My eyes bulged. "What?"
But before I could protest, Mom was out of Reese's arms and I was in them, being swept away from my safe little corner as Mom gathered up the rest of the volunteers and headed back to their respective stations.
It was just me and Reese then, dancing to the end of the song, but Reese wasn't singing anymore.
He was just watching me with a small, victorious smile.
"Oh, you just think you're so smooth, don't you, Reese Walker?"
He laughed, spinning me out before twirling me back into his arms again. I missed his hand on the come back, palm landing against his chest, instead. Reese covered my hand there, slowing our steps as the music faded out.
"Had to lighten this place up," he said softly. "Your mom needed that."
"She did," I agreed, and we slowed even more, our hips just barely swaying as we held each other.
"So did you."
My teeth worked at the inside of my cheek as I trailed my eyes up his chest, finally finding his gaze. "Listen, Reese … "
"Hey," he said, cutting me off. His knuckles found my chin and he lifted it to keep my eyes on his. "It's okay, Charlie. I know what you're going to say, and it's okay. That night was intense, and we were both drinking. But just because it got a little out of hand doesn't mean you have to ignore me now." His brows bent together then. "We're friends, right?"
Friends.
The word was a perfect description of our relationship. It was right, it fit, it worked.
Why did it feel so inadequate?
"Of course we are, Reese. But-"
"No buts." He raised both eyebrows, as if he wanted to be sure I was listening before he continued. "I've missed you, Charlie. I've missed you more than I can even say. It's been over a decade since we were last together, and now I'm back. Now, we can be friends again." He swallowed. "I don't have many of those nowadays. Please. Be my friend."
My heart broke for him, for that young boy who used to live next door, now a grown man without a family to go home to. My parents were the closest thing he had to that now, and I realized distantly that I fell in that same category.
For Reese, I was a piece of home.
And, truthfully, he was a piece of home for me, too. I thought that was a bad thing, something I needed to distance myself from, but why couldn't we be friends? Why couldn't I have him in my life again?
I cared about Reese. I always would. And just as he needed a friend, so did I.
So, I pushed my fears aside, packing them into a box and shelving them away. Because the truth was, I wasn't afraid of Reese.
And I'd missed him, too.
///
"I'll always be your friend," I finally whispered, and we both stopped dancing, standing perfectly still in the middle of the room.
Reese smiled, the corners of his mouth lifting in unison before they fell flat again. His eyes searched mine, his hand tightening over where it held my waist. We were so close, maybe a little too close, so I cleared my throat, stepping away as the song changed.
"Okay, trouble maker. Can you turn the music down now so we can get back to work?"
I was already making my way back to my station as Reese grabbed the speaker from the shelf he'd placed it on. He changed the song before lowering the volume and setting the speaker next to us again. Then, he took his seat, picking up where he'd left off on the card.
I tied the first knot on the ribbon I'd abandoned, but then my fingers stilled, and I glanced at Reese.
"Thank you," I said. "For being here. And for the dance. You're right - Mom needed that."
He smiled, nodding his you're welcome before his eyes were on the script he was writing again. And I knew I didn't have to say the other half of that sentence for him to hear it.
I needed it, too.
Reese
In my brain, there was always music.
It had been that way since I was born, or at least, ever since I could remember. I saw the world in music notes, heard every bird and passing car and laugh on the street as a beautiful symphony. I was, in my opinion, way too in tune with the sound of voices, with the noises made by inanimate objects when they were shuffled around by human hands.
When I was younger, I would often zone out during class to write a piece of music, instead. Or wake up from a dream only to frantically scramble for a notepad and pen to write down the music living inside me.
Music was everything - my release, my kryptonite, my pain and my pleasure all in one.
When I heard certain songs, they transported me to another time, to another place, and sometimes, to another person. There were songs that reminded me of my move to New York City, songs that took me back to the first time I drank alcohol, and, sometimes, songs that took me back to my family. To Mom. To Dad. To Mallory.
Winter: Ghosts of a Future Lost by Clint Mansell always took me back to them.
It was the song I'd been playing at the piano, the one at Mom and Dad's in Manhattan, when I'd received the call from the hospital. The call. The one that told me the absolute last thing I'd ever expected to hear.
They were gone.
So, when the first few notes played at the Reid's Valentine's Day fundraiser Saturday night, they hit me like a brick to the chest.
I was just standing there in the middle of the grand ballroom, watching from a distance as Gloria talked to each of the guests surveying the silent auction table. Maxwell was flirting with the crowd, jumping from group to group to ensure everyone had made it over to check out the items up for bid.
They were a team, just like my parents had been.
Sometimes when I looked at them, I saw my parents, instead. It was easy to merge them, especially since our families had been so close. We'd gone on summer camping trips together, spent days out at the lake, and way too many evenings we'd end up in each other's back yards or living rooms. We were one giant family unit before, but now, it was just me.
I pulled at the collar of my dress shirt, loosening the tie just a bit. Wearing a suit and tie felt like punishment to me. It always had. The only time I'd ever even marginally enjoyed it was when I wore one for high school graduation and Charlie told me I looked "dapper." I'd teased her for using the word, but inside, I'd made note of the colors I'd worn and the way I'd styled my hair.
I liked it when she noticed me.
And she always did. I was aware of her crush from a young age, from the way her eyes widened when I was in the room, the way her cheeks flushed, the way she shied away from any conversation I initiated with her. She grew more confident with age, waiting up for me when I'd go out to parties with her brother. But even sitting on top of my piano, Charlie had a hard time meeting my eyes.
She'd always watch me when I was playing, when my eyes had to focus on the keys.
And then she'd look away when I looked up.
That's what I was thinking about when the first notes of Clint Mansell's song played. At first, I didn't really notice them. The song starts out so slowly, so softly, that I convinced myself it couldn't possibly be what I was hearing. But as the notes stretched and morphed, as the song grew to life, I knew I wasn't imagining it.
And I was instantly transported back in time, back to that day, to that piano, to that call.
///
"Hi."
The voice was sweet and smooth, just like the song, but I jumped at the sound of it. I hadn't noticed the woman who'd slid up next to me just as the song of my nightmare began to play.
Long, slender fingers wrapped around my bicep, and she smiled up at me with sultry eyes. She was strikingly beautiful - long blonde hair that curled down and over her shoulders, crystal blue eyes glowing in the soft light from the chandeliers above, and lips that could have put Angelina Jolie to shame. There was an indent right in the middle of the bottom one, and I watched a smile curl on those sexy lips as the hand around my bicep tightened.
"You're Reese Walker, right?" she asked, and I just nodded, eyes still fixed on her lips while my brain was fixed on the music.
It felt like a dream, the way the music zapped me back to another memory even though I was standing in a ballroom so far removed.
A flash of my father's face hit me subtly, quickly, and then it faded away.
"I'm Jennifer Stinson, family friend of the Reid's," she said. I tried to focus on her. "Gloria was just raving about you, and I knew I needed to come over and introduce myself."
I thought I heard Mallory's laugh, and I looked over my shoulder, but there was no one there. She wasn't there.
She's not here.
"Nice to meet you, Jennifer," I said, forcing the words out through my cotton mouth, trying to clear my mind of the memories set to attack me. I was an ant, and the song was the magnifying glass, setting the sun's aim directly on me to burn me alive from the inside out.