Charlie was quiet for a moment, so I took a sip of the scotch her dad had poured me after dinner. I knew coming to dinner with her parents would leave me with a full stomach and great conversation with people who felt like home, but what I didn’t expect was to see Charlie start to finally open up a little. She seemed to relax the more we talked, and though it was faint, I found a small piece of the old her shining through.
Charlie chuckled. “I’m just picturing whoever it was who bought that house, laying down in that room to go to bed the first night and being scared out of their minds.” She shook her head, looking up at me then, the moon casting a blue glow on her cheeks. “What did you write?”
I smirked. “Don’t look under the bed.”
Charlie’s little mouth popped open in an o before she shook her head again. “You’re bad, Reese Walker,” she said, voice airy and light. And then, she hiccuped.
I liked seeing her like that — light and carefree, smiling and laughing. It reminded me of the goofy, shy bookworm that used to sleep over. She was the polar opposite of my sister Mallory — hell, she was different than any of the girls I’d ever met, honestly. She always had a quiet, mysterious quality about her, like you never could be sure what she was really thinking. And when she did open up to you, when you got to see the part of her that no one else did, it was something you’d never forget.
She stayed with you.
She’d stayed with me for years.
“I miss it sometimes,” she said, her eyes on my old house again. There were only a few lights on, one of them belonging to the room that used to be Mallory’s. “The freedom of being a kid, the innocence. Nothing had touched us yet, you know? Nothing hurt. Every day was full of possibilities. We had our whole lives ahead of us.”
“It’s not like we’re dead, Tadpole.”
She breathed a laugh. “I almost forgot about that nickname, you know. Until you said it earlier this week.” Charlie took a sip of her coffee around another set of hiccups, her eyes avoiding mine. “How have you been, Reese?”
I’d talked about myself all night at the dinner table. I’d caught her and her parents up on Juilliard, the rigorous curriculum there, the performances in the city that had been everything I’d always dreamed of. I told them about my time working on Broadway in the orchestra pit, about my solo gig at a small, fancy restaurant in the Upper East Side. I’d even told them how I got started tutoring at Juilliard, where my desire to teach had outgrown my desire to do anything else on the piano.
But that’s not what Charlie was asking.
She was asking if I was okay since the day I lost my entire family, and I didn’t know how to answer her.
“I’ve been getting by,” I answered honestly. “Some days are easier than others.”
“How long has it been now?”
I swallowed. “Little over three years.”
Charlie hiccuped. If she hadn’t already had them before the conversation turned, I’d have thought she was crying.
“It’s not fair,” she whispered after a moment. “The guy who did that… that awful thing, he just got to die. He just got to end his own life and not own up to any of the pain he caused. He was a coward.”
That pressure was back in my chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone answer her. If I closed my eyes, I could still see the piano I played in their house that day. I was waiting for them to come home, showing up unannounced for dinner after a night of partying.
I was there to ask for money.
“He was,” I agreed when I found my voice again, my hand circling the amber liquid in my glass. I threw it back all at once, letting it sting on the way down. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel real, you know? It feels like it happened to someone else, like Mom, Dad, and Mallory are just on some vacation or something.”
I shook my head, staring at my empty glass a little longer before my eyes found the house again.
“The worst part is, the weeks after it happened were such a blur. It was all these interviews and people wanting to know the stories behind the victims. That’s their favorite part, you know? They’ll look for the heroes in the tragedy, or the lives taken too young. I had both. Dad covered Mom and Mallory to try to save them, and Mallory was a week away from graduating with her doctorate degree from NYU. She had a boyfriend, who had a ring he hadn’t given her. The reporters loved that shit. And I had to be the one to tell them the stories, to give them the pictures.”
“That must have been so hard,” Charlie said, and I heard her voice crack at the end.
“In a way. But it also kept my mind off things, at least momentarily. It was easier to think about it as a mass shooting rather than a personal attack. If that makes sense.” I laughed. “It probably doesn’t.”
“No, it does,” she assured me, and then we were both quiet again.
I tried not to think about it often, the day a crazed gunman stole my family from me. They were just standing there in the middle of Central Park, watching a musical performance behind the Met, and the next thing they knew, there were gun shots. I read every survivor’s account of what happened, listened to their interviews on how the gun shots rang out, the screams, people running or hiding or pretending like they were already dead.
But my family had been right there, front row, just enjoying an afternoon in the park. Wrong place, wrong time.
I didn’t know how long Charlie and I stood there before she spoke again, but when she did, the words flew out of her in a fit of anger and pain, and it was the most emotion she’d given me since I’d stepped foot back in town.
“I’m sorry,” she said first, her voice cracking. “I’m so, so sorry, Reese. I didn’t keep in touch with Mallory after you guys left. I was so angry, and sad. I didn’t understand why you guys had to go. I was still in high school, you know? I had to stay behind while everyone I cared about moved on. And when I heard the news, I still didn’t reach out to you. I didn’t want to be more of a burden, to be just another person trying to soothe you when I hadn’t been a part of your life for so long. But I was wrong for that. I should have reached out, I should have been there for you.” She sniffed. “I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” I said quickly, both to comfort her and to fight against the burning in my throat.
