Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series

by Kandi Steiner

  But her hug, her smile, the way she looked at me — it was all genuine. It was who she’d always been. It was what I loved about her. She was the kindest woman, and her heart was too big for her own good. It had been hard on her, leaving me alone after what had transpired between us. She hated that she’d hurt me, and she wanted to make me better — even though it wasn’t her job to.

  She had left me alone.

  It had been me who begged to come back into her life.

  Of course, that was when I thought Daisy was mine. That was when I was desperately looking for anything to tie me to Charlie, to give me a chance to make her mine. Now that I knew that chance was nonexistent, that Daisy was Cameron’s, that her life was moving on and I was stuck in place, I knew the truth.

  I needed to let her go, and I needed her to leave me alone.

  But I didn’t know how to tell her that.

  So, instead, I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to ignore the way my heart squeezed once she was out of my arms again. “Had some students come to me at lunch with questions. I was going to come find you once my after-school tutoring sessions were done.”

  “Clearly,” she chided, eyeing where my hand still held the door.

  I swallowed.

  Charlie watched me a moment, and when her eyes softened with pity, I had to grind my teeth to keep from screaming at her to stop feeling sorry for me. She wouldn’t even be able to deny it if she tried. We both knew it, anyone who saw her face when she was near me could see it. She felt sorry for me.

  She wanted me to find love again, as if it was just so easy to do now that I couldn’t have her.

  That’s the way it always went. The person who left had the most power, and the person left behind had the most despair. One would move on, the other would live in heartbreak until enough time had passed. And two years still hadn’t been enough time for me to so much as open the damn door, let alone close it and move on.

  “So, how are you feeling?” I asked, holding the door open for Charlie so we could both get out into the fresh spring air. The sun warmed my skin as we fell in step on our way to the parking lot.

  “Oh, I’m okay. A little sad to have to leave little Daniel this morning, but he has his sister. And our day care is the best, I couldn’t ask for better.” She smiled. “I’ll be back with them in a month for summer break. That’s what gets me through.”

  I wondered why I’d even asked, like hearing her talk about her children with her husband would bring me any sort of relief. Then again, it was never about me when it came to Charlie. I only cared about her.

  “Yes, you’ll be back home soon.”

  We were quiet then, only our steps on the concrete and the distant sounds from the after-school practices filling the silence. I walked Charlie to her car first, opening the door to help her inside.

  Tell her you need space.

  Tell her you’re happy for her, but you need to heal.

  Tell her to stay away.

  But I couldn’t say any of those things, even when I knew I should. My heart was begging me to let her go and move on as much as it was threatening to abandon ship if I ever let her go.

  Masochist — that’s what I was.

  “What about you?” she asked after a moment, that same flash of pity crossing her face. “How have you been? I haven’t heard from you since Daisy’s birthday party.” Charlie paused, her voice lowering. “I miss you.”

  My head dropped back, eyes searching the sky like there was some sort of god who could deliver me from this misery. As much as I wished she’d never say shit like that to me, I couldn’t deny the way my heart throbbed at the words, the way my chest fluttered with a hope that I was sure would kill me one day.

  And somehow, I was thankful that she was oblivious to it, to the way her kindness killed me. If she was aware of it, she’d leave me alone. I’d get what was best for me — time and space to heal.

  But I’d lose her in the process.

  And that was the choice I never wanted to make.

  “I’m doing great,” I lied, smiling when I met her gaze again. “Picked up another night at The Kinky Starfish, and I’ve got a summer job lined up. Mr. Henderson’s niece is in town and needs some help overcoming a repetitive strain injury.” I shrugged. “Apparently she’s pretty talented, so it should be fun.”

  “That does sound fun,” Charlie beamed, like the fact that I had something even that small to get excited about somehow relieved her. “Have you met her yet?”

  A flash of the dark, sad eyes I’d found across the restaurant last night hit me at her words, and I nodded. “Last night. She’s… well, she’s not what you’d expect when you think of Mr. Henderson’s niece.”

  “Is that a good or bad thing?”

  I considered her question. “Not bad. She’s just… she’s different than I imagined. But, we didn’t talk much. We meet for our first lesson tomorrow night.”

  Charlie smiled. “Well, you’ll have to keep me posted with how it goes. Oh! Also, my parents are having dinner this Saturday and wanted to invite you, if you’re free? It’d be all of us.”

  All of us.

  That was her nice way of saying Cameron would be there, and her children, too.

  I cleared my throat. “I work that night, but thank you for the invite.”

  She nodded, her smile sad again. “Okay. Well, have a good evening, Reese,” she said, sliding into her car.

  “Goodnight, Charlie.” I shut the door behind her, knocking on the top of her car before crossing the parking lot to my own.

  ***

  I dropped my keys on the table next to the front door later that evening, kicking off my chukkas before crossing the living room to the kitchen. It was just as quiet as always as I placed the paper bag in my arms on the counter, opening the sliding glass door to let the fresh air and last bit of sunlight in.

