Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series

by Kandi Steiner

  And fight we did, Cameron and I. For months, we fought for that woman’s love, for her heart, and in the end, he won.

  Right then and there, I should have let go.

  I should have moved to a different city, or a different state altogether. I should have blocked them out of every facet of my life — starting with Charlie. But instead, I watched her from a distance at the school we both worked at, wishing she was mine, wishing there was someway to change her mind.

  I would never act on it, of course, and I’d made that vow to both myself and to her. I loved her, and because I loved her, I respected her decision. If Cameron was who she wanted, if he was who made her happy, then that was all that mattered to me.

  At least, it was… until I noticed Charlie’s stomach rounding, growing, and heard those two words from her lips.

  I’m pregnant.

  My stomach sank at the memory, and it slid all the way down to the icy driveway when I added in the news I’d received today. Because as hard as the hit was when I found out she was pregnant, it never could have measured up to what I would feel when she told me the child wasn’t mine.

  Daisy wasn’t mine.

  Eighteen long months had passed since the day Charlie walked through my door and told me she was staying with Cameron, and all that time I had wondered if that child in her belly was ours. When Daisy was born, it was too much for me to bare. I bit down my pride and went to her husband and I begged him to let me be a part of the child’s life — even if just as a distant “uncle.”

  And because Cameron is five times the man I am, he’d agreed.

  All this time, I’d wondered. All this time, I’d thought maybe…

  And today, Charlie had quieted my thoughts. She’d had a paternity test, and Daisy was Cameron’s.

  The door to my old car creaked when I opened it, and I ducked inside, ears ringing once the door was shut and I was alone in the too-silent vehicle. I shoved the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the engine. Instead, my hands fell to my lap, and I stared at the steering wheel as if it were to blame for everything.

  Then, I beat the shit out of it.

  Screams ripped from my throat as I lashed out, fists flying, and only the sound of a knuckle cracking and the horn ringing out stopped me. I gripped the wheel with both hands, chest heaving as I tried to school my breaths. My eyes fluttered shut, and I loosened my grip, running one hand back through my long hair before I let out a heavy sigh.

  That was it.

  The last thing tying me to Charlie turned out not to be a tie at all. She wasn’t mine, she hadn’t been for a long time… maybe not ever. But it wasn’t until that moment, until that final blow, that I really, truly believed it.

  I’d still had hope.

  I’d still thought there was a chance.

  And underneath it all, I was trying to hide the pathetic fact that I wasn’t anywhere near being over her or moving on.

  A year and a half, and she was still all I thought about. A year and a half, and she was still all I wanted.

  My phone dinged with another notification from the stupid dating app Charlie had convinced me to get on and I tore it from my pocket, deleting the app and all the messages that lived inside it with two taps of my finger.

  I let my head drop back against the head rest, and my heart squeezed painfully inside my chest. I was surprised I could even feel that ache anymore, surprised it hadn’t ebbed in any way as the months stretched and life marched on. I wondered if it was just a permanent part of me now, if there ever was a time I’d move on from Charlie Pierce.

  The possibility that Daisy was mine had been my final tie to her. I didn’t have an excuse to hold on any longer…

  And yet, I couldn’t imagine ever letting go.

  Five Months Later

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  Sarah

  The Kinky Starfish.

  My fingers rolled around the crystal hanging from my neck as I stared at the neon sign, the white script elegantly dancing around an artistic pink starfish. Uncle Randall was making jokes with the employee valeting his car, and he was still laughing when he slid up beside me, hand folding over my shoulder.

  I flinched away, and my uncle’s brows bent together before he dropped his hand back to his side.

  “Well, this is the place,” he said, eyes following mine up to the sign. We were both quiet for a long moment before he glanced at me again. “You know, you really don’t have to do this. You don’t need to work while you’re here. Just, focus on the reason you came, and—”

  “I have to work,” I interrupted. “I need to continue saving and I’m also going to pay you rent.”

  “You’re not paying us rent,” Uncle Randall said, almost as a laugh. “That’s absurd.”

  “But—”

  “Look,” he said, pulling me to the side so the other patrons of the restaurant could pass. His hands framed my arms, and I flinched again. “I know you have that same strong will as your mother, and I love that about both of you. But, please, Sarah — don’t worry about paying us rent. If you want to work and save up money, that I understand. Put the money you would pay us toward your savings, instead.” He smiled. “We are just tickled to have the time with our niece. We don’t get to see you near as often as we’d like, and we’re just happy to help you pursue this dream of yours.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but Uncle Randall raised one thick, white, caterpillar eyebrow, as if he dared me to try to beat him on this. We both knew I’d lose in the end.

  So, instead, I let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

  “That’s my girl,” he said. “Now, let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

  He trotted off in front of me, and I tucked my hands into the pockets of my coat before following.

  In my eyes, Pennsylvania had always been a winter wonderland. Uncle Randall was my father’s only brother, and he’d stayed here with their parents while my dad had gone south, attending university in Atlanta before entering the political circuit there. We’d visited Pennsylvania for nearly every Christmas, especially when my grandparents were alive, and I had memories of sledding with my dad and making hot cocoa with my mom. It was our getaway to a Christmas land, away from the southern heat and humidity.

