Bad Boy Rich

But it wasn’t just this moment, it was everything around me.

Hollywood.

The place that created Bad Boy Rich.

Actor, husband, father—former drug addict.

The people surrounding me seemed so foreign. A lifetime of memories ago, and ones that I hated to relive. You could smell the ego-maniacs in the air. Each one willing to draw each other’s blood for a place at the top.

I could do a fucking line, and I hated admitting that, especially since I had been clean for almost eight months.

“Baby, just breathe. You’ve got this.”

Simple enough to say but what if I didn’t want this? I had everything I wanted. A beautiful wife who married me on the beach in The Maldives while Katya, Flynn, and Katerina stood beside us and witnessed our moment. Hell, even Barry Manilow was there. Sung his little heart out and made it all the more special.

We have a home that sits on the side of a lake, private and serene with a big open yard for Katerina to run around in. I just wanted to go fishing. Who would have thought, Wesley Rich, fisherman. Fuck, not me. But I fucking loved it, even considered buying one of the local bait shops.

Finally—I had a home and people inside it who loved me. I left this rat race behind and never regretted it. And here, in this moment, I so desperately wanted to escape and go back to the comfort of the life that Milana and I created for each other.

“And our nominees for best actor in a motion picture…”

The names are called out, and then—my name sounds on the loudspeaker.

“Wesley Rich—Riding the High.”

They play my scene; the part of the movie where I scream at the nurse in the mental asylum to let me go. The crowd claps right after, nothing loud, nothing more than the other actors nominated.

“And the Academy Award for best actor goes to…”

I felt all eyes on me, and the fucking cameras on my face. There were five of us nominated, and the reality—I had no chance against these big A-listers. I had removed myself from this industry, escaped to a better life in Alaska. The media had a frenzy with discovering that I became a dad, this time, for real. Not Farrah’s bullshit lies she often fed them. And it didn’t dwindle down, at least, not immediately. They followed us around the world, each time we traveled with Katya and Flynn to somewhere new. It made headlines, but much like anything, people got bored. Or I assumed they got bored. Milana never said a thing, ignoring the stories they conjured up. Phoebe was the annoying one, and pointed out that people were fascinated with Bad Boy Rich settling down with a small-town gal.

I didn’t care.

It boiled down to this moment.

“And the winner is…Wesley Rich—Riding the High.”

The crowd applauds loudly; many standing up and shouting my name with pride. My nerves are in shock, and in that moment, I glance towards the hand nestled in mine and see the emerald gold ring staring back at me.

My wife.

My savior.

My fucking life.

“You did it,” she squeals, as I turn to kiss her, openly in front of the cameras.

She’s fucking beautiful, and each time I look into her eyes, I wonder what I did to deserve her. She’s mine, she’s the mother of my child, and I wanted to spend every day making her happy.

Taking a deep breath, I let go, just for this final moment, and slowly make my way to the stage. Every step I take becomes more and more surreal. Was this happening? I am being rewarded in the greatest of ways for my ability to portray a character. I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve this.

And I needed to shut my fucking demon up.

Maybe, for once in my life, I DO deserve something good.

The gold statue is handed to me. It’s heavy, more so than I imagined, and its weight carries enormous significance.

This is it. My moment.