I didn’t even have the thought in my head before my hands were reaching for her, pulling her into me for a hug. I should have hesitated, should have remembered that she belonged to another man, but it was instinctive in that moment — the urge to stop her pain.
She was so small in my arms, the faint scent of coffee fresh on her breath, a few strands of her silky hair falling loose from her bun. I rested my chin on top of her head, rubbing her back with one hand. “It’s okay. Really, it is. I don’t hold anything against you and neither did Mallory.”
“She must have hated me,” Charlie whispered.
“She didn’t. She loved you, we all did.”
I still do.
“It’s not fair the way life works out sometimes, but it’s okay, and you didn’t do anything wrong. You had your own life to live here, Tadpole, and we had our own things happening in New York. It’s okay,” I repeated, hoping she believed me.
“You don’t hate me?”
She looked up at me then, her dark eyes glossed over with unshed tears, and I just chuckled.
“I could never hate you, Charlie.”
She sniffed, a small smile finding her bright pink mouth.
And I knew I should let her go.
I’d said what needed to be said, I’d eased her worry, but still, I held her. I swallowed, and her eyes fell to my throat before they glanced at my lips, sending a familiar zing of warning through me. It was the same warning I’d felt every time she looked at me that way when she was just a teenager, when the five years between us forbid us from ever being this close.
But it was a new warning, too. One that said she’s married.
My hands at the small of her back tightened, and my eyes watched hers, both of our smi
les fading. I wanted to ask her if she was okay, if she was happy, if Cameron was what she wanted. But I had no right to ask any of those things.
Still, I held her.
Charlie watched my lips, like she was willing me to say something. I opened my mouth to grant her unspoken wish just as her dad’s voice called from the house.
“Charlie! Cam’s here!”
She stepped away from me quickly, a bit of her coffee sloshing out of her cup as she hiccuped again. “Sorry.”
“Charlie,” I tried, but she was already making her way through the yard.
“Thank you for coming tonight,” she called behind her. “I know my parents really appreciated it. I did, too.”
I caught up to her easily, reaching for her wrist to stop her. She spun, looking up at me with flushed cheeks.
“I have to go.”
“I know,” I said softly, reaching for the half-empty cup in her hand. “I’ll take this inside for you.”
She looked at my hand on hers, her grip still tight around the mug. Slowly, she loosened it, letting me take the porcelain from her grasp. “Thank you.”
I waited until her gaze found mine again. “See you at school.”
“See you at school,” she echoed quickly, and then her little feet carried her the rest of the way across the yard.
I followed behind her, pausing at the front door as she made her way to the open car door waiting for her. Cameron stood beside it, one hand on the top of the door, his eyes hard on me when I took my place next to Charlie’s parents on the door step.
“Don’t forget to call me about the fundraiser, Charlie!” her mom called, and Charlie just held up a hand in a short wave, not even looking behind her.
Before she could step into the car, Cameron’s hand found the crook of her arm, and she paused, looking up at him. His hand slid up the outside of her coat, up her slender neck to frame her face, and then he bent to kiss her.
When their lips connected, I looked away, down at the half-empty coffee cup in my hands, still stained with her pink lipstick.
“Young love,” Maxwell chuffed, smiling at me before clapping me on the back. “What do you say, Reese? Join an old man for a cigar?”
I chanced one last glance at Charlie, and immediately wished I hadn’t. She was looking up at Cameron like that kiss had brought her back to life, like he was the only man she ever wanted, and I had to remind myself that he was.
Cameron was her husband. I was the boy who used to live next door.
The sooner I got that through my head, the better.
Charlie slipped inside the car, and Cameron closed the door softly behind her, waving goodbye to all of us on the porch one last time. He watched me the longest, his brows low, and I knew that look in his eyes. He was threatened, and he was warning me. I’d have done the same thing if Charlie was mine.
“A cigar sounds great,” I finally answered. My eyes flicked to the window Charlie sat behind, but it was too tinted to see her through it. She was there, she was close, yet she was invisible. She was untouchable.
She was no different behind the barrier of that car door than she was to me in real life, and I needed to remember that.
With that realization, I tore my gaze away and followed her father into his study.
Charlie
“That was some kiss,” I said when we were out of my parents’ development.
My cheeks flooded with warmth, both from being in the heat after standing outside for so long and from the spark ignited by Cameron’s lips. My fingertips fluttered over my swollen bottom lip, skating the smooth surface of it, a flash of the kiss resurfacing just from that.
It’d been so long since he kissed me like that, so long since I felt that kind of possessive passion from him, and all I wanted was to hold on to it for the night.
Cameron glanced over at me before his eyes found the road again. “It was just a kiss.”
“It reminded me of the way you kissed me at our first bonfire at Garrick.”
At that, Cameron smirked, cocking one brow in my direction. “Yeah, well, my fraternity brothers couldn’t keep their eyes off you. I had to let them know you were taken.”
I flushed.
“That kiss led to a pretty amazing night,” I reminded him.
