The place that created Bad Boy Rich.
Actor, husband, father—former drug addict.
The people surrounding me seem so foreign. A lifetime of memories ago, and ones that I hate to relive. You can 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’ve been clean for almost a year.
“Baby, just breathe. You’ve got this.”
Simple enough to say, but what if I don’t want this?
I have everything I want. A beautiful wife who married me on the beach in The Maldives while Katya, Flynn, Phoebe, 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 want to go fishing.
Who would have thought, Wesley Rich, fisherman?
Fuck, not me. But I fucking love it, even considering buying one of the local bait shops.
Finally, I have a home and people inside it who love me. I left this rat race behind and never regretted it. And here, in this moment, I so desperately want 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 feel all eyes on me, and the fucking cameras on my face. There are five of us nominated, and the reality is, I have no chance against these big A-listers. I have removed myself from this industry as much as I could and escaped to a better life up north.
Milana insisted I continue acting, it’s my passion according to her. I still doubt that, of course. Insecurities run deep when it comes to Hollywood, and it isn’t the acting that I hate, it’s the media and publicity attached to it. A double-edged sword with the sharpest of blades.
Instead of moving to Alaska, she suggested we move somewhere still driveable but more secluded. Knowing how much I love San Francisco, the home we bought was close enough but away from the city life.
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, 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 eventually get bored. Or I assume they got bored. Milana never said a thing, ignoring the stories they conjured up.
Phoebe’s the annoying one and pointed out that people are fascinated with Bad Boy Rich settling down with a small-town gal. We were offered a five-million-dollar contract to star in our own reality television show which I flatly refused. That’s a part of my life is well over and done with. It works well for Em despite my intolerance for Carrington—they are a huge success.
Although my annoyance with Phoebe runs deep at times, she makes a great manager. Exactly what I need. Fierce, headstrong, and has become this shark of a woman. She moved to Los Angeles, knowing so much about this industry which surprised the hell out of me considering she came from Alaska and has no actual experience being a manager. Between her and my assistant, Diedre, I’m surrounded by the right people. They run a tight ship when it comes to business and my trust in them, combined, allows me to focus on my family.
And now, it boils down to this moment.
“And the winner is… Wesley Rich, Riding the High.”
The crowd applauds loudly, many standing and shouting my name with pride. My nerves are in shock, and in that moment, I glance toward 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 want 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. Is this happening? I’m being rewarded in the greatest of ways for my ability to portray a character.