Nashville is about dreams and country singers, it’s about having fun and then crying in your beer. It’s the place where an appliance salesman can walk into a recording studio and walk out the Man in Black. I should take comfort dreams come true here, but I can’t stop thinking about her.
I walk until I run out of road. Standing on the banks of the Cumberland River, I remember the night I pulled Marley down from the railing. I should have known then what was coming, but I was too blind to see it. The brown water rushes by, and I watch the currents, thinking about what comes next. He hasn’t been in the office today. I didn’t call him. He needs to rest, and he did enough last night, saving my ass from jail.
David says I need to fire him, but I’d never do that. At the same time, he isn’t happy here. He doesn’t want to do this work any more than Taron does. I tried to make a place for them, but I’ve got to let them go.
It’s what I do.
Don’t hold onto people too tightly, that way they can’t hurt you when they go.
There’s only one person I’m holding onto, and it hurts like hell.
She’s gone, and I have to let her go and get back in the game. But how do I go back to what I was before? How do I make myself only care about my work again? I’ve got to figure it out. I’ve worked too long and too hard for this.
The office is dark when I return. The sun is setting, and I don’t even know why I walked back here. I should go to my empty penthouse.
Yeah, that sounds appealing.
Dropping into my chair, I swipe my computer to wake it up, checking to see if David’s had any luck with Hank. I should watch that YouTube video again. Watching me punch Jerry in the face, seeing his stupid face as he hits the ground, is about the only thing that makes me smile right now.
My office phone rings, and I stare at it a moment. Sandra’s not here to screen it, but only a handful of people have my direct number. I place my hand on the receiver and let it ring once more before picking up.
“Fletcher speaking.”
“Patton, it’s Stephen.” At the sound of his voice, I’m on guard.
Stephen Hastings doesn’t make casual calls.
“I take it you saw the article?” No point in acting like we do small-talk.
“I saw it.” His tone is clipped.
I don’t really like waiting, so I don’t. “Well?”
“Is it true?”
“The majority of it is false.”
He exhales deeply. “Which minority is true?”
“Marley and our CPA had a… thing about five years ago. He developed a crush, I guess. I couldn’t tell if it was reciprocated…”
“Jesus, Fletcher, that’s the worst part. Turnover is understandable. All businesses deal with it, but sexual assault? You should have fired him.”
“There was no assault.” My voice is stern. “He kissed her a few times. I believe it was mutual affection.”
“Then why the hush money?”
It’s something I’ve been wondering all day. How the fuck did that get out?
“It wasn’t hush money. I secured a loan so she could start a small business. As far as I know, she’s ignorant of the entire deal. Her lender contacted her previous employers, and when they said she was going to be denied, I asked what it would take to approve it.”
“Why?” His tone goes low.
Now I exhale deeply. “I wanted to help her. I felt… I wanted her to be okay.”
The line goes quiet. He’s thinking whatever the fuck he thinks. I think about that day in the office when I told the bank I’d cover her loan. It was a change for me, helping someone outside my family. Renée had been a ditsy young woman, but Marley had loved her. I wanted to make amends.
“I believe you.” Stephen’s voice is different. “I’ve been in situations like that myself.”