Sarah’s lips parted, her eyes softening as they searched mine.
“I know you wrap your fingers around that crystal that hangs from your neck because it brings you peace, because it makes you think of your dad, of your mom, of everything that keeps you breathing. I know your favorite composer used to be Beethoven, but somewhere along the way, you started favoring Debussy. My bet is because his music makes you believe in love, however impossible it may seem to have faith that it exists.”
She adjusted the bin on her hip, brows tugging together. She seemed torn between the choice to turn and walk away from me forever, or to jump into my arms.
So I kept talking, hoping I could steer her toward the latter.
“I know nothing in this world means more to you than the piano,” I said, a long sigh leaving my chest. “But that you’ve felt lost over the past year because for the first time in your life, that relationship that came so easy turned complicated. You were injured. Then, you were taken advantage of. You were hurt, Sarah, and you got angry — just as you should have. You turned your back on the piano, on loving it, on letting it love you and started treating it like a means to an end, instead. You thought if you could accomplish all the checks on your list, that you’d feel better, you’d find success. And along the way, you only found more loneliness.” I swallowed. “Until you met me.”
She wasn’t leaving, though I knew if I reached for her, if the spell I had her under was broken for even a moment — she’d be gone in an instant.
Still, I couldn’t help it.
I had to be near her. I had to touch her, to let her feel me when I said the next words. My hand reached forward, and my pinky laced with hers under the shadows of the bar where no one could see.
“I know that you are the strongest, most resilient woman to ever walk the face of this Earth. I know that even though you don’t see it or believe it, you will move mountains in the piano industry, and it will be you who future students look up to. I know that you will soar.” I curled my pinky around hers tighter. “And I know you love me, Sarah. Just like I know I love you.”
She gasped, eyes shooting from where they’d been staring at my chest to meet my gaze. Her pupils dilated, eyes flicking between mine as she opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, closed it. She was utterly speechless, her wide eyes and trembling lip not betraying any of her thoughts.
I had lied.
Because I didn’t know if she loved me, too.
But I hoped.
“I’ll quit my job,” I said, and I’d never meant anything more in my life. “I’ll leave Westchester, I’ll leave this town. I’ll go to the city with you, and be whatever wind I can be beneath your outstretched wings if you’ll let me. But you have to let me, Sarah. You have to choose me, too.”
The moment stretched between us as I waited for her response, for her to say she did love me — for her to say anything at all. That energy that always buzzed to life around us was an entire universe in that moment, and it was just for us. I begged whatever god existed to help me, to let her feel my sincerity, my care, my love. I prayed for relief, for her to throw herself in my arms and assure me that what I felt wasn’t one-sided. That it was real. That whatever or whoever tried to step between us would never win.
And for that long pause in time, I believed — in God, in His plan for me, for her, for us. I believed she would see it, too. I believed we would make it. I believed there was no other way, no other possible outcome.
Until the moment she pulled away.
Her eyes fell to the floor between us at the same time she withdrew her hand from mine, tucking it around the edge of the bin against her hip instead. “I have to go,” she whispered.
And she disappeared back into the kitchen without another word.
***
Sarah
“Oh yes, you have to take that one. It’s my favorite,” Mom said from where she sat crosslegged on my bed. She was watching me pull clothes from one of the boxes she’d brought with her from Atlanta as I tried to figure out what to take with me to New York.
New York.
I was going to New York.
It was everything I’d wanted, everything I’d worked for, and I couldn’t even find it in me to be twenty-percent happy.
“Keep in mind that I’m going to live in a shoe box,” I reminded her, folding up the floral kamino dress she’d said couldn’t stay behind. “You can’t keep saying yes to every piece of clothing I’ve ever owned.”
Mom twirled the straw in the smoothie she was drinking. “But you need that one. And all your winter clothes, it’ll be cold there soon. And what if you want to go out with friends? You need nice clothes to go out in. And casual clothes to relax in. And if you perform at Carnegie, then—”
“I’ll go shopping,” I finished for her, chuckling. “No wonder you need a walk-in closet.”
“Hey, I wore the same t-shirt and ratty pair of shorts most of my childhood,” she reminded me. “So I like to indulge now. Sue me.”
I smiled, pulling out the next shirt and holding it up for Mom to inspect. She nixed it, waving it off as she took another drink of her smoothie. She’d driven all the way from Atlanta just so she could haul about eight boxes of my clothes, wall décor, and random knick-knacks from my bedroom back home. Most of it would be shipped back to Georgia, but I loved that she brought it all, anyway.
Her baby girl was moving to the big city, and I could see it in her eyes that she was half proud, half terrified.
Having her in Uncle Randall’s house was the comfort I needed — though nothing could take all the pain away. The last two weeks had dragged by like the longest decade of my life, especially the days when I had to work at The Kinky Starfish. I hadn’t been to Reese’s house since the night we fought, cancelling all our lessons since then, but I couldn’t escape him at work.
