Nelson didn't look at him.His eyes were fixed on me, filled with a fierce, quiet pride that made my throat tighten.
"The nominees for Best Independent Investigative Journalism are," Katie continued.
The screen behind her lit up.I saw the clips from the other nominees — hard-hitting pieces on climate change, corporate corruption, and international human rights.All of them were excellent.Then the screen showed the title of our three-part series:The Ashcroft Transition: The Unedited Truth of the First Gay President.
It showed a clip of Nelson's face — not in the sterile Beacon studio, but sitting in a library, his voice calm and authoritative as he narrated the timeline of the night the world changed.It showed the documents I'd spent eighteen months tracking down.It showed the truth we'd fought to tell.
"And the winner is," Katie said, tearing open the envelope.She didn't even have to look down for more than a second.A wide smile broke across her face."Jimmy Goodman, Live and Unscripted."
The applause was a sudden, deafening wave.For a heartbeat, I couldn't move.I was paralyzed by the sheer, overwhelming reality of it.Two years of risk.Two years of wondering if we'd made a mistake by leaving the security of the network.
Nelson was the first one on his feet.He pulled me up, his arms wrapping around me for a brief, hard hug that said everything the cameras couldn't catch.
"Go," he whispered against my cheek.
I looked at him, my vision blurring just a little."I couldn't have done it without you," I whispered back."Not a single word of it."
"I know," he said, his eyes shimmering."Now go get your hardware."
I felt Harry's and Jillian's hands on my back, pushing me toward the aisle.Harry was cheering — loudly enough to draw looks from the neighboring tables — and Jillian was whistling through her fingers like we were at a Knicks game.
The walk to the stage felt like it took twenty minutes.I shook Katie Couric's hand, the cold weight of the crystal award being pressed into my palm.The spotlight was blinding, but as I turned to face the microphone, I immediately found Table 14.
I took a breath, the silence of the room waiting for me.
"Thank you," I started, my voice steadier than I expected."They say that in journalism, you're only as good as your last scoop.But the truth is, you're only as good as the people who stand in the gap with you when the world is trying to quiet the story."
I looked toward my table.
"I want to thank Harry Perricone, our Executive Producer, who has the unenviable task of keeping me focused and Nelson Mackenzie on schedule.Harry, thank you for your loyalty and your brilliant, cynical mind."
A ripple of laughter went through the room.Harry raised his glass, looking like he was about to burst with pride.
"To my best friend, Jillian," I continued, "who reminds me every day that the story isn't just about the people in power, but about the people those powers affect.Thank you for being my conscience."
I paused, my gaze landing on Nelson.He was sitting perfectly still, his hands clasped on the table, his entire being focused on me.
"And finally," I said, my voice softening, "to my partner in life and in journalism, Nelson Mackenzie.Fifteen years ago, we were two kids with a dream and a lot of obstacles.Two years ago, we decided that the dream was more important than the obstacles.This belongs to you as much as it does to me."
I raised the award slightly toward him.The room erupted again, but I didn't hear the noise.I only saw Nelson, who was no longer the man behind the anchor desk.
He was my everything.
* * *
The next morning, the light in our loft was that soft, hazy gold that only New York seems to manage in the spring.It filtered through the tall windows, dancing across the exposed brick and the tangled white sheets of our bed.
I stirred, the memory of the night before rushing back in a warm flood.The award was sitting on the dresser across the room, the crystal catching the morning sun and throwing little rainbows against the wall.
I felt Nelson move beside me.He shifted, his body warm and familiar as he tucked his head into the crook of my neck.His hair was a mess, his skin smelled of the expensive soap he loved, and he was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen.
"Morning, award-winner," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
"Morning," I said, turning onto my side to face him.I reached out, tracing the line of his jaw with my thumb."Did last night actually happen, or did I dream the whole thing?"
Nelson opened his eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face."It happened.Harry texted at two in the morning to tell us we've already had ten thousand new subscribers since your speech.Apparently, being a 'powerhouse team' is good for business."
I laughed softly, pulling him closer."Is that what we are?"