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“I know a little bit,” I say.
He nods, eyes distracted. “Their deaths fucked me up. But what fucked me up the most was that they both died of a stroke, the same exact kind. What are the odds?”
I don’t want to add the reasonable statement that strokes are common enough, and it’s not unheard of for something like that to happen. That’s not what he needs right now.
“Then, I got involved in the industry because Aunt Thalia was an agent. She wasn’t prepared to have a kid, so she’d take me everywhere with her. In boardrooms, on tour. In the summer, she’d send me back to Wyoming sometimes, if she was too busy to drag me around. The ranch where Coen and I worked let us live in the bunkhouse. That part was fun.”
“So you were kind of a nepo baby, huh?” I ask.
He smiles. “Yeah, sort of. Not really. Aunt Thalia gave me connections, but I had a natural talent for finding talent. But it was Coen who gave me the credibility I needed to keep signing people.”
He falls quiet, staring at his hands. I wait, then shift so I’m against his side. He glances over.
“I’m okay,” he says. “It’s been a long time, I did grief counseling.”
“You did?” I’m shocked.
“I had some problems, and Marion made me go. It was that, or she threatened to tell Coen.”
I search his unreadable face. “Does Coen know how much you were struggling? At all?”
He shrugs. “Nah, not really.”
“But he’s your best friend.”
“Yeah, and he had his own shit. Plus, he’s my friend, but he’s also always been my client. You can’t separate work and personal shit completely, it’s impossible.”
“So only Marion knows?”
He faces me, touching my cheek. “Marion and you.”
I sink into his touch, my heart tender and vulnerable. He’s looking at me with a soft gaze that cuts right through me.
“You carry way too much,” I say finally.
“It’s what I’m good at.”
“But you don’t have to do what you’re good at all the time,” I say. “Sometimes, you should…live. Let yourself fuck up. Or fuck around like you are with me right now.”
“This conversation is fucking around?”
I laugh. “No, I mean, coming to this cabin. Doing nothing but eating together, sleeping together. What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but never got to?”
Confusion crosses his face. “I don’t know.”
“Well, think about it.”
He does, fingers gently stroking my waist. I love the way he touches me, like it’s a meditation. “I really like the winter. I’d love to go out to a lodge someplace and do some ice fishing. Or fly fishing in the fall.”
“Really? You like fishing?”
He smiles. “Yeah, I’m really damn good at fly fishing.”
“When was the last time you went?”
He thinks hard again. “I think I was about twenty-two. Before Coen and I started hardcore touring.”
“Why did you stop? Too busy?”
