Both of us turn to the voice, and my blood temperature shoots to boiling. Mae stiffens beside me and remains silent. Trenton Travers stands in front of us. If he’s been struggling since Nashville, he doesn’t show it. The fact that he has the bravery to even set foot in her presence just speaks to his arrogance.
“Trenton,” Mae begins. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m nominated -”
“I think,” I start, stepping in front of Mae and thwacking his hat back a few inches on his head, “she means, what are you doing here, in front of her, attempting to speak without her permission?”
Trenton looks as if I’ve dealt a fatal blow by tipping his stupid hat back. I’m sure no one has ever cared to tell him off, but I’m happy to do it.
“You can say what you want to say,” Mae says with a deep breath as she crosses her arms.
Pushed out of his daze, Trenton smirks and pats me on the shoulder. “You can calm down, Lucas; I wouldn’t want you to have to spend another night in jail for assault on my account.”
“Alright, we’re done,” Mae says with a straight lip as she picks up her dress and moves to go around us.
“Wait,” Trenton says, reaching out for her. He meets my hand instead. I’ve caught his wrist in my palm, and now the air is static as all three of us wait for someone to make a move.
“If you want to talk to me, I’m open to it,” Mae says calmly. “But I can wait until your people reach out to my lawyer. I don’t feel like wasting any more time on you.” She moves past both of us, and I hurry to catch up to her. I’d rather run 600 full field sprints than sit in Trenton’s presence any longer.
Before she can disappear, I gently catch her elbow. She whirls around to face me, but the fight or flight disappears from her eyes when she realizes it’s me. “I just wanted to tell you that I love you and that you’re gonna kill this performance.”
A sweet smile ignites, and her facial features soften. “Thank you,” she says simply. Leaving a gentle kiss on my cheek, she leaves me standing alone like the dope I am.
Chapter 30
Mae
LEAVING THE awkward interaction with Trenton behind, I’m waiting off stage as the show begins. The host, Charlotte Hill, graciously accepts her applause as she enters the room. She announced her retirement earlier this month and is finishing out the rest of the awards season as a last hurrah.
As the noise from the crowd dies down, Charlotte steps up to the mic. As she welcomes those in attendance, I can’t help but admire the woman. I’ve seen a few of her movies, and while some were too sugary for me, seeing her Academy Award-winning film about WWI inspired me to write a song. I never released it, but maybe I could send it over to her to let her know what her art means to me.
Before I can think much further, Charlotte has introduced me and my feet are moving across the stage. I take a seat on the stool as the lights dim and the spotlight comes up behind me. Tonight, there is no fanfare, no outfit change, just me and my guitar.
Jumping into the C, G, Am, and F chord progression, I take time with the intro until I find Wyatt watching from the crowd. He gives me the strength to open my mouth and sing. Through the song, I tell the story about our relationship and everything we’ve been through since we met. Soon, the pain of my past won’t matter at all. It’s just him and me, and that’s how I perform it. Like I’m simply on my couch and he’s beside me being all the inspiration I’ll ever need.
As I reach the third verse, my fingers pick a few different notes that I think up on the fly. I’m hoping it gives the variance needed to keep the audience’s attention as I begin the outro and let the notes slowly get quieter until there’s nothing. A split second after my fingers come to rest on the pickguard, the crowd erupts and the lights go up for the commercial break.
Setting my guitar to the side, I make way like Cinderella and bolt across the stage and down the stairs. Wyatt is waiting for me, and I crash into him. We hold each other at arms length as I happily start to word vomit how great the performance felt. As I ramble through the first media break, Wyatt guides me back to our table. Raleigh greets me with open arms and the rest of the group shares their kind messages. I’m still soaring when the lights dim and we’re queued back into broadcast with applause.
The rest of the evening goes even better than I could have ever imagined. I sweep the music categories, and while only one of them is actually televised, the thrill is there for me each and every time my name is called because Wyatt makes it a big deal.
Every time.
Always touching me in some way, his hand is either in mine or resting on my thigh underneath the table. Every time my name is called, his lips find mine, and he escorts me to the front where I get to graciously accept without any interruptions. Toward the end of the evening, I’ve got a table full of beautifully handcrafted awards that will look stunning on my bookshelves.
While I love feeling validated for my hard work, the storytelling aspect of music has always been mywhy.I could go without the calluses on my hands from strumming and the way I can only drink warm lemon water after a difficult show, but I could never go without sharing stories that inspire me.
Tonight, I’ve gotten to learn about other storytellers and their passions in their respective mediums. The more I listen to them speak, the more I feel like I'm right where I’m meant to be. These like-minded people aren’t here at this smaller awards ceremony for more fame; they’re here for their craft. That’s something I’ve felt has been missing from my life in Nashville for so long. I take in a deep breath, the fresh air of inspiration hitting my lungs with force.
“You okay?” Wyatt whispers, leaning toward me.
I turn to him to take in his presence before whispering, “I’ve never felt better.”
He smirks and leans forward further to steal another kiss, but Raleigh slaps him on the shoulder and directs our attention to the stage. Charlotte has reappeared for the final award in a glistening silver dress. “We’ve reached our final award of the night.” She taps the envelope on the podium and looks out to the crowd with beaming pride. “Friends, I want to thank you for joining us this evening. It has been my honor to host you all tonight. We are running short on time, so I will have you direct your attention to the screen.” Stepping aside, the stage is wide open as a sizzle reel plays. I am one of five nominees. Raleigh had told me to expect the music-centered awards but hadn’t said a word about this one. I’m honestly shocked to be nominated; mainstream artists rarely get recognized in this category.
As the video stops playing, Charlotte returns to the podium with her precious envelope. I feel Wyatt’s hand encase my own as the applause tapers and Charlotte unfolds the paper. She smiles widely and then turns it to the crowd as she says, “YourStoryteller of the Yearis Mae Evans.” Her voice is overpowered by the roar of the crowd, but I heard every word. I heard my name.
Launching from my seat, my tablemates jump up and down and scramble to embrace me before I’m whisked away. Raleigh is the only one who can catch me before Wyatt whisks me away.
