“I have a piece I’d like you to play today,” Reese said after a long moment, stepping up on the other side of the piano. He flipped the cover off the keys, opening a book of music that had been sitting in the holder to a bookmarked page. Once it was in place, he crossed the room to the far corner by the bookshelves, leaning against the wall. “No rush. Warm up, take your time, but I want you to take a stab at that.”
I nodded, setting my messenger bag to the side as I took a seat at the bench. The nerves that had subsided a bit as we talked books were back in full force when I was seated, my fingers resting gently over the keys as I digested the piece of music in front of me. It was a feeling I still wasn’t familiar with, almost a sense of dread as I warmed up my wrists. I used to sit down at a piano with eager anticipation, with excitement, with joy.
Between my injury and what happened at Bramlock, I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel that again.
Now, my relationship with the piano was one I had to work at. It was a love I had to wake up every day and choose, over and over again. Sometimes, I wondered why I did at all, why I hadn’t turned my back on piano the way I had on my romance books.
But I knew the answer, even if I couldn’t admit it out loud.
The truth was, music was my life, my heart, my soul. Without it, I couldn’t breathe. Without it, I couldn’t survive. So, choosing the piano, choosing to fight for us even when it seemed hopeless? Well, it was my way of saying I still wanted to be here. I wanted to survive.
And I would.
When I was warm, I played the piece Reese had set up on the piano, stumbling through the first part of it until I got my bearings. It was a quick and bubbly piece, cheery and jubilant. It reminded me of a song I’d selected for my spring recital my sophomore year of high school, a Chopin piece that was one of my father’s favorites.
I tried to latch onto that feeling, to the memory of my father, of my youth, but it slipped away as soon as it had come. I finished the song without fanfare, and then I pulled my hands to my lap, a long sigh leaving my lips.
Reese cleared his throat from the corner, kicking off the wall and making his way across the room. He stopped when he was a few feet from the piano, that little crease between his brows reappearing as he stared at the keys with me, like he wasn’t sure what to say. After a long pause, he settled on, “How did you feel?”
I swallowed. “Detached.”
He nodded, hands slipping into his pockets as he worried his bottom lip. After a long moment, he rounded the piano, tapping the bench with his eyes on me. “Mind if I sit?”
I slid over to the right, making room for him to sit next to me. My heart kicked up a notch again at the heat of him filling the empty space, and I swallowed, smoothing my damp palms over my dark jeans.
Reese flipped back a few pages in the book, back to the beginning of the piece, and began playing. He played softly, like background music, and once he flipped to the second page, he spoke again.
“How long have you been afraid of the piano?”
He didn’t take his eyes off the sheet music and the keys, but I felt like he’d just pinned me with a heavy, accusatory stare.
“I’m not afraid of the piano,” I argued.
Reese glanced at me with a cocked brow. “You look at it like you are. You touch it like you are.” He shrugged, fingers floating over the keys as he played. “Even in our first lesson, it seemed like you would rather submit yourself to a hundred paper cuts than play. And that doesn’t make sense for someone who wants to make a career out of piano.”
I sighed, hating the truth in his words — hating the fact that he saw my fear even more than the fact that it was there at all.
“It’s not that I’m scared of it,” I tried to explain, watching his hands so I didn’t have to meet his eyes. “But, it feels… foreign. Sometimes. Like, someone who used to be my best friend, but now is so different, I hardly recognize them. And everything that used to come easy, doesn’t.” I shook my head. “Nothing comes easy anymore.”
Reese nodded in understanding, finishing the piece before he let his hands hit his thighs. He turned, eyes flicking between mine. “It won’t be like that forever.”
“How can you be so sure?”
He cracked his neck, debating his next words. “Well, for one, because you won’t give up on it. If you were going to give up, you would have already. And, for two, because this is a completely normal reaction to an RIS injury. Your body has failed you, betrayed you, and you don’t know how to respond to it. It makes you feel out of control, and no one likes that.” He smiled softly. “But, it will get better. We have work to do, but we’ll get there. If you trust me to help you, that is.”
Trust.
I hated that word.
I hated the sick wave that rolled through me at the sound of it.
“Take this home with you,” he said, reaching for the book propped on the piano. He shut it, handing it to me. “Try this piece a few times over the weekend. I don’t want you to get mad at it, though. I want you to really take it apart, try to understand it — why it was born, the emotions behind it, what your audience should feel as you play it. We’ll try it again next week and see how you feel about it then.”
I nodded, taking the book from his hands. “What if I still suck?”
He chuckled. “You don’t suck now, so don’t worry about that. Just, try to open yourself to the music, instead of just playing it. You can read the notes. You can execute the music. But, try to take it a step further. Try to connect with it, like a human instead of a song.”
I had to fight back the urge to laugh at that. If he only knew the only human relationship I’d been able to keep intact was with my mother, he’d have chosen a different analogy.
“Honestly, I think I can connect with it easier if I think of it as music. I’m not the best with humans.”
Reese laughed again as he stood, knocking his knuckles on the piano. “That makes two of us, kid.”
Kid.
I should have hated that, too.
