Page 21 of What He Never Knew

“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 hesawmy 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 justplayingit. 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’sSonata 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.