It was the first time I think I really knew we’d be together forever. We’d gone to a hotel off campus, the honeymoon suite with a giant jet tub in the room. Cameron made love to me like I was his wife, even though we’d only been dating a few months at the time.
“It did,” he agreed. He smiled wider, and then his right hand came off the wheel and landed on my thigh with a gentle squeeze.
I stared at that hand and smiled, too.
By the time we made it home, I could barely sit still. I might as well have taken three caffeine pills for how the energy in that car buzzed through me. He’d kissed me like he still wanted me, held my thigh like he was proud to call me his again.
It all led me to one overpowering thought: We were going to have sex.
It’d been so long, but after that kiss, after his hand reaching out for me again, I knew we were going to. Just the thought of it, the memories of what it would feel like when his hand first dipped down from my neck and cupped my breast, of what he would taste like after taking his time kissing me between my thighs — those thoughts unraveled me like yarn, his unexpected affection the snag that started it all.
I rushed upstairs, stopping long enough to sing a little song with Jane and Edward before I covered their cage, settling them in for the night. I dipped inside the bathroom next, excitement bubbling like a fountain coming back to life.
When I assessed myself in the mirror, I smiled again. My makeup was still in place from earlier that evening, my cheeks rosy, lips frosted pink. I let my hair down, shaking it out, running my fingers through the waves before peeling off my dress. I hummed, listening to Cameron undressing in the other room.
Want rolled off of me like steam. He was just one room over, stripping down, exposing himself for me. I wanted him so bad it physically hurt to wait any longer.
I let out a long exhale, running my fingers through my hair again as my eyes bounced around my reflection.
My small breasts were perky, dusky pink nipples tight and aching for Cameron’s touch. My skin was as white as snow, contrasting the dark hair falling over my shoulders, and I ran my hands down over my slim waist, my hips, imagining his hands on me after months of starvation.
Tonight, he’d kissed me.
Tonight, he’d have me again.
With one more shaky breath, one hand found the cold door knob, and I slowly pushed it open.
Jane and Edward still twitted beneath their black cover a bit, cooing their goodnights to one another, and Cameron was already under the sheets. His back was turned to me, the lamp on his side of the bed casting our bedroom in a soft, warm glow. Just seeing him there, the sheets pooled at his waist, his body expanding with every breath — it set my desire ablaze, the burn of it singeing me from the inside out.
I sauntered over slowly, crawling under the covers behind him.
I hadn’t been that nervous to touch him since the first night I ever did.
With shaky hands, I ran my fingers over the hard muscles of his back, pressing myself closer to him so he could feel my naked body against his own. He was so warm, my own skin like ice, and I moaned a bit at the sensation as I lowered a kiss to his shoulder blade. I kissed him softly, trailing my lips over his shoulder and neck as my hand reached low on his abdomen, skating the dusting of hair there.
A breathy moan left my lips as his body rolled into my touch, just marginally, just enough for me to notice. But when I pushed my fingertips beneath the band of his briefs, his hand shot down to wrap around my wrist.
“I’m beat, Charlie,” he said gently, pulling my hand up to his mouth instead. He kissed my palm, rolling over to catch my lips next. I tried to deepen the kiss while I had him, but he pulled away too quickly, leaning forw
ard to click off the lamp in the next second. “Goodnight.”
And just like that, in one split second, every familiar emotion that had brought me back to life that night died again — this second death even more painful in the warm bed that didn’t warm me any longer.
Rejection seeped through me like poison, killing my desire and confidence both in one fell swoop.
I pulled my hand away like it had been burned, rolling over until I lay on my back, my eyes focusing somewhere beyond the ceiling. Cameron lay so still next to me, like he was afraid to move, afraid to breathe — like any clue that he was still awake would have me reaching for him, trying to convince him to want this, to want me.
He didn’t want me.
My heart squeezed painfully in my chest, and I pressed my fingertips hard over the skin, massaging it as tears pooled in my eyes.
I remembered a time when the thought of him refusing sex would have been laughable. If anything, it was hard for me to keep up with his desire. But time had changed everything. It’d changed me, him, the way we were together. It’d changed our circumstances, our futures, and so much more.
Time had wedged miles between us quickly, but it was taking its sweet time bringing us back together.
I wasn’t sure if it ever really would.
When Cameron’s breathing slowed and a soft snore let me know he was asleep, I slipped from the sheets and into the bathroom once more. I closed the door behind me quietly, turning the lock, and then I leaned my back against it with a sigh. The tears I’d been fighting back fell in perfect symmetry with the closing of my eyes, but I swiped them away quickly, crossing the beautiful pearl tile to run a hot bath.
My mind wandered as I sat at the edge of the tub watching the water rush in, my fingers lazily dancing across the top of it. I liked the way it bubbled out around my fingertips if I pressed into the water just enough, but not too much to submerge them.
And as my eyes lost focus, memories flooded in.
Cameron and I that night after the bonfire — the bubbles in the bath and in our champagne, too.
I heard his laugh like it was my own voice, felt his hands like they’d never left, saw his eyes, the way they’d adored me, as if they were a permanent stain in my memory.
What He Doesn't Know Page 5
