What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(22)

“Maybe,” I conceded, taking another puff of my cigarette. “But, judging by the other cigarette butts and other disgusting things littering the ground, I think we can both agree that mine is the more normal of the two in this space.”

Sarah’s eyes shot open, and as if she just noticed them, her lip curled, eyes scanning the abandoned cigarettes on the concrete around us. She let out a long breath, closing her eyes again and pulling her shoulders down and back. “Well, I needed to mediate. Sometimes I get off kilter around big groups of people. I just wanted to get centered.” She held up one finger. “And before you say anything, I know work isn’t the best place for that. But it’s been a stressful day and I needed a minute.” She paused. “And this might not be the most appropriate spot to clear my mind, but I have a feeling our boss wouldn’t be too keen with me rolling out a mat next to the piano.”

“Hey, I’m not the one judging,” I said, cigarette between my teeth again as I held my hands up. “That was you.”

“I wasn’t judging,” she defended, brows furrowed as she glanced at me. She shifted, her back slouching a bit before she straightened again. “I’m just saying, that’s not the best thing for you.”

“Trust me,” I said on a laugh. “I’ve never been one to gravitate toward the things that were best for me in my life.”

We were both silent then, and Sarah stretched her hands out in front of her, rolling her wrists with a grimace.

“How are your wrists feeling?” I asked, extinguishing the last of my cigarette on the concrete before tucking it in my pocket. The least I could do was not add to the butts around her.

“A little sore, but not too bad,” she answered. “I’ve been working on that piece you assigned me Thursday night.”

I nodded. “You’re not pushing too hard, though, right?”

“About four hours a day right now,” she said. “I could do more, but I’m trying to ease into it.”

“Good,” I said. “Slow and steady will win this race. I don’t want you injured again before we can even work on your technique.”

I watched her for a long while, content with the silence as I thought over our week together. We’d only had two lessons, but we’d kick it up to four times a week once school ended. I knew just from our first hours together that Sarah thought I didn’t believe in her. She thought I doubted her abilities, her drive, her talent.

But it couldn’t be further from the truth.

I saw the natural talent she possessed, the emotion she brought to the piano when she played, the technique she’d been fine tuning her entire life. Yes, her injury had set her back, and we had work to do — but it wasn’t her technique that worried me most.

It was everything she held inside, everything she wouldn’t release at the piano when she had the chance to.

In our first lesson, she chose such a short and simple piece, one that could showcase her talent easily without her having to dig too deep. I didn’t judge her for it, most students tended to choose a piece they were familiar with, one they could play well, when I asked them to play for me at our first lesson.

But when we worked together Thursday night, when I asked her to play a piece of my choosing, that’s when I realized the tensions she brought with her. Every muscle was wrapped tight as she played, her face devoid of emotion, though the piece was cheerful, energetic, joyful. Sarah played like she wanted to be background music, not the center of everyone’s attention — like she wanted to slip away, hide behind the music rather than pour herself into it.

And later in that lesson, when I’d had her play a more dramatic, melancholy piece, she’d hidden away even more. She didn’t take the pain I knew she felt and use it — she ran from it.

That would be our biggest hurdle.

“What do you think so far?” I asked when I spotted Fight Club sticking out of her bag next to her mat. The bookmark was about a third of the way in.

She eyed me curiously for a second before she followed my gaze, and she smiled. “Honestly, I’m just happy I got past the first chapter. I thought for sure it’d go into my did not finish pile, along with every other book I’ve tried to read this year.”

“So, you like it so far?”

She shrugged. “I think so. He’s got a dark sense of humor, and I love the subtle hints of minimalism. Crazy to think about how much we think we need that we really don’t.”

I nodded, impressed that she’d already picked up on that. “You meditate, eat plant-based food, and know the definition of minimalism. Are you sure you’re only twenty-one? Because you take better care of yourself than I ever did at that age.”

Sarah chuckled. “Not hard to do, judging by all the cereal at your place.”

“Touché.”

We fell silent then, and she slipped back into her calculated breathing while I fought the urge to light up another cigarette. I needed to get back inside, but as I watched her on her mat, I couldn’t shake our last lesson — the way she’d looked at my piano, like she was about to fight it instead of play it. I’d never battled an injury like hers, but I had experienced the same shift in relationship with the piano. It was the most unnerving thing, to have an instrument that was supposed to be your closest friend, your easiest confidant, shift into a monster before your very eyes.