They were his family.
They loved him.
Even without Maria.
“Oh, Peter,” Nava whispered. She laid a gentle hand on his arm. “Honey.”
Somehow, they’d heard. They knew what had happened a week ago at that fucking hotel.
He swallowed hard. “Don’t.”
It was a plea in the guise of a gruff command, and they understood that. They understood him. So they gave him a minute to get himself together without any argument or sign of offense at his tone, but Nava also didn’t let him go. And for that, he loved them even more.
In this entire room, only two people truly knew him.
Turned out, that was enough.
“Thank you,” he finally choked out.
“You’re welcome, obviously, but you don’t need to thank us.”Back on her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his cheek. “We want to be here for you.”
Before he could gather enough of his composure to respond, the lights flickered, and everyone began to settle into the rows of seats. Without even a glance at one another to coordinate their efforts, Nava and Ramón each took one of his arms and marched Peter’s reluctant ass to the little dais in front of the screen, depositing him alongside a couple of official-looking people he’d met maybe twice before.
“You can do it, kid,” Ramón said quietly before they left.
But they didn’t go far. After maybe five steps, they sat in the very front row, directly in the middle, where he couldn’t miss their presence. Nava smiled at him like a proud older sister, and Ramón gave him a little encouraging nod.
The speeches lasted far too long, especially given the modesty of his endowment: tuition and a small stipend for one in-state department major per year, enough to buy their textbooks and class materials and maybe help them pay for a dorm room.
It wasn’t much. But it was enough to give another lost Wisconsin kid a chance to escape and a chance to succeed. Or, at the very least, save that kid some student loan payments.
His own speech, he supposed he delivered well. He was an actor, after all. But other than his sincere good wishes to the scholarship’s eventual recipients, it was mainly bullshit.
When the applause finally ended and he could collapse into a seat beside Ramón, he let out a long, heartfelt breath of relief. Only to be confronted with his fucking face blown up ten feet high—holy shit, that never got less painful—as the event organizers began playing a collection of taped testimonials from former colleagues interspersed with publicity photos and clips from his various roles.
Those organizers were grateful to him, sure. But they were also bragging about one of their most successful alumni in hopes it would burnish their reputation and lead to more money for the department.
He got it. It made sense. It was still embarrassing as hell.
One by one, hisGods of the Gatescastmates and crew appeared.
Marcus held forth on Peter’s so-called gravitas in the least-himbotastic explanation of acting technique ever, that big faker.
Carah smirked and called Peter “the fucking master of portraying tightly restrained but intensely powerful emotion, as well as unbearable goddamn horniness with no outlet.”
Alex complained, “God, Peter’s theworst. For three years running, he stole the top spot from me inFan Thirstmagazine’s ‘Celebrity Beard We Most Want to Ride’ poll. Did you know that? It was a goddamntravesty.” He pointed off camera. “You agree with me that I should have won, right, Wren? Tell me you agree with me.”
Jeanine grinned and flicked her hair behind her shoulder. “That man rocks a pair of torn-up leather pants like no one else. His thighs did eighty percent of my work for me, and that delicious beard of his did the other twenty percent. Peter Reedton. What a legend.”
Ramón and Nava showed up too, and talked as a duo about his professionalism and work ethic. Then added, “Peter’s one of the most quietly caring individuals we’ve ever met, so we were completely unsurprised to hear about this scholarship. He’s not only an incredibly talented actor. He’s also a very good man, and we’re proud to be his friends.”
After their segment ended, he glanced at the two of them, and they were smiling fondly at him in the dimly lit theater, their incandescent pride practically setting it alight.
The video went on and on. His friends were entirely themselves. They made him laugh, and if he weren’t so emotionally repressed, they’d have made him cry. Again.
Between the interviews, short snippets of projects spanning the course of two entire decades played. In clips from low-budget or indie films, he was sometimes the leading man. In scenes from higher-profile movies and television shows, his roles were smaller.
All that had changed withGods of the Gates. He was now considered a viable lead actor for a tentpole production, as the offer fromFTImade clear. But that hadn’t been true for long, and before tonight, he’d never seen so many of his less-prestigious roles laid out alongside each other for comparison.