Page 78 of What He Never Knew

I watched him yank on the tie from where I sat at the kitchen counter, my palms damp, heart racing. My gaze bounced around, landing on him for only a brief moment before I’d look at the glasses he was pouring water into, or the paintings that hung on his wall, or at Rojo, who was roaming around the kitchen with a toy in her mouth, tail wagging.

I couldn’t look at him very long, either. Not with him dressed like that.

Not with him looking so handsome I wanted to cry.

Jennifer had been with him all night looking like that. She’d been able to stare at his bright smile across what I imagined to be a candle-lit table. She’d been the reason his hair was styled and neat, his jaw freshly shaved, his hard, god-like body covered in a tailored, charcoal suit that brought an edge to him I’d never seen before.

And as he let that tie fall loose around his neck, popping open two buttons on his dress shirt with a sigh of relief, I found I had to tear my eyes away again.

“How was your date?” I asked, breaking the silence as he replaced the water pitcher inside his fridge.

A short, snuff of a laugh came from his nose. “It’s nine-thirty and I’m already home.” He paused, locking eyes on mine. “Alone.So, how do you think it went?”

He slid me one of the waters, staring at the one in his hand before shaking his head. He dipped back inside the fridge, this time pulling out a beer and leaving the glass of water behind. He cracked the can open, chugging half of it in one go.

I stared at the glass in my hand.

“Why are you here, Sarah?”

I lifted my gaze, and I wanted to die when I met his eyes. He watched me like me being in that house with him was the most painful thing, like he was trying to breathe clean oxygen and I was a roaring fire, causing him to inhale hot, black smoke, instead. And when my eyes fell to his lips, my stomach twisted painfully at the smudge of red that marred them.

He’d kissed her.

Of course he’d kissed her.

“I… I told you,” I said, swallowing, hands still fastened around my full glass of water as I tore my eyes away from his lips. “I think I’m ready to play the song.”

“Right.” Reese’s grip tightened on the can of beer in his hand. “But, our lesson is tomorrow. Why did you come tonight?”

Tears stung the corners of my eyes, and I ripped my gaze from his, taking a tentative sip of water before I pushed the glass away. I couldn’t even drink that without my stomach churning in protest. I felt sick — from the day, the week, the news from Reneé, the sight of Reese dressed up for another woman.

But I couldn’tsayany of that.

There was only one way I could communicate in that moment.

“Please,” I finally said, voice barely a whisper as I looked up at him once more. “Just… please, let me play. I think I have it. I think I can play it now.”

Reese finally looked at me then —reallylooked at me — his eyes softening as he considered my plea. After a long moment, he sighed, running his hand over his face before taking another sip of his beer. Then, without a word or a nod or a confirmation of any kind, he turned, leaving me in the kitchen as he rounded the corner into the piano room.

He was just like the man I’d first met.

Gone was my warm, tender Reese who laughed and played, who skated in the park with me and rubbed his dog’s belly in the sunshine. He’d been replaced by the cold, quiet Reese I’d first met.

And somehow, I felt like I was to blame.

I followed him into the room where his piano was, and he was already in his corner, arms folded over his chest where he waited in the shadows. He must have wiped his mouth, or perhaps it was the beer, but the traces of red lipstick he’d worn before were gone now. The room was dark, save for a candle I assumed he’d just lit, and the flame of it flickered around us as I took my seat at the bench.

I flipped the wood cover up, exposing the ivory keys as I tried to steady my breath. I didn’t expect to be nervous, not when I’d played at that piano so many times for Reese, but I was shaking, too aware of the man in the corner of the room. My hands floated over the keys, touching each one softly as I warmed up, the pedal giving way to my foot under the bench. I took my time, loosening my wrists and relaxing my shoulders as I played.

Once I was warm, I pulled my hands away, stretching them up above the keys and rolling my wrists a few times. I cracked my neck next, blowing out a long, slow breath. I felt Reese there in the corner, watching me, waiting — but when I closed my eyes, he was gone. When I closed my eyes, I was exactly where the song said I should be.

At the piano in my mother’s home.

I could see it — our old house, the octagon-shaped window with the crack in the veneer. I could feel the sun shining through it, touching that same spot it always did on my left forearm as I played. I smelled the vanilla and lavender, two of mom’s favorite scents, and I felt the long, shaggy carpet under my toes as I played. I was no longer in Reese’s home, but in ours. In the one we’d left behind. In the one I’d never forget.

There, in the corner, instead of Reese, it was her. It was Mom.

And Dad was there with her.