  My home was modest, a two-bedroom house not too far from school with a yard and garage. My neighborhood was nice, neighbors only slightly annoying, and though it wasn’t anything special, I’d made it homey.

  Correction: my ex, Blake, had made it homey.

  I met Blake in New York City shortly after I graduated from Juilliard, and she’d been there in one of the most difficult times of my life. But, we’d always been casual, never more than friends who occasionally hooked up. When she showed up on my doorstep a few months after I’d left New York and come to Mount Lebanon, I’d been shocked.

  When she told me she loved me and wanted to be with me, I’d nearly shit myself.

  It was the worst possible timing, especially since I was still tied up with a married woman at the time. And of course, Blake found out, and she asked me to choose between her and Charlie.

  We both knew the answer even before she asked it.

  This was my curse — hurting anyone who ever dared to love me. Even when I didn’t mean to, I still did. I was better off alone, and I knew that now.

  Still, Blake had made my little house into a home in her short time staying with me, and I couldn’t walk through the modestly decorated living room or see the paintings hanging on the walls without thinking of her.

  I thumbed over to my favorite playlist on my phone, turning on my Bluetooth speaker near the sink before digging in the bag on the counter for my dinner: beer and cigarettes.

  At thirty-seven years old, I should have known how to take better care of myself. Maybe part of it was that I just didn’t give a fuck. I wanted a buzz, and a nicotine high, and to think about anything other than Charlie.

  Popping the first beer open, I stepped outside onto my small back patio and lit up a cigarette. The smoke filtered up into the purple sky, the sun slowly making its descent in the west as I propped my feet up and kicked back. I listened to the bugs chirping to life, the birds singing their good evenings, the cars passing by on the street out front. They were the quiet sounds of suburbia, and they let my thoughts drift. For the first time in as long as I could remember, Charlie wasn’t the first one
they drifted to.

  Sarah Henderson.

  I let out a long exhale of smoke as her face settled in my mind. She was just a girl, and yet she wore her scars on her sleeve like a woman who’d been through as much hell in her life as I had. Before I’d even known who she was, she’d captured my eye from across the restaurant. And it wasn’t necessarily because she was beautiful — although, she very much was — or because she stood out in the crowd she sat among.

  It was because she was haunted.

  I knew the shapes of the demons in her eyes, the weight on her shoulders, though she held them back and straight. I saw the way my music moved her — the same way it moved me — and I knew from that alone that she’d been cursed by her creativity, by her inability to see the world like a normal, well-functioning human would.

  It was the same curse I bared.

  There were people who lived, people who watched movies or listened to music or read books. But then, there were the people who created them, who wrote them, who brought them to life. Those were the poor, unfortunate suckers who had so much going on in their minds that they had to find a way to release it, to breathe life into it, to touch it and feel that it’s real.

  Sarah was one of those people, and she was asking me to help her.

  The first drink of beer was cold and refreshing, and I sucked down nearly half the can. The more I sat there and thought about my new student, the more I wanted to play.

  I tapped out my cigarette in the ashtray, swinging back inside to trade my empty beer for a new one before crossing the house to my piano room. It was a room meant to be a study, or perhaps a dining room, but it held only a casual seating area and the most important material object in my life.

  My baby grand.

  A photo of my parents and my baby sister stared back at me as I sat, flipping the wood panel up and revealing the ivory keys. Their smiles made my heart warm as much as they made it ache. Their lives were stolen too soon, my sister too young, my parents too in love with too much still left to do.

  But the man who shot them didn’t see them the way I did.

  I shook those thoughts away, my hands moving over the keys on autopilot as I thought of Sarah, of what working with her would be like.

  It was the most money I’d ever been offered to teach, and I knew it spoke both of how Mr. Henderson felt about me and how important this was to him and his family. I didn’t know her story yet, but from what he’d told me, she’d been through something outside of her injury that had her family worried sick. I wondered if that was why she’d shaved her head, if it was her acting out more than a fashion choice.

  Somehow, it didn’t strike me that way.

  She didn’t seem like the kind of girl who would pull a stunt just to get attention. She seemed pure, genuine, and like she had a plan for everything. After all, it was her who had moved halfway across the country to study with me, because she felt like I could help her.

  I didn’t know what I was walking into with her, but for some reason, I was excited for it. Sarah would also be the oldest student I’d had since leaving New York City, and I knew she’d be a completely different challenge than the young kids I worked with daily at Westchester.

  She was a walking contrast, it seemed to me, and I closed my eyes as my hands moved over the piano keys, remembering her. She wore oversized, baggy clothes that covered her neck to ankle, hiding whatever curves or lean muscles were beneath. It was unlike any other girl dressed at her age — at least, any who I’d seen. And she sported a shaved head, as if she wanted to disappear, and yet she achieved the exact opposite of what she desired. Her skin, rich and dark, like a night sky peppered with freckles instead of stars, was impossible not to notice. Her eyes were bright golden hues, wide in nature and tilted at the edges, like those of a panther. Her lips were plump and round, bowed at the top, and she carried her tall figure in a way that screamed she was afraid of nothing.