But for some reason, it left me warm.
***
Reese
Saturday nights were like a concert at The Kinky Starfish.
With the weather warming up, guests were alive with the promise of summer, and I tapered my playlist to match the mood. Unlike in the blistering cold of winter, guests now would occasionally get out of their seats and dance on the small floor beside me, bringing my music to life with their movements. I smiled and bounced along to the melody of Mozart’s Sonata 17, nodding to a young girl hopping around on the dance floor before scanning the room. All the faces were bright with laughter around the restaurant.
It was almost enough to make even my poor, cold soul thaw a little.
Until I saw table thirty-two.
It took every ounce of brainpower I had to keep playing, to not miss a note when I realized who occupied that back corner booth. Of course, it was Charlie’s eyes that captured mine first, and she gave a smiley twiddle of her fingers when she realized I’d finally seen her. My smile was tight in return, and when I glanced at Cameron — her husband — his eyes were hard on me in warning.
And he held their youngest child in his lap.
I sniffed, tearing my eyes away and playing the last of the song with more gusto than was necessary. I took artistic liberties, plucking away at the keys with a fierce determination to finish the song and get the fuck off that floor for my break.
They were supposed to be having dinner at home. I wasn’t supposed to have to deal with Charlie until Monday, until we were back at school, in the space we shared.
It felt like I’d never truly escape her, not even for a weekend.
When I finished the piece, I stood with a quick bow and brief announcement that I’d be back in twenty. The young girl on the dance floor pouted before her mother steered her back to the table, and I was set on making a beeline for the back kitchen door where a cigarette had my name on it.
But I didn’t make
it two steps before I was stopped.
“Reese Walker,” a smooth, familiar voice said as a warm hand grazed my arm. “Well, well. Fancy meeting you here.”
Jennifer Stinson smiled back at me, in almost the same way she had the first night we’d met. That had been in my first couple of months back in Mount Lebanon, and she’d asked for a dance at Charlie’s parents’ annual fundraiser. Of course, Charlie had been all I could see that night.
Not that much had really changed.
Jennifer still had the same, sultry blue eyes and thick lips — the bottom one with an indent that I was sure drove every man she talked to absolutely insane — and her long, curly blonde hair waterfalled down her back as she stepped closer. Her perfume was tangy and sweet, like a citrusy fruit, and I wished I could be a normal man for once. I wished I could be the man I was before I came back to Mount Lebanon, before my family died, before everything inside of me capable of love or lust was completely obliterated by Hurricane Charlie.
But I felt nothing.
“Nice to see you again, Jennifer. It’s been a long time.”
“Indeed, it has,” she said, her eyes crawling their way back up to my face. “I know you’re working now, but are you free later this week? I’d love to grab a drink, catch up.”
I swallowed down the sticky knot in my throat, the same one that emerged any time I thought of a situation even remotely close to a date. “I’m pretty busy with school and evening lessons right now,” I tried. “But maybe once the semester finishes.”
“I’m going to hold you to that,” she said, not fazed in the slightest by my dodge. She held out her hand, red lips curling into a smile. “Phone?”
I cleared my throat, so desperate for a cigarette now that I shoved my phone into her hand. She typed out her number, saved it, and handed it back to me.
“Talk to you soon, Reese Walker.”
With that, she winked, slowly and purposefully swinging her hips as she made her way back to her table.
I just blew out a long breath, picking up my pace toward the kitchen. And I was almost there, almost through that swinging door when my path was blocked again.
By the one person I was trying to avoid.
“Hey, you,” Charlie beamed, her cheeks pink like she’d just been walking in the snow when it was nearly eighty degrees outside. She held a smiling Daisy on her hip, and my heart squeezed painfully in my chest at the sight of them together.
At the sight of what could have been mine.
“I know you’re on break, but I just wanted to bring Daisy over. She’s been trying to wiggle out of my lap all evening to come say hi to you.”
Charlie grinned down at Daisy, who was holding out two chubby hands toward me. And I loved that kid, I did — but now when I looked at her, I saw Cameron’s eyes instead of my own. I saw the child who brought the woman I loved so much joy, and me so much pain, and I felt like shit that I couldn’t be happy to see her.
It was my own fault, as much as I wanted to blame Charlie for the pain I felt in my chest while looking at her daughter. I had been the one to go to Cameron, to ask to be a part of their life after everything that had happened. Maybe, back then, I thought it would be easier. Maybe I thought the pain of being around them was better than being without them entirely.
But the biggest driving motivator was that I thought that little girl was mine. And now that I knew she wasn’t, it killed me to see her.
“Hey there, pretty girl,” I said, letting Daisy take my thick finger in her hand. I couldn’t help but smile then, and she rattled off something that sounded almost like my name as my eyes floated back to her mother. “I thought you guys had family dinner at the house tonight.”
Charlie smiled. “Yeah, so did I. But when I told them you were working and couldn’t make it, Dad booked a reservation here. They miss you,” she said, and then her smile slipped a little. “We all do.”
