But when we worked together Thursday night, when I asked her to play a piece of my choosing, that’s when I realized the tensions she brought with her. Every muscle was wrapped tight as she played, her face devoid of emotion, though the piece was cheerful, energetic, joyful. Sarah played like she wanted to be background music, not the center of everyone’s attention — like she wanted to slip away, hide behind the music rather than pour herself into it.
And later in that lesson, when I’d had her play a more dramatic, melancholy piece, she’d hidden away even more. She didn’t take the pain I knew she felt and use it — she ran from it.
That would be our biggest hurdle.
“What do you think so far?” I asked when I spotted Fight Club sticking out of her bag next to her mat. The bookmark was about a third of the way in.
She eyed me curiously for a second before she followed my gaze, and she smiled. “Honestly, I’m just happy I got past the first chapter. I thought for sure it’d go into my did not finish pile, along with every other book I’ve tried to read this year.”
“So, you like it so far?”
She shrugged. “I think so. He’s got a dark sense of humor, and I love the subtle hints of minimalism. Crazy to think about how much we think we need that we really don’t.”
I nodded, impressed that she’d already picked up on that. “You meditate, eat plant-based food, and know the definition of minimalism. Are you sure you’re only twenty-one? Because you take better care of yourself than I ever did at that age.”
Sarah chuckled. “Not hard to do, judging by all the cereal at your place.”
“Touché.”
We fell silent then, and she slipped back into her calculated breathing while I fought the urge to light up another cigarette. I needed to get back inside, but as I watched her on her mat, I couldn’t shake our last lesson — the way she’d looked at my piano, like she was about to fight it instead of play it. I’d never battled an injury like hers, but I had experienced the same shift in relationship with the piano. It was the most unnerving thing, to have an instrument that was supposed to be your closest friend, your easiest confidant, shift into a monster before your very eyes.
The road to rekindling that relationship was long and dusty and rough, and I wished she didn’t have to travel it. But she did, and I needed her to understand what the journey would require of her.
“What are you doing tonight?” I asked when she started rolling up her mat.
Sarah stilled, her hands clamped over the rolled-up mat as she flicked her eyes to mine. “I…” She opened her mouth, shut it again, and then cleared her throat. “I mean, I work until ten.”
“And after?”
She shrugged. “I’m new to town and I live with my aunt and uncle,” she answered with a subdued smile. “I don’t exactly have big plans.”
I fought the urge to smile. “Good. I want to take you somewhere.”
Sarah’s eyes widened. “You do?”
“It’ll be part of our lesson,” I explained, checking the time on my watch. I was already a few minutes over my break, and not that I was being watched that closely, but I knew the sooner I finished my set list, the sooner I could get out of there. “Meet me here when you’re done.”
“Wait,” she said, standing with the mat under her arm. “Where are we going?”
“I’d like to just take you there, if that’s okay. Trust me. It’ll make sense when we get there.”
“Okay,” she answered softly, but there was a hint of panic behind her wide eyes — one that made me instantly aware of how aggressive I’d been.
“Are you comfortable with that?” I asked her. “With going somewhere with me? It’s a public place, and I won’t keep you out too late. I promise.”
She breathed a little easier then, nodding. “Yeah. Sorry, I just…” But she didn’t finish her sentence. Her words faded, and she closed her eyes, smiling when they opened again. “Just know I’m bringing my pepper spray. And I’m not afraid to use it.”
I pushed off the wall on a laugh, swinging the door open as the chatter from the kitchen filled the space around us. “Deal. And just so you know, I’m bringing my pepper spray, too.”
Sarah chuckled.
“My time’s up. I’ll leave you to your good habit and take my bad one back inside with me.”
She flushed then, and like she still had hair on her head to brush away, one hand slid behind her ear as her eyes fell to her mat. “Sorry I ragged on you.”
I chuckled. “Honestly, I needed it. It’s been a while since someone has called me on my shit.” I knocked my knuckles once on the door, offering one last smile. “See you in a bit.”
“See you,” she squeaked.
My smile slipped the farther I walked into the kitchen, the temporary relief I’d found from the nicotine and my conversation with Sarah disappearing altogether once the door shut behind me. I handed Ronaldo his pack and lighter with dread settling back in my stomach.
Just a couple more hours, I told myself as I swung through the kitchen door and back into the restaurant.
My eyes involuntarily drifted to table thirty-two, and Charlie’s parents waved back at me excitedly as I forced another smile, remembering what I’d run outside to escape in the first place. Cameron was smiling at something Charlie had said, and he leaned in to kiss her cheek, sending my stomach churning. I wondered if he knew I was watching, if that was the reason he’d done it.
But that wasn’t Cameron.
If I knew anything about him, it was that he was twice the man I was. And truthfully, he probably didn’t even care that I still existed. He’d won, after all. He had the girl. The family.
He had everything I wanted.
Just a couple more hours, I repeated.
Why did it feel like a lifetime?
CHAPTER FIVE
* * *
Sarah
My father grew up in Mount Lebanon.
