Page 199 of Dream On

An actress stands at the podium in a red, off-the-shoulder satin dress, a ring of pearls around her neck and a beaming smile on her ruby lips.

“Tonight, we’re here to recognize the men who have done just that—who have poured their hearts and souls into their performances, leaving a lasting mark on our television landscape. These actors have taken us on unforgettable journeys, and they deserve all the accolades for their artistry. So without further ado, let’s take a look at the nominees for Outstanding Lead Actor in a Drama Series.”

She turns toward the giant screen behind her as clips begin to play, featuring fellow actors, all in the running with me for the coveted Emmy award.

Stevie sits beside me in a baby-blue gown, squeezing my hand. Her hair is pulled up in a mound of coffee curls, framing the delicate lines of her face.

I lean in, whispering in her ear, “Will you still love me if I lose?”

She pinches my side, wrinkles her nose. “Will you still love me if you win and I throw up all over a celebrity?”

I snicker. “Classic Nicks.”

“It would be more classic if I fainted.”

“Just don’t go near the stage.” I tug her closer, draping her trembling hand across my thigh.

The screen goes black, replaced by silence, the room wrought with anticipation.

“And the Emmy goes to…” Opening the envelope, the presenter pauses for dramatic effect before she glances back up. “Lexington Hall forCome What May!”

Music plays.

The audience goes wild.

Fuck.

Guess I won.

Stevie whips toward me, wide-eyed and tearful, looking like she might puke. Cameras pan all around us while industry royalty whistle and applaud. A big smile sparkles to life, not because I won the Emmy but because my girl is by my side while it happens.

Shit. I might actually fucking cry.

Curling a hand around the back of her head, I pull her in for a bruising kiss. As I go to stand, Stevie reaches over and flicks remnants of dark-red lip stain off my mouth with her thumb, and I’m sure I’ll see the image front and center on magazine covers by sunrise.

Buttoning my coal-black suit jacket, I make my way onto the stage and accept the trophy handed to me. It’s heavier than I thought it would be. The piece glints in bright lights, a representation of not just my achievement but of the story told and the impact made.

It’s more than that too.

It’s a testament to every late night, every struggle, and every moment that led to this point. The good, the bad, the ugly. It’s not just for me; it’s for her.

For Stevie.

I clear my throat and approach the podium, bending to reach the mini microphone. “Damn.” That’s all I say as I take a long pause to stew over my speech, and the audience chuckles from their seats. “You know, when I wrote this script, I didn’t have any expectations. Not really. It was more an outlet for me, a way to right my wrongs in some roundabout way.” My gaze skims the crowd, emotion billowing. “To be honest, it was an apology letter to someone I let down a long time ago. A way to lay bare my heart and hope she might see the truth hidden inside every scene. I thought if I could just get the words down, maybe…I could make sense of it all.”

I meet her eyes across the way, her image distorted by lights and strobes.

Her smile is brighter.

“As I stand here holding this award, I realize that it’s not just a reflection of my work; it’s a tribute to resilience, to love, and to the people who lift us up when we stumble. So thank you to my incredible cast and crew for believing in this project and for pouring your hearts into it alongside me. Thank you tomy agent, Rudy Sinclair, for keeping the smile on my face, even when I didn’t think I had anything to smile about.”

Rudy whoops from the crowd. “Love you, man!”

Everyone laughs.

“And to you, Stevie St. James,” I finish, pointing a finger at her. “I hope you know that this is all for you. You were and are my inspiration, and in the end, it’s your story I wanted to tell.”

Applause echoes in my ears as I inch back from the podium.