Page 25 of What He Never Knew

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?

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 front 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.”