Page 83 of Making It Live!

"We're going to be okay," he murmured into my skin."Even if we're starting from zero.Even if we're the only ones watching."

"We aren't starting from zero," I said, pulling back to look him in the eye, my voice regaining its iron.This was the lead story.This was the only headline that mattered."We're starting from the truth.For the first time in our careers, Jimmy, we don't have to spin anything, or be beholden to corporate suits who don't give a damn about the truth."

I kissed the bridge of his nose, then the corner of his trembling mouth.

"So.Build a network with me.Not a corporation, not a brand.A home for the truth.Stand next to me in front of a camera for the rest of our working lives, and then come home with me afterward.Every night.The same kitchen.The same bed.No more 'segments' of our lives, Jimmy.Just us.All of it.Live and unscripted."

I pressed my forehead harder against his, my hands sliding down to lock behind his waist.

"They think they broke us, Jimmy, but they just let us off the leash."I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes — no monitors, no scripts, just the raw, unedited truth of him."I'm ready for it to be just you and me.No filters.Are you ready to see what happens next?"

Epilogue

Jimmy- Two Years Later

The crystal chandelier of the ballroom didn't just hang; it loomed, a glittering reminder of the weight of the night.Two years ago, I’d been in a windowless control room in Midtown with a headset digging into my skull.Tonight, I was in a tuxedo at the Online Journalism Awards, sitting at a table with the three people who’d become the entire world to me.

The room was a sea of black ties and expensive cologne, the air thick with the hum of a hundred different conversations about metrics, scoops, and the shifting landscape of the media.But at Table 14, the conversation was considerably less dignified.

"I'm telling you, it was the tug," Harry Perricone said, leaning in so close to Jillian that their shoulders were practically glued together.He looked sharp in a black tuxedo, his eyes bright with mischievous energy."The man couldn't go ten seconds without checking his knot.It was a nervous tic.A tell.And once the Board saw the internal audit, the tie-tugging wasn't enough to hold his throat shut anymore."

Jillian snorted into her wine.She was wearing a structured, emerald-green gown that screamed Mayor's Office, and she wore the authority like a second skin."So, nobody actually knows why he was canned?Just… poof?Gone?"

"Gone," Harry confirmed with a wicked grin.He mimicked a frantic tug at his own collar, bulging his eyes out for effect."Bruce, the man who thought he was the architect of the evening news, escorted out of the building — possibly by the same guards who took you two out."He pointed at me and Nelson, waggling his eyebrows."Marla watched the whole thing from the elevator.Said Bruce was nearly strangling himself with his own tie on the way to the lobby."

"Good riddance," I said, finally joining in."The man treated the truth like a suggestion and his staff like furniture."

"And now look at us," Harry said, his voice softening just enough to be sincere as he looked at me and Nelson."Live and Unscriptedpulls more viewers for its investigative specials than the seven o'clock slot at the old shop.We're the ones at the fancy table now."

Harry had walked out of Beacon the same week we did, refusing to stay a minute longer.Now he was our Executive Producer — the man who kept the lights on and the budgets in check while I chased the stories that mattered.He wasn't an assistant anymore.He was the backbone of the whole operation.

I felt a hand slide over mine under the table.Nelson's touch was cool, steady, and entirely grounding.I looked at him, and for a moment, the ballroom disappeared.He was in a deep navy dinner jacket that made his eyes look like the Mediterranean at dusk.At thirty-seven, he had never looked better, because now he was finally living the thing we'd only ever dreamed about.

Nelson leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear."Ignore them," he murmured."They're just trying to distract you because you're vibrating with nerves."

"I am not vibrating," I lied.

"Jimmy, your heart is currently trying to beat its way out of your chest.I can feel it through your palm."

I squeezed his hand, my fingers interlaced with his."Katie Couric is presenting the award, Nelson.She's literally backstage right now.If I win this, it's not just a trophy.It's… it's the proof."

"The proof is in the work we've already done," Nelson said firmly."This is just the world finally admitting we were right to walk away."

The lights in the ballroom began to dim, a low chime echoing through the speakers to signal the start of the ceremony.Jillian and Harry immediately straightened up, though Jillian gave my forearm a quick, supportive squeeze before turning toward the stage.

"Here we go," Jillian whispered."Get your speech ready, Jimmy.I didn't spend three hours on my hair to not see you on that stage."

The ceremony was a blur of montages and polite applause.I watched as colleagues and rivals took the stage for breaking news, social media innovation, and data journalism.My stomach was a knot of nerves, my mind drifting back to the thirteen years we'd lost, and the two years we'd fought to reclaim.

Leaving the network had been the smartest thing we'd ever done.We'd stayed in the city — this city was the story, and neither of us was ever going to leave it — but we'd left Nelson’s impersonal apartment.We'd found a loft in Tribeca with tall windows and a view of the bridge, and we'd filled it with light and books and the quiet domesticity we'd once thought was impossible.We were two headstrong men to the world around us.When we were alone, we were simply ourselves.

"And now," a familiar, resonant voice said from the stage.

I snapped back to the present.Katie Couric was standing at the podium, looking every bit the icon she was.She adjusted her glasses and looked out at the crowd with a knowing smile.

"In an era where the lines between news and entertainment have become dangerously blurred," Katie began, "the role of the independent journalist has never been more vital.These are the people who don't have the safety net of a multi-billion-dollar corporate parent.They have their integrity, their sources, and their sheer, stubborn refusal to let a story die."

Harry leaned over to Nelson."She's talking about Jimmy," he mouthed.