“I’d told him where the file was like always.”
I frowned at him.
“We often weren’t in the same city. He traveled from Los Angeles to New York all the time. He said he didn’t like Zoom or teleconferencing. He wanted to fight for his clients face-to-face to get them the best deals.”
I imagined being an agent was part salesman, so some of that made sense. But rationalizations were the first ways to manipulate people. I was looking at it through the lens of betrayal, not a life Dutch lived for years.
“Keep going,” I said quietly. I didn’t want him to stop sharing. Not now, when it took so long for him to open up to me.
“I kept a local file on my computer that was connected to our shared online folder. One of my backups. Whenever I finished a book, I shared it with him first then literally clocked out for days. He didn’t read overly fast and I was always maxed out after the end of a book. It wasn’t unheard of for me to sleep for a full day and night.”
The palm of my hand itched as I rubbed it over my thigh. Nerves always started there for me.
Dutch set his hand over his laptop. “When I woke up, the document was gone.”
“Had he ever done that before?”
He shook his head. “No. He knew I was obsessive about backups. When I was writing my second book, my laptop fried and I lost weeks of work. That’s how I learned to make multiple backups. The book was ultimately better for it, but I was already stressed about being a sophomore failure on the next book. One hit wonder effect.”
“Understandable.”
“So, of course I just put a copy back there again. Sent him a note to check his settings. He sent me a voice note that he lost internet when he was reading it at an airport or some such bullshit. I didn’t think anything about it. Part of my process is leaving my manuscript alone for a good week or so to gain some distance from it before I start my first re-read and self-edits. I’m too close to it.”
I nodded. “Like when I need to step away from a mural. Point of view.”
He nodded. “Exactly. I usually write really fast. Kind of flows out in an almost manic pace sometimes. Like a movie in my head, and then I have to dig in and figure out if it actually makes sense.” He walked over to the chalkboard. “I usually do a fullreset.” He laughed, but it was a harsh sound. “I shovel out my place and clean it top to bottom. Factory reset almost.”
“Includes your walls and board.”
He turned back to me. “You got it. I wrote the book. Whatever was leftover didn’t deserve to be in the book. I let it go. Sometimes the ideas would come back in a different iteration, but most of the time it was a one and done for me.”
“But you have no proof of your work,” I whispered.
“No.”
“Oh, Dutch. There has to be a way to track it.” I rushed toward him, but he backed up, the heel of his shoe bumping into the chalkboard. I stopped and fisted my hands. It was so natural to go to him, but the pain crackled around him.
Maybe pain wasn’t even the right word.
“Don’t blame yourself.”
He lifted his chin.
There it was. This time I couldn’t stay back. I moved into him, even as he fully bumped into his board. I wrapped my arm around his waist and pulled him into me. “Don’t want to smudge the board do we?”
He hauled me off my feet and walked me to the window, setting me down in the late morning sun.
“He was your best friend. Why would you ever think he’d do that? Were there any signs he was in trouble?”
He frowned.
“I mean you’re his cash cow right?” My eyes widened. “Geez, that sounded bad.”
He laughed and cupped my face. “I didn’t know you had swords in your arsenal.”
“You haven’t seen me on the ice yet. I can be ruthless.”
He searched my face and I still couldn’t quite read exactly what was going on inside of him, but I was closer. The cracks he showed me were letting me in and I had to resist the urge toblast through with my fingers and pull away chunks of the wall around him. But when he leaned down and laid his lips on mine, I let myself fall into him for a minute. I needed that as much as he did.
