Page 73 of What He Never Knew

I said those words in my mind, over and over and over again — even after I’d slipped inside the house and closed the door to the piano room, taking a seat at the bench. I immediately began working on the piece Reese had assigned me, but it felt flat, and my desire to sing was somewhere right around my desire to see Jennifer Stinson again.

My shoulders fell, hands collapsing on the keys as an ugly string of notes rang out.

If this was the right thing to do, if pushing Reese away was what was best… why did I feel so sick?

A week later, I stared at my former best friend’s name on my phone like pressing the DIAL button would set off a nuclear bomb.

It’d been a rough seven days.

The piece Reese had assigned me was harder for me than I expected — mostly because I couldn’t tap into the same emotion as the composer. I wanted to nail it, drive it home when I performed it tomorrow at our Sunday lesson, but I felt like I was miles away from grasping what I needed to in order to accomplish that.

Not only was I struggling with the assignment, but Reese had been distant and cold at our lessons that week. If it was even possible, he seemed to be back to the same grump he’d been the first time we’d met. I tried to convince myself he was just doing what I’d asked him to do. He was acting as my teacher, not my friend. And that’s what I wanted. I didn’t come to Pennsylvania to make friends.

The problem was that I had, anyway.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I loved hanging out with Reese. I wanted to be around him — not just when he was teaching me, butall the time.

Maybe that’s why my stomach had lurched at our Thursday lesson when Jennifer had called him and he’d agreed to take her out Saturday night.

AKA tonight.

He hadn’t so much as acknowledged the call when it was over, picking up our lesson right where he’d left it like I hadn’t just heard him tell another woman that he’d pick her up at seven on Saturday night. And I knew it didn’t matter, that he was doingexactlywhat I’d asked him to do — true to his word, just like I knew he would be.

But I still sat there on his piano bench with a thick, sticky tongue for the rest of our lesson.

Now, here it was five o’clock on Saturday evening. Reese was probably showering. He was probably shaving, laying out his clothes, spritzing himself with the cologne that I loved so much. He was probably combing his hair back into a nice, neat bun at the nape of his neck, probably lighting up a cigarette to ease his nerves.

And I was here, alone.

It was just as it should be. Iwantedhim to date, to move on from Charlie, to find a step forward. I wanted him to be happy.

I just hated that it couldn’t be with me.

I needed to talk to someone before my thoughts drove me up the goddamn wall. But I couldn’t tell my mom,definitelycouldn’t tell my aunt or uncle, and I’d pushed every other person in my life away when I’d left Bramlock.

Including Reneé.

Sighing, I shook my head and finally tapped the DIAL button, putting the call on speaker. As soon as the rings started filling my room, my stomach tightened, a knot forming in my throat that I had to swallow past when she answered.

“Hello? Sarah?”

I tried to swallow, but couldn’t. I just sat there, tears welling in my eyes at the sound of her voice.

“Sarah, please tell me it’s you.”

“It’s me,” I croaked.

“Oh my God,” she cried in response, and the tears in my eyes welled more, slipping over my cheeks as I covered my mouth with one hand. “It’s really you? I thought you’d died. I thought… I don’t even know. I thought I would never hear from you again.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, choking on my own tears. “I’m so sorry I left you, that I didn’t call or text. I don’t have a valid excuse but I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” she assured me. “It’s okay. Whatever your reasoning was, I understand.” She sniffed. “Now, tell me everything to make up for the fact that you’ve given me premature gray hairs.”

I laughed, swiping the tears from my face as I pictured my best friend — warm, brown skin, wide chocolate eyes, hair wild and curly, smile as wide as her face.

“Seriously, start talking. Why the hell didn’t you come back last semester? Where have you been? What have you been doing? Are you sick?” She gasped. “Oh my God… are you dying? Sarah, if you are just now calling to tell me you have some sort of disease and only have a few days to live, I swear to science I’ll fly to wherever you are and kill you myself.”

I chuckled again, fluffing the pillows on my bed before leaning back against them with the phone on my chest. “I’m not dying. I’m perfectly healthy. And I’m in Pittsburgh… well, Mount Lebanon. I’m staying with my uncle and taking piano lessons with Reese Walker. Oh, also, I sha—”