Page 4 of What He Never Knew

“I have to work,” I interrupted. “I need to continue saving and I’m also going to pay you rent.”

“You’re not paying us rent,” Uncle Randall said, almost as a laugh. “That’s absurd.”

“But—”

“Look,” he said, pulling me to the side so the other patrons of the restaurant could pass. His hands framed my arms, and I flinched again. “I know you have that same strong will as your mother, and I love that about both of you. But, please, Sarah — don’t worry about paying us rent. If you want to work and save up money,thatI understand. Put the money you would pay us toward your savings, instead.” He smiled. “We are just tickled to have the time with our niece. We don’t get to see you near as often as we’d like, and we’re just happy to help you pursue this dream of yours.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but Uncle Randall raised one thick, white, caterpillar eyebrow, as if he dared me to try to beat him on this. We both knew I’d lose in the end.

So, instead, I let out a heavy sigh and nodded.

“That’s my girl,” he said. “Now, let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

He trotted off in front of me, and I tucked my hands into the pockets of my coat before following.

In my eyes, Pennsylvania had always been a winter wonderland. Uncle Randall was my father’s only brother, and he’d stayed here with their parents while my dad had gone south, attending university in Atlanta before entering the political circuit there. We’d visited Pennsylvania for nearly every Christmas, especially when my grandparents were alive, and I had memories of sledding with my dad and making hot cocoa with my mom. It was our getaway to a Christmas land, away from the southern heat and humidity.

But it was May, summer ready to bloom, and Pennsylvania was different in the spring. The air still held a cool crisp as the wind swept past me, but the evening air was warm, the sun stretching its way lazily across the sky. It wasn’t a winter wonderland this time of year, but it would be my home for… well, I wasn’t exactly sure how long. However long it took to get me where I needed to be, I supposed. I was just thankful to my aunt and uncle for agreeing to take me in.

And for getting me the connection to Reese Walker.

The past year had challenged me, tested me, changed me. As if the injury I’d suffered that hindered my piano playing wasn’t enough, I’d been spread wide on the ground under the piano by the professor who was supposed to help me overcome my injury. He was supposed to help me get better, and instead, he’d taken the me that was partially broken and had completely shattered me.

And I wanted to give up.

I wanted to throw in the towel, quit, surrender. And that’s what I’d done when I’d gone home for winter break. I told my mom I wasn’t going back, and being that I was only a semester away from graduating, she didn’t like that. She didn’t understand. And when I’d shaved my head and completely changed my wardrobe?

Well, she’d gone from concerned to absolutely distraught.

My mother was a therapist, and though her specific focus was on failed marriage, she had always been locked into me as a growing child. She read my signs, my pleas for love and attention before I even understood them myself. So, shaving my head and quitting school a semester before graduation? She knew something was wrong.

Thankfully, my mom was a mom first and a therapist second.

I knew it killed her to let me be, to nod in understanding when I begged her to believe that I was okay, but that I needed time. I needed space. And when I was ready, I came to her, and I told her I wanted to study piano again.

In my own way.

I wouldn’t go back to Bramlock, and whether she knew the reason why or not, my mom supported me. Instead, I thought of a man my dad had talked about often, one I’d followed online, one who I truly believed could help me overcome my injury.

Because as much as my wolf had stolen from me, I wouldn’t let him steal my dream.

My injury was a repetitive strain injury, and it wasn’t easy to overcome. I’d been on the very messy road to recovery before I left Bramlock, and once I’d acclimated to life back in Atlanta, I’d worked on it more, myself.

But on my own, I could only go so far.

I needed professional help if I wanted to make my dream come true, and I would doanythingto make that happen.

I took my time as I followed behind my uncle, taking in the scenery of the busy downtown and the restaurant I would be working at while I stayed here. I knew him well enough now to know he’d be stopped several times on his way to wherever we were going. He was known by nearly everyone in Pittsburgh, it seemed, and definitely by everyone in Mount Lebanon — a small borough right outside the city. He was the headmaster at Westchester Prep, one of the top prep schools in the nation, and his reputation in the community was strong.

Still, whenIwas with him, he got a lot more curious glances than when it was just him and my aunt Betty.

If my aunt and uncle noticed the raised eyebrows and hushed whispers when I was with them, they faked that they were oblivious. But I was used to those kinds of stares.

I didn’t fit in.

At least, not with them.

My aunt and uncle’s skin was creamy white, their eyes a frosted blue, and though both of them now sported white hair, it was easy to see it used to be blonde. My uncle looked so much like my father, it often stopped me in my tracks. I saw the same kindness in my uncle’s blue eyes that I always saw in my father’s. And when he smiled, my heart would squeeze with the desire to see my father’s smile again.