  But it was May, summer ready to bloom, and Pennsylvania was different in the spring. The air still held a cool crisp as the wind swept past me, but the evening air was warm, the sun stretching its way lazily across the sky. It wasn’t a winter wonderland this time of year, but it would be my home for… well, I wasn’t exactly sure how long. However long it took to get me where I needed to be, I supposed. I was just thankful to my aunt and uncle for agreeing to take me in.

  And for getting me the connection to Reese Walker.

  The past year had challenged me, tested me, changed me. As if the injury I’d suffered that hindered my piano playing wasn’t enough, I’d been spread wide on the ground under the piano by the professor who was supposed to help me overcome my injury. He was supposed to help me get better, and instead, he’d taken the me that was partially broken and had completely shattered me.

  And I wanted to give up.

  I wanted to throw in the towel, quit, surrender. And that’s what I’d done when I’d gone home for winter break. I told my mom I wasn’t going back, and being that I was only a semester away from graduating, she didn’t like that. She didn’t understand. And when I’d shaved my head and completely changed my wardrobe?

  Well, she’d gone from concerned to absolutely distraught.

  My mother was a therapist, and though her specific focus was on failed marriage, she had always been locked into me as a growing child. She read my signs, my pleas for love and attention before I even understood them myself. So, shaving my head and quitting school a semester before graduation? She knew something was wrong.

  Thankfully, my mom was a mom first and a therapist second.

  I knew it killed her to let me be, to nod in understandi
ng when I begged her to believe that I was okay, but that I needed time. I needed space. And when I was ready, I came to her, and I told her I wanted to study piano again.

  In my own way.

  I wouldn’t go back to Bramlock, and whether she knew the reason why or not, my mom supported me. Instead, I thought of a man my dad had talked about often, one I’d followed online, one who I truly believed could help me overcome my injury.

  Because as much as my wolf had stolen from me, I wouldn’t let him steal my dream.

  My injury was a repetitive strain injury, and it wasn’t easy to overcome. I’d been on the very messy road to recovery before I left Bramlock, and once I’d acclimated to life back in Atlanta, I’d worked on it more, myself.

  But on my own, I could only go so far.

  I needed professional help if I wanted to make my dream come true, and I would do anything to make that happen.

  I took my time as I followed behind my uncle, taking in the scenery of the busy downtown and the restaurant I would be working at while I stayed here. I knew him well enough now to know he’d be stopped several times on his way to wherever we were going. He was known by nearly everyone in Pittsburgh, it seemed, and definitely by everyone in Mount Lebanon — a small borough right outside the city. He was the headmaster at Westchester Prep, one of the top prep schools in the nation, and his reputation in the community was strong.

  Still, when I was with him, he got a lot more curious glances than when it was just him and my aunt Betty.

  If my aunt and uncle noticed the raised eyebrows and hushed whispers when I was with them, they faked that they were oblivious. But I was used to those kinds of stares.

  I didn’t fit in.

  At least, not with them.

  My aunt and uncle’s skin was creamy white, their eyes a frosted blue, and though both of them now sported white hair, it was easy to see it used to be blonde. My uncle looked so much like my father, it often stopped me in my tracks. I saw the same kindness in my uncle’s blue eyes that I always saw in my father’s. And when he smiled, my heart would squeeze with the desire to see my father’s smile again.

  I would have given anything.

  Yes, my aunt and uncle were always dressed to impress, never knowing who they might run into, and I’d yet to see my aunt without her pearls around her neck — even in her pajamas.

  So, the question everyone wanted the answer to, then, was why were they walking with a young, freakishly tall, black female with baggy clothes and a bald head?

  Maybe before, it wouldn’t have been so jarring — when I wore clothes that were bright and cheery, pinks and yellows and oranges being the majority of my closet. Maybe, when my hair was curly and bouncy, framing my face in a wild, but feminine, bob that ended below my chin — maybe that would have been easier to swallow.

  But the me who existed now? She didn’t want attention. She didn’t want to be seen as beautiful or tempting or in any way touchable. So, I’d painted the exterior to match the interior.

  I was dark now.

  Dark skin, dark clothes, dark eyes. No hair. No jewelry.

  The only way I wanted to communicate with the world was through my music, and I didn’t need to be sexy or cute to do that.

  Still, the looks I got when I walked with my uncle were just like the ones I used to get when I did dress to impress — except they were harder, more curious, and harder to stomach. Maybe it was because even though my uncle had the same eyes my father had, I’d never felt like an outsider when I’d walked with him. When it was my dad, my mother and I, we were nothing more or less than a family unit. And we were the happiest when we were together.

  I missed those times.

  “Mr. Henderson!” the sweet, smiley young brunette greeted when we made it to the reservations desk. Her smile was half the size of her face, her cheeks rosy and round. “It’s so nice to see you this evening. Shall I take you to your usual table, or would you like to try a new seat tonight?”

