I feel a little giddy.
I feel the eyes of his brothers on me, but that is to be expected.
We fall into the lift together, the ride to the back of the mountain a long one. His fingers find mine since it’s warm enough to tuck gloves in our pockets until we start on the slope, and I can’t help the megawatt smile on my face. His thumb strokes my hand as we move at a steady clip, rising above the snow dusted pines that are now below our feet.
I love how once the lift rises a soft quietness descends. The snow buffers sound and we rise in our own bubble.
“I’m proud of you.”
“Whatever the fuck for?” I ask with a laugh.
“I’m serious, Cas.”
I turn and face him, running a finger over his stubble. He nips at it lightly before kissing me on the nose. My heart soars way higher than these damn mountains.
One of those perfect moments wraps around me. Me and Baylor up here in the snow-softened silence of a ski lift ride. The glittering blanket of smooth white beneath us somehow contributes to this indescribable feeling where everything seems possible. Fresh and new.
“I don’t know, you went and became a rockstar. That’s something. Most people never make it. You know the odds.” Baylor gazes out over the mountains. “I think we sat in a lift just like this — hell, maybe this very one — and talked about that on more than one spring break.”
“We did.”
Baylor’s gaze rests back on me. “And yet, here you are, Cas. Successful. About to be a movie star and a rockstar. Not too many bad habits.”
“That you know about.” I knock a shoulder into him, anything to be closer.
He raises an eyebrow. “You work out too much, maybe. But, you’ve been at my place for weeks now. No drug problem, no drinking problem. That’s something.”
“You are going to tell me I work out too much? That’s a pot/kettle/black situation,” I say, squeezing the thick thigh of my fantasies that’s right next to me. Baylor just grunts at my response, but his leg shifts, as if he wants closer.
“What I’m saying, love, is that you defined an era of music without a stint in rehab. Or needing one.”
I look out at the beauty of Bear Valley, everything from the wide blue sky and sun on my face to the glimmer off the water of Bear Lake in the distance.
“You know all those great rock songs. Hell, great country songs, pop songs — just name your fucking genre — that are about life on the road and the stresses of fame? Machine Gun Kelly just had one a few years back.” I try to hum it, the words escaping me. “Something about how his label hated him having to live life like he did, but he needed the fuel to keep writing songs?”
“Can’t remember the name of the song. But, yeah.”
“That lifestyle. That feeling. Needing to be on edge to find the words or the muse or whatever. Man, I never had to live that. Everything caught so fast, but I never had to lean into destructive tendencies like that.” I lean into him. “I had you.”
“Cas. . .”
“I’m serious, Bee. You were the one out living life, you know? Experiencing heart break and family and love and life. . .and I was able to stay in a bubble with Nix and Caleb. Sometimes my agent, but you get the idea.”
I can’t really read Baylor’s face as we swing back and forth in a steady trek to the top.
“That’s how you feel? Like you are in a bubble?”
I shrug, using the excuse to get even closer to him.
“In some ways, time just sort of. . . stopped once I left for LA. Like a big pause while the world kept turning, you know?”
I feel as much as hear a big sigh go out of his big body, followed by a faint, “I do know.”
I’m exhausted after skiing, but in a good way. More than after a run, which my body knows. Skiing has my body tired and confused. I guess I really have slipped into routine over the years.
We make our way from the slopes to Black Diamond, where Caleb hovers close, but for no real reason, and then out to the Big House, which is where Baylor’s moms live. He grew up in this house; and going back to the room I stayed in for some college holidays is a bit of a trip.
I remember it all. The stolen kisses away from the ever-present eye of one of his brothers. Not to hide, but to have privacy. The stolen blowjobs, trying to be quiet and drive each other crazy at the same time. Late night discussions. Baylor’s hand in mine. He squeezes it now as I stand in the doorway of his old room, looking in.
