Rigby settled in next to Troy and he placed his hand on her thigh. “Congratulations. You know he won because of you.” And it was the truth. It also wasn’t lost on Troy that Nolan’s character was based on him. Troy was, for all intents and purposes, the character of Desmond, and he couldn’t help but feel proud for inspiring her to create such a character. Even if he was cloaked in heartbreak.
She kissed his cheek, smiling with gratitude. “Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s the truth.” He smiled, moving his hand from her thigh to wrap around her shoulder, pulling her close. He could feel the actor watching his movements, and he didn’t care. He wasn’t giving up so easily. He and Rigby had a history Kingston couldn’t possibly comprehend.
“Only a few more awards until Best Drama. Now that Nolan’s won, I’m jumping out of my skin.” Rigby hopped up and down in her chair, showing her vulnerability and excitement. As usual, it was infectious and Troy wanted her to take home that award more than anything. She deserved it.
Nolan returned to the table, hugging Rigby and Rob, and shaking hands with Troy and Luke. He approached Whitney, attempting to pull her in for a hug, but she pushed her hand into his shoulder and mumbled, “We need to talk.”
“What’s that all about?” Troy whispered into Rigby’s ear as the two made their way toward the lobby.
“Long story. I’ll tell you later, okay?” she said, looking sheepish as she peered at Whitney through the corner of her eye.
Troy kissed her forehead, not wanting to cause her any stress. Clearly, Whitney’s unhappiness became hers as well. That was always something he adored about his longtime love. She internalized the feelings of those around her. Regardless of her driven nature, she was quite talented at putting herself in the shoes of others—something Troy himself admittedly struggled with. It was difficult for him to see outside his own comfort zone, his own emotions. He tried, especially when it came to Rigby, but clearly he came up short.
As they settled in for another award announcement, Troy’s mind drifted back ten years, as it did frequently whenever she was near. The anger consuming him had dictated his actions. Even though, at the time, he loved her more than he loved another human being on the planet, he managed to treat her as if she didn’t exist within a day of her confessing she couldn’t be married.
What he heard that morning in Las Vegas was she couldn’t be married to him. Because, deep down, he knew in his gut, that was exactly the case. After all, he always felt Rigby’s feelings for him could never and would never match the intensity of his own. And so, when she made herself sick the morning after their wedding, the wedding he tried so hard to make perfect for her, he knew in his gut he was correct.
She didn’t love me enough. Not nearly enough. Not the way I’d always loved her.
For weeks, she reached out to him. She came to his apartment almost every day and he looked through the peephole, seeing her distraught features, her bloodshot eyes. But he couldn’t put himself in her shoes. All he could feel was his own pain, his own disappointment and anger. He wanted to believe she loved him, but the truth of the matter was, he couldn’t do it. Each time she arrived at his door, he’d look through the tiny window the size of a thimble, take in her expression, and press his forehead to the door, his hands against the wood. Then, he’d take a deep breath and retreat to his bedroom, closing the door and blaring his music.
He started sleeping with Amanda less than two weeks after returning from Las Vegas. He hated himself for leading her on, but he was inexplicably drawn to his ex-girlfriend during times of heartache. And if he was being honest, there was a part of him that wanted Rigby to know he was seeing Amanda again. He knew how to hurt her, and he knew how to do it well. She was right when she asked about Amanda looking through the peephole. He sent her to the door just once, when he was feeling especially angry and full of resentment. He wasn’t proud of that, or the fact that he’d gotten her pregnant. Payton, however, was someone he would never regret. He was blessed to be her father, no matter the circumstances.
When Rigby slid the annulment papers under the door, he knew it was over. She’d given up. He was finally free of his attachment to her, or at least that’s what he told himself.
Even now, he feared, despite the miles or time apart, he might never be free of her. Time, space, distance—none of it seemed to make a difference. And so, when she materialized in his restaurant months earlier, he let his guard down, albeit slightly. And now he was seated next to her during the pinnacle of her career—just minutes away from a possible Golden Globe win. With each smile that crossed her face, with each squeeze of her hand with his, he was letting go of that anger, of that pain. He was forgiving her—something he didn’t know he was capable of. And it felt nice.
Now, if he could only get visions of her with Kingston out of his head. He was in no way naive when it came to that situation, or the fact the actor clearly affected her. After hours sitting at a table with the two of them, the tension was palpable. He noticed the stolen glances, the way she avoided looking across the table.
Troy wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation. For years, his anger and resentment were the biggest barrier placed between Rigby and himself. And now that he was finally ready to forgive, to break down that mammoth of a barrier and move on with her, creating a future together as a couple, he was faced with a different obstacle. One named Luke Kingston, a man who’d entered her life only months prior.
Perhaps he’d missed his chance. Perhaps ten years was just too long.
But he wasn’t ducking out so quickly, even though his old friend The Grudge was urging him to. The thought of being humiliated again was horrible. But missing his one shot with Rigby was even worse. So he would wait to hear it from her. Until that moment, if and when it happened, he would enjoy his time with her, squeezing her hand, and pulling her close as she enjoyed the biggest night of her life.
And the Golden Globe goes to . . . Follow the Sun,” the legendary film director announced from the stage as he clutched the envelope under his arm and clapped his hands. The crowd erupted in applause as the announcer continued over the loudspeaker. “Accepting this award on behalf of the show is Elle Riley, creator, head writer, and show runner of Follow the Sun.”
Elle jumped to her feet as every nerve in her body stood at attention. Her hands clasped over her mouth as the air in her lungs stood still. Troy stood to embrace her, a look of pride on his handsome face. Trembling, she wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him hard, grateful he could be there to share in the moment. A moment she never dreamed possible. Her show was deemed by the Hollywood Foreign Press Association as the best drama on television. What a staggering, humbling honor. Before she stepped away, Troy opened her tiny handbag and retrieved the speech she had prepared weeks earlier. She thanked him, knowing she would have completely forgotten to bring it with her to the stage.
Everyone at the table rose to his or her feet, shaking hands and exchanging hugs, joining her as she walked to the stage. Just before her unsteady legs attempted to climb the tiny flight of stairs, a familiar hand took hers in his own, to guide her gently to the top. Relief poured through her body, grateful for his assistance. The last thing she needed was to fall flat on her face in front of a thousand members of the industry.
“You did it!” Luke boomed over the applauding audience once they reached the large expanse of stage. Whitney, Rob, and everyone else at the table, aside from Troy, gathered around her as the heavy golden statue was placed in her hands.