Tomorrow would be my last night there… and therefore, my last night with Reese.
Somehow, that fact tore me up more than seeing him did.
I’d completely shut down after our fight, the same way I did after what happened to me at Bramlock. Maybe it was a defense mechanism, my brain and body doing whatever they needed to do to protect me and help me survive. It didn’t matter, anyway — there was nothing more to say to Reese and nothing more he could say to me.
Because Jennifer had been right.
I swore to myself when she got in my head that it was wrong, that there was no way any of it could be true. But he’d proven me wrong not even ten minutes after we got to his place that night.
Just like Wolfgang said I would, I slept my way to the next stepping stone on the way to everything I wanted.
I wondered if there was any way not to do the same in New York.
It felt like the cruelest joke, to finally start trusting again, feeling again, wanting again — and then have the person at the center of all that betray me worse than the one who’d put up the walls in the first place. I was sick when I thought of it, hence my lack of appetite since that night. I trusted Reese. I thought he was different.
And yes, maybe he was right.
Maybe I loved him.
But it was a lie, a fake love, one that couldn’t possibly be real — not when he loved Charlie still, and not when he would even consider that getting me a connection in New York was what I was after the night I undressed for him.
I clutched the next dress from the box between my hands, remembering the power I felt when I stood in his dark bedroom, peeling my jacket off first before I slipped my dress overhead. I’d felt so wanted, so desired, so respected — and now, I only felt naïve.
I was only good for one thing.
That’s what Wolfgang had said, over and over again as he raped me. He’d wanted me to know it. He’d wanted me to remember it forever.
You’re only good for one thing.
I thought I’d proved him wrong before. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
“Sweetie,” Mom said from the bed. I glanced at her through b
lurred eyes, and when two tears snuck loose, slipping over my cheeks, my mom frowned more.
I shook my head, swiping the wetness away. “Sorry. I guess I’m just emotional.”
“Come here,” Mom said, patting the spot on the bed next to her.
I dropped the dress in my hand, crawling on top of the puffy comforter with a sigh as I sat next to her. We both leaned our backs against the wall, and as soon as I kicked my feet out, Mom grabbed the crystal around her neck.
It was the same as mine.
She squeezed it, eyeing the one around my neck until I did the same, and as soon as my fingers folded around it, I felt the relief. It was like an instant release of anxiety, a flood of peace, and I inhaled a deep breath, trying to seal the feeling in.
“You’re not sad about leaving for New York,” she mused.
I shook my head.
“But, you’re not happy about it, either, are you?”
At that, my bottom lip trembled so hard I had to bite down on it to keep from crying. I shook my head again, still holding the crystal around my neck.
“Talk to your mother,” she pleaded, shifting until her shoulder was against the wall, the frame of her body facing me. She reached one hand out, resting it on my knee before giving it a light squeeze. “Even if it doesn’t make sense, just start talking.”
With that touch, with those simple words, I broke.
It was like the dam breaking, so much emotion rushing through me at once I couldn’t place it, couldn’t find a raft to safely float on top. Instead, I was drowned immediately, no air in sight. Everything just hit at once — the memory of Wolfgang, of what he did, of what he said, of how he permanently changed me forever. And Reese, how he’d opened me up again, helped me through my injuries — internally and externally — and how he’d shown me joy again when I swore I’d never find any.
I squeezed my eyes shut and folded in on myself as the waves took me under, and mom cried, too, wrapping her arms around me in a shield. “Oh, mwen chouchou,” she whispered, rocking me gently. “What happened to my sweet girl?”
That broke me even more, and I pressed the hand that was around my crystal to my chest, trying to soothe the ache. Every breath burned, like I really was inhaling water, like I was drowning right there in my aunt’s guest bedroom.
And that’s when I knew.
That’s when it hit me, all of it — the pain, the hiding, the sense of worthlessness, the fight to be more, the failure, the hope, the love, the gut-wrenching heartbreak. And I knew I couldn’t take another step forward until I faced my past, until I looked every ghost in the eye.
Starting with my wolf.
For the longest time, I just stayed there on the bed, curled up on myself as my mom rocked me and ran her hands over my bald head in an attempt to soothe me. I could feel her own heart breaking, and I knew I was about to break it more.
But I couldn’t keep my secret any longer.
I lifted my head, sniffing and wiping the tears from my face as my eyes settled on hers. “Manman,” I whispered, and my lips trembled again, but I held my chin high despite the fear blooming in my chest. “I was raped.”
The water receded as soon as the words were out, even though my heart broke at the sight of my mother’s hands flying to her mouth, her head shaking, her eyes welling with tears as she watched me. It brought her pain just like I knew it would, but I’d told her the truth. I’d told her what I should have so long ago, but didn’t have the courage to.
And just saying those three words, I felt like I was staring my ghost in the eyes, not backing down, not giving up.