We’d made the trip north for nearly every Christmas when I was younger, but we’d mostly stayed at my grandparents’ house or at Uncle Randall’s. Exploring the city wasn’t at the top of our list, especially since my father’s side of the family was all the family we really had. My mom had fled from Haiti, and her parents had passed away only a few years after she’d left, so when we were fortunate enough to visit my father’s family, we cherished the time.
Maybe that’s why my face was pressed against the glass of the rickety old car that slowly pushed us up the side of Mount Washington, the city lights spanning out and growing wider the higher we got. The Duquesne Incline was one of the top tourist attractions in Pittsburgh, and yet I’d never had the experience.
Until tonight.
I wondered if my dad had ever sat there, in that same spot, looking out that same window. I wondered if he brought my mom there, or if my grandparents took him and my uncle when they were kids. I wondered how many generations of my family had existed in the same space I now resided in.
Somehow, I felt them all there with me.
My hands were in the pockets of my light jacket, one wrapped around the pepper spray I’d brought with me. I was pretty sure Reese thought I was joking about it earlier, but I’d been as serious as a car accident. Being alone with him in his house was one thing, but going to a non-disclosed place with him at night was another. I liked Reese. I liked the way he talked to me, the way he played piano, the way he seemed to see what others didn’t.
But that didn’t mean I fully trusted him.
He was still a man. And I was on my guard.
Reese sat quietly in the far corner, the two of us the only ones in the small cable car. It ran until half past midnight, which gave us just a little over an hour before we’d have to make the trip back down. I didn’t know why we were here, or how any of this could possibly be tied to our piano lessons. But, I knew he wouldn’t have asked me to come if it wasn’t important — especially on a Saturday night. A man who looked like him, who played the way he just played in fron
t of a restaurant packed with people? I was one-hundred-percent positive he had better offers on how to spend his evening.
But he wanted to take me here.
When the car clicked to a stop at the top, I followed Reese through the small museum and out to the viewing deck. We passed a couple who was waiting for our car to go back down, and we exchanged pleasantries as we switched places. Once they were gone, it was just the two of us again.
The viewing deck was just a long railing over the edge of the mountain, a few binoculars set up for viewing, though there was the buzz of music and conversation floating on the breeze from the little restaurants that surrounded the museum. I relaxed a little at the realization that even though we were the only two on the deck, there were other people close by.
If I needed to scream for help, someone would hear me.
I cringed at the thought, at the fact that my brain automatically went there now. Before, I would have gone anywhere with just about anyone. I was openly trusting — perhaps too much so. That was probably why it never occurred to me to be worried when my professor wanted me to do my final exam after hours, why I didn’t feel uneasy at it being just the two of us at his piano that night.
I wasn’t aware of the fact that I needed to be afraid, not until it was too late.
Reese slid up to the railing, balancing his elbows on the metal as a long breath left his lips, his gaze on the city. He seemed to be just as lost in his own thoughts as I was in my own.
The air around us shifted, a heavier presence settling in as I took my place a few feet next to him, my stance mirroring his. My eyes drifted to him, and it was like pain radiated off him the way heat comes from a fire. Each time the breeze blew his long hair back, I caught another whiff of it. Every edge of him was hard — his jaw, the line of his nose, the crease between his brow.
And still, somehow, he seemed soft in that moment.
I tore my eyes away from him and let them sweep over the city below us.
The lights twinkled in the distance, and I scanned the points of interest I could make out — the stadium where the Steelers played, the point where the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers met, the Fort Pitt Bridge. Below us, it was easy to see the city was alive, cars and boats weaving in and out of each other, but on top of Mount Washington, it was like we were in a bubble — like we were watching from a completely different planet.
“I used to come here all the time with my family,” Reese said after a moment. He didn’t look at me, his gaze still fixed on the city sweeping out in front of us. “It’s crazy how no matter how old I get, the view still takes my breath away.”
I smiled a little at that. “It’s beautiful.”
Reese nodded, a comfortable silence falling over both of us before he spoke again. “You’re probably wondering why I brought you here.”
“I’m a little curious,” I confessed. “But, if I’m being honest, I’m just glad to be out of the house.”
“Do you have any friends here?”
I shrugged. “I knew a few people when I was younger, kids I used to play with when we’d come visit at holidays. But none of them still live here. They’re all in college.”
I swallowed at that, my stomach twisting uncomfortably. I should have been away at college, too. I should have been graduating, with my sights set on higher education in New York.
I should have been so many things that I wasn’t, and I tried to pretend like that didn’t bother me.
“It must be hard,” Reese said, glancing at me over his right shoulder. “Being away from your family and friends.”
I didn’t return his gaze. “I don’t really have friends to miss back home,” I said, voice low. The unanswered texts and calls from Reneé weighed heavy in the phone I’d tucked in my back pocket, and they all begged to differ. “I miss my mom, though. She’s more like my best friend than my parent.”
I paused, sadness creeping in as a warm breeze blew up from the mountain. I shook it off as quickly as it had come, letting it float away with the wind.
“But, I’m here for a purpose,” I continued. “I want to be here. I have my eyes on the prize, and I know this is just a step on the ladder that will take me there.”