  “Oh, the usual is perfect,” my uncle replied, his smile just as big. “I have a special guest with me tonight, so please have a bottle of my favorite wine brought over as soon as possible.”

  “Will do, sir,” she said. “Shall I take you back, then?”

  “Oh, we can make it on our own. I want to stop by and say hi to a few people along the way.” He winked at the hostess, and by the way she grinned in return, I imagined he probably never went straight to his table.

  I followed my uncle as he made his way inside the restaurant, and my breath caught at the sight of the large, elegant chandelier that hung as the centerpiece of the room. Thousands of crystals sparkled as the chandelier slowly rotated, taking a new shape with every second. The rest of the restaurant was hidden in deep, romantic shadows, the walls a plush maroon and the floors a beautifully stained chestnut wood. The light from the chandelier danced along that wood, the beams changing shape before they’d disappear into the darkness. It was absolutely mesmerizing, and I found myself staring up at the diamonds that seemed to drip down from the top of the chandelier.

  I followed every bead of it until I found the other object centered in the heart of the restaurant.

  The piano.

  My uncle paused when I stopped walking, looking over his shoulder at me with a smile. “Ah, I see it didn’t take you long to find the main attraction, did it?”

  “It’s beautiful,” I whispered, taking in the dark crown jewel mahogany, rich gold accents, and ivory keys. I didn’t even have to get close to know that piano cost at least fifty-thousand dollars.

  Uncle Randall nodded. “It is, indeed. Just wait until you hear it played.”

  My fingers itched to be the one playing it, though I couldn’t imagine sitting in the center of this packed restaurant of people paying more for their meal than I would spend on a car payment. The Kinky Starfish wasn’t just somewhere you went to eat — it was an all-night experience. There were four courses, spread out over the evening with the intent that you would eat slowly, enjoy great conversation with those at your table, and not just eat to get full — but to experience an unforgettable evening.

  Your dinner was exquisite, your service the same, and the entertainment?

  Well, it didn’t get much better than the infamous Reese Walker.

  “When does he start?” I asked, eyes still wandering over the design of the piano. I noted the way the chandelier lights played off the keys, creating the most dreamy and romantic atmosphere.

  “He’ll be here in about an hour, I’d imagine,” my uncle said, checking his watch. “Come on, let me introduce you to a few people before we sit down.”

  My stomach flipped, excitement buzzing through me as we started walking again. I smiled and greeted the other patrons we passed as my uncle introduced me to everyone, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the piano. I couldn’t believe I would see Reese Walker play it in just one hour — and not online, but in real life.

  And he’d agreed to work with me.

  Me. The college dropout with a pipe dream about as possible as winning the lottery. I knew my uncle had connections, but when I asked him if it was possible, if I could take lessons with one of the most influential young pianists of my time, I figured there was absolutely no way. Reese Walker was a recluse, shut off from the music world once he left New York. Other than working with young students at Westchester and playing occasionally at The Kinky Starfish, he was out of commission.

  How my uncle managed to rope a Juilliard graduate and piano legend into working with an absolute nobody was beyond me.

  Then again, Reese Walker hadn’t exactly made the most of his talent. He was more known for getting into trouble than he was for anything else in the music world. Maybe that was why I’d thought of him when I realized I needed help overcoming my injury — because I saw something in him that I felt in myself. His relationship with the piano was tumultuous, and his career had been anything but traditional.

  But I’d watched videos of him playing online. I’d s
een the magical way his hands moved over those keys, the way his body bent with the music, the way his soul seeped into every note like his flesh was transparent.

  I didn’t know why he wasn’t still playing in New York, claiming his spot in Carnegie Hall like he should have as soon as he graduated with his masters. I didn’t know why he was teaching at a prep school in Pennsylvania of all places. I also didn’t know why he looked absolutely miserable in every video that had been posted of him in the last two years.

  But honestly, I didn’t care — as long as he could help me beat my injury and get my dream back on track. That’s what I needed from Reese Walker. Nothing more.

  I wasn’t in Pennsylvania to make friends.

  ***

  “Wine?” my uncle asked when we finally made it to the table.

  I shook my head, unwrapping the light scarf around my neck and hanging it over the back of my chair. “I don’t drink.”

  Uncle Randall smiled, but I noticed the tight edges of it. “Of course. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed that just because you’re twenty-one now that you’d drink.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured him. “I used to, when I first turned twenty-one.” And before. “I just don’t like to have my judgment impaired.”

  Uncle Randall smiled genuinely at that. “You are wise beyond your years, Sarah. And too smart for your own good.”

  I returned his smile, but my thoughts ran away with me as we both glanced over the menu. I wondered how he saw me now, if he missed the young lady I used to be. I would have bet money that he wasn’t used to his sweet, bubbly niece being so short and direct. In fact, I’d thought both he and Aunt Betty were going to have to scrape their jaws off their front porch when I first arrived. I guess I should have warned them I’d changed a little since they’d seen me last summer — in the way of all my hair was gone now, and the dresses and skirts I used to live in had all been burnt — but I’d lost the desire to explain my actions or my appearance.