Daisy freed my finger, and I tucked my hands in the pockets of my slacks, clearing my throat with my eyes on the kitchen door behind Charlie. If I didn’t get a fucking cigarette in my mouth within the next two minutes, I was going to flip tables.
“I’ll come over and say hello after my set,” I said. “But, I just have a short break now, so, if you’ll excuse me.”
I nodded toward the door, and Charlie looked over her shoulder before moving out of the way. “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. I should have waited.”
“It’s alright. I’ll talk to you in a little bit, okay?”
I didn’t hold my smile or wait for her to respond before I shoved through the kitchen door, weaving my way through the mess of chefs and bussers on my way to the back. One of the sous chefs, Ronaldo, tossed me his pack of cigarettes and lighter as I passed, already well accustomed to my break times. And as soon as the warm, spring air hit my face, I lit one up, letting out a long sigh of relief after the first inhale of nicotine.
I closed my eyes, letting the cigarette dangle between my lips before puffing on it again. Each new inhale calmed my breathing, but my chest was still tight, Charlie’s eyes still fresh in my mind. I tried to focus on the warm night air, on the high of the nicotine, on literally anything else.
It was like trying not to smell the delicious scent of the gourmet food wafting out from the kitchen.
There was a sinking feeling in my gut as I stood there, inhaling another pull of nicotine. I knew the time was coming when I’d have to confront Charlie, when I’d have to tell her that being around her, around her family, wasn’t good for me anymore.
But how could I do that?
How could I tell her parents, the closest thing I had to family in this world, now that my own family was gone, that I couldn’t be around them? How could I explain to her father, her mother, or even worse — to her brother, my childhood best friend? It didn’t matter that we didn’t talk all the time anymore, that our relationship had changed with the distance and time.
They had all been there for me, ever since I could remember.
And I didn’t know how to say goodbye, even if it was the “healthy” thing to do.
“Do you have to do that here?”
A cloud of smoke left my lips as I opened my eyes again, and when they adjusted to the night, I had to blink several times to be sure I was actually seeing what I thought I was.
Sarah Henderson was seated on a yoga mat a few feet to the left of me, her legs folded, palms on her thighs and back straight like she was meditating. Her shoes were abandoned at the edge of the mat, pants rolled to her ankles.
It was the strangest thing I’d ever seen behind that restaurant, and that was saying something.
“Do you have to do that here,” I challenged.
Sarah scoffed, shaking her head before she pulled in a long, steady breath and straightened her back again. Her eyes were closed, and one hand floated up to cup the crystal necklace around her neck. “I think we can both agree that what I’m doing is the healthier of the two.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, taking another puff of my cigarette. “But, judging by the other cigarette butts and other disgusting things littering the ground, I think we can both agree that mine is the more normal of the two in this space.”
Sarah’s eyes shot open, and as if she just noticed them, her lip curled, eyes scanning the abandoned cigarettes on the concrete around us. She let out a long breath, closing her eyes again and pulling her shoulders down and back. “Well, I needed to mediate. Sometimes I get off kilter around big groups of people. I just wanted to get centered.” She held up one finger. “And before you say anything, I know work isn’t the best place for that. But it’s been a stressful day and I needed a minute.” She paused. “And this might not be the most appropriate spot to clear my mind, but I have a feeling our boss wouldn’t be too keen with me rolling out a mat next to the piano.”
“Hey, I’m not the one judging,” I said, cigarette between my teeth again as I held my hands up. “That was you.”
“I wasn’t judging,” she defe
nded, brows furrowed as she glanced at me. She shifted, her back slouching a bit before she straightened again. “I’m just saying, that’s not the best thing for you.”
“Trust me,” I said on a laugh. “I’ve never been one to gravitate toward the things that were best for me in my life.”
We were both silent then, and Sarah stretched her hands out in front of her, rolling her wrists with a grimace.
“How are your wrists feeling?” I asked, extinguishing the last of my cigarette on the concrete before tucking it in my pocket. The least I could do was not add to the butts around her.
“A little sore, but not too bad,” she answered. “I’ve been working on that piece you assigned me Thursday night.”
I nodded. “You’re not pushing too hard, though, right?”
“About four hours a day right now,” she said. “I could do more, but I’m trying to ease into it.”
“Good,” I said. “Slow and steady will win this race. I don’t want you injured again before we can even work on your technique.”
I watched her for a long while, content with the silence as I thought over our week together. We’d only had two lessons, but we’d kick it up to four times a week once school ended. I knew just from our first hours together that Sarah thought I didn’t believe in her. She thought I doubted her abilities, her drive, her talent.
But it couldn’t be further from the truth.
I saw the natural talent she possessed, the emotion she brought to the piano when she played, the technique she’d been fine tuning her entire life. Yes, her injury had set her back, and we had work to do — but it wasn’t her technique that worried me most.
It was everything she held inside, everything she wouldn’t release at the piano when she had the chance to.
In our first lesson, she chose such a short and simple piece, one that could showcase her talent easily without her having to dig too deep. I didn’t judge her for it, most students tended to choose a piece they were familiar with, one they could play well, when I asked them to play for me at our first lesson.
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 56