It sounded so cliché, the way I spoke about my dream. I didn’t know how to explain how badly I wanted it, how badly I needed to be in New York City, to play at Carnegie, to do everything I said I’d do before my wolf had changed my entire life. How could I convey that feeling, that physical need to excel despite what had happened to me? It wasn’t just to prove my wolf wrong, or to rise up against the odds… it was to have purpose, to have something that made me feel alive again.
I was so tired of just feeling like a walking corpse, waiting to die.
Reese nodded, like he really understood as he pulled his gaze back to the city again. “Well, that’s part of why I brought you up here.”
It was my turn to look at him, though he kept his eyes cast toward the skyline. He was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again, as if he wasn’t certain what to say now that he had my attention.
“As beautiful as this view is,” he finally said. “This is a painful place for me to be.”
He swallowed, the motion visible in the constriction of his throat.
“If I were a pragmatic, normal human being, I wouldn’t ever come here. Ever. Because every time I do, it hurts. I mean, there is this physical pain in the center of my chest standing up here,” he said, hand splaying over his chest to illustrate. “Like someone has their fist inside my rib cage, fingers wrapped around my heart in a vise grip.”
I frowned. “Why would you come here, then?”
“Because,” he answered, his hand slowly falling back to the railing. I thought that was the only explanation he was going to give, but after a long pause, he continued. “I’m not a normal, pragmatic human being. And neither are you.” He glanced at me briefly before gazing at the city again. “We’re artists. We’re musicians. We’re…” He sighed, shaking his head. “We’re not destined to run from our misery, we’re destined to bathe in it — and to somehow find a way to make it beautiful.”
I leaned a hip on the railing, shifting until my entire body faced him, but I didn’t know what to say. That heavy presence I’d felt when we first made it up to the incline radiated tenfold, and my heart kicked up a notch, as if it were preparing to fight or fly.
But I didn’t know who or what I’d be flying from.
“I brought you here because you need to understand,” he said, and he shifted until he faced me, too.
When his dark eyes locked on mine, my heart stopped altogether before thumping back to life in a quick gallop to catch up on the beats it had missed.
“In order to play the way you want to play,” he said. “In order to make the dreams you speak of a reality, you’re going to have to go to painful places — to the places you never want to go again.” Reese swallowed. “You’re going to have to look in the mirror at the worst parts of yourself, and at your past, and you’re going to have to get comfortable with the scars you see. No, more than that,” he clarified with a shake of his head. “You’re going to have to get to know each scar like it’s a permanent piece of every song you will ever play. Do you understand?”
For the first time since the night I left Bramlock, tears welled in my eyes — but I didn’t know why. It was as if that pain that radiated off Reese had penetrated me, and that vise grip he felt had transferred to my own heart.
My wolf’s eyes flashed in my mind like a bolt of white hot lightning.
“I… I don’t have any of that,” I whispered, mentally shaking him away. “My life has been pretty boring, I don’t really have scars to—”
“I don’t believe that,” Reese interrupted, voice firm. “And you don’t either.”
My mouth zipped shut at that, and I tried to stand taller, but somehow felt rooted so deep I couldn’t even gain an inch of height.
“Watching you play this week, I already know some are
as we are going to have to target to help you overcome this injury and get to where you want to be.” Reese leaned one elbow on the railing, holding out his fingers and counting them off with his other hand. “Tension. Technique. Inflection.” He paused. “You know all those things, too. Those are the easy lessons, the ones you can go home and practice and see a gradual improvement in each week.”
Reese faced me, the warmth of his breath mixing with the night air that brushed my nose. There was a bright moon above us, and it cast his face in a haunting mix of glow and shadows, light and dark.
“But, do you know what you need to overcome more than anything?” he asked.
I shook my head.
“Vulnerability.”
That word hit me like an anvil, so much so that my shoulders sagged and my knees buckled from the pressure. Every part of my body reacted to the possibility that I might feel what Reese was saying, that I might open up that box that hid everything painful in my life, the one I’d worked so hard to put a lid on and shove away in a figurative attic. Those monsters stirred from inside that box, their growls rumbling through me, and I felt myself gearing up to fight them back into that box should they even think about escaping.
Reese must have sensed my unease, because he stepped a little closer, lowering his voice and his gaze to meet mine. “You sit at that piano, and I don’t know who you are or what you’ve been through.” He held up his hands. “And I don’t care to know, because you don’t make me curious enough to want to know. You play it like an instrument instead of like an extension of yourself,” he explained. “And that’s what is holding you back from where you need to be. From where you want to be.”
I swallowed, finally garnering enough strength to straighten my spine. “But, I’ve played my entire life. I was the top of my class. I have the technique, I play with emotion,” I argued. “I once made my entire class cry with an original piece. I—”
“You were. You once did. Both past tense,” Reese said. “I don’t doubt that you moved your classmates with the way you played, because you don’t play like the twenty-one year old girl you are.” He rolled his lips together, debating his next words. “You play like a woman twice my age, Sarah, but like a woman trying to hide instead of trying to share her experiences with the audience. And that’s what they want from you — they want to feel your pain so they know their own is valid. Just like any kind of art, any kind of expression…” He shrugged. “We are all just humans who want to feel like we’re not alone, even when we are.”
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 57
