Page 31 of What He Never Knew

There were so many layers to him, so many sad, broken, busted-up pieces that made the man who sat down at that piano every night and left the residents of Pittsburgh speechless with his musical ability.

I’d only gotten a glimpse, but it was enough to make me crave more.

“Relax, Sarah,” he said again, this time a little firmer as I moved with the music.

I blew out a breath, closing my eyes and focusing on the notes I brought to life. I felt the keys under my hands, the pedal under my foot, the music in my soul. That song was meant to be played with emotion, and I felt it — I truly did.

Until Reese told me to relax again.

I huffed, tossing my hands up in the air as the song came to an ugly end, the notes dying all at once as soon as my hands were off the keys.

“Damn it, Iamrelaxed!” My chest heaved as I found Reese standing in the corner of the room. He was leaning against the wall, in the shadows, like he wanted to disappear and leave me alone with the piano.

Except he kept interrupting me.

He just watched me as I tried to steady my breathing, not affected in the least by my outburst. “Clearly,” he finally said, kicking one foot off the wall behind him. He crossed the room until he stood next to the piano, and he pointed one finger down at the keys I’d abandoned. “Try again.”

“I think I need a break.”

“Just… try again, Sarah,” he said, voice softer. “Please.”

His eyes were patient, but tired — like my own. Still, even with what seemed like the weight of an entire lifetime resting in that expression he wore, he was handsome. Tragically so. And though I’d noticed the beauty in his music, in his playing ability, that was the first time I noticed the beauty inhim.

For a moment, I wondered what he had looked like when he was my age, before life had creased the skin around his eyes. He was still dressed in the teacher get up I assumed he wore the entire day at Westchester — khaki slacks, dark brown chukkas, a navy blue button-up with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, the top two buttons unfastened, tie hung haphazardly on the chair in the corner of the room. His long hair was pulled back in a loose bun at his neck, just the slightest bit of stubble peppering his strong jaw.

I wondered how many young middle school girls had his name sprawled across their notebooks, outlined with little hearts.

I sighed the longer he looked at me, finally rolling my shoulders a few times before my hands hovered over the keys again. I closed my eyes, steadied my breath, and began to play.

I hadn’t made it twenty seconds in before Reese spoke.

“I can feel your tension from here.”

“I’m not tense,” I almost sang, forcing a smile as I continued to play. I opened my eyes and glanced up at where he stood as my fingers still moved over the keys. “I’m relaxed, and if you’d stop talking, you’d be able to see the emotion in my playing, too.”

“Not with every part of you wound up like that, I won’t.”

He moved until he stood behind me, and I frowned, still playing but with a bit of nerves now that he was out of sight. I still felt the heat of his body radiating off him and warming my back as I closed my eyes again. The song was sad and slow, and I found myself considering what the composer felt when he created it, when these notes were sewn together and a new piece of music was born.

“The technique is there,” Reese said from behind me while I continued playing. “And I see you closing your eyes, see the way your face twists with each note, like you feel it, like you’ve lived it.”

He paused, and I nearly missed a note when his hands found my shoulders, light and easy, without any pressure or demand.

“Relax,” Reese said.

Relax, I heard another voice say in the back of my mind. It was a darker voice.

The voice of my wolf.

I flinched away involuntarily, the notes crashing together chaotically before I picked the song up again.

“Sorry,” I murmured, my next breath burning on the inhale. I could still feel the heat of his hands, even though they were gone now, back at his sides.

Reese was quiet a moment before he cleared his throat. “No, no, I’m sorry. I should have warned you. I, uh… I just want to illustrate something. Is that okay?”

I nodded, though my heart was galloping like a wild stallion in my chest. I focused on the music, on not missing another note as his hands came down to rest on my shoulders again.

The instinct to pull away again was strong, but the warmth of his hands, of his care, permeated through that instinct the longer he held the touch. It was gentle, easy, and light — like he was ready to pull away again if I said the word.