  The way she dressed, the hairstyle she chose — they told me she wanted to be hidden. She didn’t want to be seen.

  But by her very nature, she was impossible to ignore.

  Everything about her seemed to be a warning — dark clothes, eyes that searched the room like she was looking for a reason to bolt, arms that crossed over her chest like a shield.

  I closed my eyes, moving with the music my hands created. I’d never played anything like it before, and it didn’t sound great, but it didn’t sound particularly awful, either. The notes clashed together in an unfamiliar way, my hands stumbling over themselves as they tried to find a melody, a rhythm. It was always my favorite part of birthing a new song, of bringing music to life that had never existed before. Nothing was perfect the first time it came out, but it would grow, and change, and one day, stand on its own.

  I didn’t know what to make of the music I made that evening, a half-empty beer can the only audience in the room. The song was pained. It was real. It was raw… and new. Fresh, like nothing I’d played before.

  And all the while I played it, I thought of my new student.

  That should have been my first warning.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  Reese

  It’d been a shit day.

  There just were no other words to describe how I felt when I stepped out of my shower Tuesday evening, thirty minutes before my first lesson with my new student.

  I was no stranger to anxiety, but I’d had the worst kind last night — the kind that keeps you up and then invades your dreams when you do finally manage to fall asleep. I’d had nightmares of Charlie all night long, and then I’d had to see her bouncing around school all day just as happy as can be.

  And I wanted her happiness. I did. But it would have been so much easier to see her happy if I could say I was happy, too.

  I tried to let those selfish, negative thoughts wash away in the shower, but I still felt them clinging to me as I dressed and tidied up my home. It was just the first lesson, we wouldn’t do much more than get to know each other and discuss her goals, but the first lesson was always the most important to me because it was when I got to see what our challenges would be.

  I’d helped students through RIS injuries when I tutored at Juilliard, but it had been so long since I’d worked with a mature student. At Westchester, the oldest student I had was twelve. They were all early in their studies, finding their styles and learning the fundamental elements of playing. In all honesty, it was easier to work with a child who was at the beginning of their practice than it was to teach a student who had already been taught by others. Not only was my teaching style sure to be different from what Sarah had previously had, but coming off an injury, it wouldn’t be easy.

  She was going to get frustrated. She was probably going to hate me, because I demanded excellence from all my students. She was probably going to want to murder me by the time we were finished working together.

  But I was okay with all of that, as long as I could help her achieve her goals.

  And, in all honesty, she studied at Bramlock — so I knew she was accustomed to a tough curriculum. I also knew she was here of her own accord, because she wanted to be here, she wanted to work, to overcome her injury.

  She could have given up. Most people probably would have. But she was here, and ready to work.

  That spoke volumes.

  I lit a few candles in the piano room and put out a pitcher of water with a glass for each of us. At seven on the dot, there was a timid knock at my door.

  A jolt of nerves hit me, but my feet moved with confidence across the house. When I opened the door, Sarah Henderson stared back at me like a feral cat in a newfound shelter — wild, but subdued, her eyes wide, shoulders back. She wore a long, flowy, black dress that covered her from her neck to her ankles, and a light jean jacket shielded her shoulders and arms from view, too. There wasn’t a stitch of makeup on her face, but her eyes burned bright, like they were the only accessory she needed.

  “Evening, Reese!” Mr. Henderson ca
lled from where he was climbing out of the car. He waddled up to the door, standing beside Sarah with a wide grin. “Betty sent me with these.”

  He held a Tupperware container in his hand, and I didn’t have to look to know it was her famous baklava. That woman’s baking was revered in Mount Lebanon, and my mouth watered at the sight.

  “She’s too good to me,” I said, taking the container from him as I held the door open wider. “Please, come in.”

  Sarah slipped past me first, tucking into the corner of the foyer as I shut the door again behind her uncle. For a moment, we all just stood there in that tiny space, and maybe it was the terrible day I’d had, but for some reason, I smiled at having Sarah in my home. She was a burst of color in an otherwise dark place, and I liked the energy she carried with her.

  She, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to crawl out of her skin.

  I led the way into the kitchen first, pouring us each a glass of water.

  “I have some business to attend to,” Randall said when I handed him his. “Do you mind if I set up in your living room?”

  He tapped the laptop peeking out from his messenger bag, and I nodded.

  “Of course. Let me know if you need anything.”

  “Oh, I’ll be fine. You focus on your new star student here,” he said with a proud grin and toward his niece. Her eyes were still shifty as they surveyed her new space, but she returned his smile. “I’ll just be in the next room, if you need me. Okay?”

  He said the words slowly, purposefully, like he knew Sarah was scared. I could sense it, too — though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe she was just nervous, or maybe she didn’t do well with being in unfamiliar places. Regardless, when Randall excused himself into the other room, I watched Sarah for a long moment, wondering what she was thinking.