What He Never Knew (What He Doesn't Know, #3)(46)

Reese’s thumb stilled where it had been drumming away on his mug, and he dropped it altogether, crossing his arms over his chest as he shifted his body toward me. “Why did you leave Bramlock?”

A short, bitter laugh hit my throat. “You want the truth or the well-curated lie?”

“The truth.”

I shook my head, gaze falling to the tea growing cold in my mug. My pulse quickened as the words formed in my mind, the ones I could bring to life with my voice, if only I were brave enough. All I had to do was speak.

I was raped by my professor.

I wondered if I’d feel relief if I told him, if even one person knew what had happened to me — other than Dr. Chores, the one who’d said it was better to keep it between us.

I swallowed, throat burning as the truth slid down.

It didn’t matter if I told him, Reese Walker couldn’t save me. He couldn’t take away what had happened, and he couldn’t make any of this any easier for me.

“I can’t…” I finally said, voice just above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

I was still staring at my tea like it held all the answers when Reese reached over, his hand slowly crossing the space of counter between us until it reached my wrist. His fingertips stretched out first, barely touching me, and when I didn’t jump or pull away, they wrapped around the dainty bone before sliding down. I released the cup with my heart pounding in my throat, my ears, anywhere but my chest where it should have been. All I could see was the contrast of his skin against mine. All I could feel was the warmth of his blood, pumping through his palm as it melted with mine, his fingers wrapping themselves around my own.

And with my hand in his, with our hearts racing together, trying to find the same rhythm, Reese said exactly what I needed to hear.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

My eyes watered, and I knew it must have confused him, must have made him wonder if he’d said the wrong thing. How could he know that I blamed myself, that I looked back on that night and wondered if I’d done it to myself, if I was the reason I was raped. Maybe if I wouldn’t have dressed the way I did, if I hadn’t put on makeup and done my hair before every class. Maybe if I wouldn’t have pushed so hard, if I wouldn’t have become the injured deer at the mercy of a hungry wolf. Maybe if I would have spoken up when he requested to administer my final so late at night, if I’d told him it made me uncomfortable. Maybe if I hadn’t trusted him so blindly, so na?vely. Maybe if I would have said no more forcefully, if I would have screamed louder, if I would have told someone else.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“You do not ever have to tell me your truth, your reason why you left,” Reese said, thumb smoothing over my wrist. “But I am going to ask you to tell someone.”

I looked at him then, eyes wide in horror. Does he know? Is he going to make me go to the police?

Reese simply pointed to the piano in the den, the one he’d been teaching me at, the one I’d been slowly opening myself up to.

“You don’t have to tell me, or your family, or your friends,” he continued, still pointing as his eyes leveled with mine. “But you do need to tell that piano. You need to let it feel your pain, your loss, and let it take all of that and transform it into music.” He dropped the hand that had pointed to the piano, but the other still held mine. “That is your duty as a pianist. That is your cross to bear as a musician. And that is what will get you to Carnegie.”

My eyes flicked to where the piano was in the other room, though I couldn’t see it from where I sat. Then, I pulled my gaze back to Reese with an understanding nod.

The point made, our attention seemed to fall back to where we touched, both of our eyes casting downward at the contact before Reese cleared his throat and pulled away.

My hand was still warm where he’d held it, and instinctively, I pulled that hand into my lap, covering it with the other like I could save it from being tainted.

“Well, we kind of blew our lesson today,” he said with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

“It was worth it, though, right?” I pointed out, glancing over at Rojo.

Reese sighed, looking at his new family member with a prideful smile. “Very much so.”

Rojo hauled herself up once Reese and I started moving about, me packing up my messenger bag as Reese went over my homework for the weekend. I wouldn’t sit at his piano again until Sunday, and since we’d missed today, he wanted to make sure we didn’t fall behind. I took notes of his instructions as we made a plan — occasionally bending to pet Rojo where she rubbed against my leg — and then before I was ready to be, I was standing on his front porch, the soft sound of crickets chirping the only sound between me and Reese.

“Don’t forget to take her out before you go to bed,” I said. “And feed her in the morning. Once in the morning, and once at night, if you do a whole cup of food. That’s what the vet we spoke to recommended.”

He smirked. “I was there, too, you know.”

“I know,” I said, elongating the word. “But you did also make it very clear to me that you were about as helpless as a fish without gills when it came to taking care of another living thing.”

He raised his eyebrows at that in a conceding shrug. “Very true. Hopefully Rojo will still be alive when you come back Sunday.”