“Oh, no,” she whispered through her hands, still shaking her head as tears ran down her dark cheeks. She reached for me, pulling me into her chest. She readjusted her grip, over and over, like she couldn’t shield me enough, like she couldn’t have me close enough. “No. No, no, no. I thought that was what had happened. It was what my heart told me when you came home, when you changed everything about your appearance, when you flinched away from my touch. But I didn’t want to be right… Oh, my child, I didn’t want to be right.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
She ripped me away from her chest at that, her eyes a burning fire when they landed on me. “No. You do not apologize for this. Ever. Ever, do you hear me? It is not your fault, and you have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I’m just sorry I didn’t tell you before,” I amended, holding back tears. “I’m sorry I was such a coward. And I’m sorry I have to hurt you by telling you.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” she said, framing my face with her cool hands. “You are the furthest thing from a coward that could ever exist.”
I nodded past the tears blurring my vision again, and she brought my forehead to her lips, holding them there a long moment before she released me. When our eyes met again, she wiped my tears away with her palms before framing my face once more.
“I want you to tell me everything,” she said. “If you’re ready.”
“I am,” I said quickly. “I am. And I need your help, too. Because… there’s a guy.”
She quirked a brow. “There’s a guy?”
I cringed a little, nodding. And recognition touched my mother’s eyes as soon as she saw my reaction.
I didn’t have to say a word for her to know who I was referring to.
“Alright, mwen chouchou,” she said, grabbing her smoothie from the bedside table. “Start talking.”
***
It was after midnight by the time I finished telling my mom everything that had happened, and we’d both experienced every emotion on the scale of human capacity. All the muscles in my body ached from the tension, the tears, the admissions, the revelations.
I walked her through every aching second of that last night at Bramlock, even though I knew I was adding a scar to her heart that would never heal.
No one wanted to imagine their baby girl getting raped.
But she held my hand through every painful detail, holding me when I was crying too hard to speak, giving me space when I needed to get up and pace just to finish a thought. And when I was done, when I’d caught her up on that night, I just kept right on, flowing into the depression of the months that followed, the hollowness, the lack of joy in my life even when I sat down at the piano.
And I told her about Reese.
I told her about our lessons, about the way he pushed me to dig deep, to face my demons, to take my pain and turn it into music. I told her about all that he’d been through, how he’d brought me hope in a time when I thought it would never exist for me again. I told her about the kiss, about how I ran away, and then how we somehow found our way back together.
Only so I could walk out again.
I was a mess, a complete disaster, and I’d just dumped all my shit on my mom’s lap and asked her to help me sort through it.
Tissues littered the bed around us by the time I’d finished, and Mom sat back against the wall again with an exhausted sigh.
“This is a lot,” she finally confessed, glancing at me with as much of a smile as she could muster.
“I know.”
We were both silent a long moment.
“What do you think?”
She sighed again at that, reaching for one of the bottles of water Aunt Betty had brought us when we’d skipped out on dinner. “I think I wish I still drank alcohol right now.”
I chuckled.
Mom watched me, her eyes skating over every part of me like she was seeing me for the first time. I guessed in that moment, she sort of was.
“We have to go after him, baby girl,” she said. “We can’t let Wolfgang get away with what he did to you, what he could still be doing to other girls at that university. We have to stand up, and we have to fight — even if we’re destined to lose. Do you hear me?” She sat up straight, crossing her legs again. “I know the odds are against us, and that it will be a hard fight, a long fight, but we will suit up for battle, nonetheless.”
I
didn’t have any tears left to cry, but my throat constricted with the weight of her words. She wanted me to take Wolfgang to court, to press charges, to tell the whole world my story and let them judge it for themselves.
And I knew she was right.
He could still be there, right now, at this very moment, torturing someone else.
I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to stop it.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I confessed.
“I’ll figure that out,” she assured me, sitting back against the wall again. “But, we can talk about that later. Right now, I want to talk about the first person you felt comfortable telling all this to, the one who brought back your happiness. Because I think that’s the most important thing to discuss in this moment.”
I nodded.
“Now, I’d be lying if I said I was thrilled about all of this. Reese is much older than you, and even though I know the connection you have with him is real, it does bother me that he was your teacher and allowed you two to get this close.”
I swallowed, tucking my knees up to my chest and wrapping my arms around them. I felt like I was ten years old again, being scolded and grounded for skipping homework to play piano.
Mom eyed me sternly before taking a breath. “But,” she continued. “That being said, I also know that sometimes — most times — love doesn’t play by the rules we have set for it in society. And if anyone knows what it’s like to fight for a love with more than just mountains to climb, it’s your Manman.”
I smiled, reaching out for her hand to squeeze it, because I knew in that moment she was thinking about my dad, about their love, about their journey. Their interracial relationship in the deep south when my father had been in the political circuit had tested both of them. They’d had bricks thrown through the windows of their first home, had their shoes spit on by people passing them on the street, heard the most vicious threats from the mouths of absolute demons.
And still, they’d fought together — for their love, for their life.
Best Kept Secrets: The Complete Series Page 77
