my hips against her, letting her feel how much I wanted her, how much I needed her.
But I wouldn’t have her.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I wanted to make Sarah feel safe, and wanted, and cared for. I wanted to bring her pleasure, to let her slip away from reality for as long as she needed to. I didn’t know everything about what happened with Wolfgang, didn’t want to know how he violated her, how he stole something so precious from the most amazing woman I’d ever known. All I wanted was to erase those memories just like she asked me to, and replace them with those of a man reveling in the feel of her against him, in the absolute pleasure of being allowed to touch her.
I should have walked away. I knew it, distantly, like a voice screaming from some chamber in the depths of my mind. She was my
student. She was too young. I was too old, too broken myself to have a prayer of fixing her. But it was all I wanted, all I could think of or desire as I pulled her to stand with me at the edge of my bed, my lips still fastened to hers.
“Sarah,” I breathed, kissing her again as soon as her name rolled off my lips.
“Yes?”
My hands moved from her hips up to her neck, sliding just under the collar of the sweater she wore. “I’d like to undress you,” I whispered, pulling back until her eyes met mine. Both of us panted, our chests heaving with each breath, and her eyes widened in fear at my request. “But, I won’t — not if you don’t want to. Not if it scares you or if you don’t trust me.” I paused, swallowing as I searched for my next words. “You’re beautiful, Sarah. And I want to show you that. I want to make you feel it — the way I have since the moment I met you.”
The corner of her lips curved into a soft smile, but instead of answering me, she pulled away from my hold, backing up until she was in the low beam of moonlight that streamed through my window.
And with her eyes locked on mine, she tugged the zipper that lined the front of her sweater down, down, slow as ever as it revealed the top of the dress she wore beneath it. Her lips parted as she peeled it off one shoulder, and then the next, letting it fall to the floor at her feet.
It was the most I’d ever seen of her.
Her shoulders were dotted with the same freckles as her cheeks, and I counted each one as her hands fell to the front of her thighs. She bunched them into fists, the fabric of her dress lifting with the motion, and she repeated it over and over, slowly inching the hem of the skirt up until it was in her hands, her thighs and knees exposed beneath it. Then, in one fluid motion, she tugged it up and over her head, letting it fall next to the sweater.
And it wasn’t about her taking her clothes off. It wasn’t about her showing me her skin. That action, undressing herself — it was her taking back the power Wolfgang had stolen from her.
Best Kept Secrets (Complete Series) Page 72
