Chapter Twenty-Five
Carina
The lights were hot and bright against me, but my skin was so cold I was afraid I’d start shivering in the lineup. I felt the absence of the skinny little redhead who had decided I was her nemesis more than I cared to admit. I’d been pulling for her, and rebuffed at every turn, but I just couldn’t hate her. She was a child in a room full of adults playing a child’s game, and still losing. My heart broke for her standing on that stage, waiting with all the best up and coming talents in our industry, to be weighed and measured by the seasoned greats.
The honorable mention went to an older couple who had beautifully portrayed an aged Reed Richards and Sue Storm from the Fantastic Four, and I clapped along with everyone else, glad to see they were recognized. As another Batman won third, I looked down at the hand that Lacey had held so tight at the last competition. She had wanted it so badly, and she’d been shut out. Of course she hated me. Why would she waste time hating third place? All she had wanted was to win.
Now, I was sweating through my chills, and the protein bar I’d choked down for Jackson’s sake was fighting its way back up my throat. I clenched my jaw and focused on the presenter as he congratulated a newcomer on her rendition of Jean Grey, in a throwback costume to the original series. The crowd cheered and I managed to clap along, too afraid to open my mouth to cheer.
I felt a hand on my back and glanced over, half expecting to see Lacey there, nervous, and hopeful. Instead, Yaya Han put her arm around me and forced me to step forward, and with her arm still around me, flipped the switch on my wings, causing them to open behind us.
“I just had to know what that felt like!” She shouted into her microphone. “Her costume may have been dangerously unconventional, but her rendition of War Angel was flawless, with one exception. War Angel didn’t have wings.” The crowd booed her, and she waved them silent again. “It was that departure from the original that allowed people to connect with the character, and made her memorable. By deviating from the original, my friend and student,” she paused while the crowd erupted in screams and cheers that made my knees jelly and my heart pound against my ribcage like a drum, “by flipping the script, she made people want to know more about the character. She made people go to Google to learn more.” She turned to me and whispered. “War Angel is trending because of you, did you know?” I shook my head and she continued. “C.J. Rivers is War Angel, and War Angel is the winner of the top honors in the Gamercon Cosplay Competition!” Her voice crescendoed as she spoke until she was shouting above the screams and cheers of the fans in the audience.
I wavered on my feet and felt the strength in her small hand as she held me upright, as the presenter held out a trophy and an envelope. The trophy was my favorite, a play on the Oscar, with a feminine humanoid shape, toting a gun belt and, as a bonus, a set of wings unfurled at her back.
I held the trophy up as the camera zoomed in on it, and the audience went absolutely berserk. The screaming and stomping were so loud my head was ringing, and the nausea that threatened to undo what little I’d eaten forced me to take only shallow breaths through my nose, as I clenched my jaw hard and tried to stay upright.
Yaya waved to the crowd and rushed me offstage just as I lost control and vomited behind the curtain. Strong hands grabbed me under my arms and held me up while I dry heaved until my legs collapsed and I was helped down the stairs to sit on a backless stool. A cold, damp cloth was placed on my head, and I leaned into the broad chest behind me, knowing without looking that it was Jackson who held me steady and saved me from falling.
Voices were speaking around me, but between the shaking chills and nausea, I couldn’t force myself to focus on whether they were talking to me. I let Jackson hold me until the shaking subsided, and breathed into the paper bag that someone gave me, grateful that it only smelled slightly of oranges, and not something more odious. I’d once had a fainting spell while modeling, and the bag had contained tuna fish salad before I’d used it.
I pushed my nose deeper into the bag and inhaled the clean, tangy citrus until my head began to clear. I sat up slowly and turned to look at Jackson, who was watching me so intently, and holding me so carefully I thought I’d turned to glass without realizing it.
“How you doing, Gorgeous?” he asked quietly.
I sighed and took mental stock of my stomach and head. The heaving swells had faded to minor turbulence, and I braved a small nod, happy when the world stayed in its upright position. “I’m doing better. Should I have checked the expiration date on that protein bar?”
Jackson kissed the top of my head, and warmth spread from his lips to my face and neck. “No. if I were a doctor, and obviously, I’m not so don’t get mad at me for saying this; but if I were a medical professional, I’d probably call this a textbook panic attack.” He kissed me again. “I’ve seen a few of those in my time.”
“You get panic attacks?”
“No, but they’re pretty common among the ‘Under twenty and already getting my Master’s crowd,” he assured me. “You went through a whole lot in a short time, and you didn’t get a chance to process it in a healthy way.”
I sighed and looked around me. A stagehand was just finished cleaning where I’d been sick, and Yaya was watching me from a distance with Shelby. I held up my hands, and they weren’t shaking anymore, but I still felt cold, anywhere that Jackson wasn’t touching me.
“Sorry Yaya. I don’t know what happened,” I admitted. “I feel like my body is in shock, or I have hypothermia. This isn’t normal performance anxiety for me.”
“Of course, it isn’t. I know you better than that,” she reminded me. “But, even if it was just nerves, it would still be okay. No one is perfect, and I don’t expect you to be made of stone.” She crouched next to where we were sitting and touched my arm, drawing back with a gasp at how cold I felt.
“You really are in shock, aren’t you?” Shelby asked, even as she threw a sweater over my chest and tucked it in to the brace that held the wings on.
Jackson helped me to my feet, and together, the three of us made our way to the dressing station, while Yaya peppered Jackson with questions about how much I’d been eating, if I’d been working out too hard, and even how much sleep I was getting. Jackson answered questions I hadn’t even realized he’d been paying attention enough to know the answers to. He multi-tasked while answering her, carefully removing my wings and hanging them on a nearby mannequin.
Even Ray came around to check on me as Shelby and Yaya peeled my clothes off me, and Jackson brought me the sweatpants and tank top I’d arrived in. Jackson started to protest the other man in the room as I changed, but I shook my head. Ray placed a hand on his shoulder and gave him a light squeeze, then rubbed his shoulders while he asked how my guy was holding up. Jackson raised his eyebrows at me, his mouth a round “O” of sudden and uncomfortable understanding, before he gently assured my friend that we both were okay, and sidestepping just out of arms’ reach, thanked him again for his help earlier.
“Anything I can do for my girl C.J., I’m on it,” Ray promised. He left to get a cart for my bags and costumes, and Shelby started to remove the wig and makeup.
“What about pictures and press release?” I gasped. “Yaya, I have to get back in costume.” My mentor shook her head.
“We have lots of pictures of you in costume. You go ahead and get out of makeup, I’ll send a pair of jeans down, and we’ll just do the exit interview whenever you’re ready.” She thought for a moment and smiled. “I think the juxtaposition of you in costume, to you with no makeup at all will be a nice touch,” she added. “But, no sweatpants. I’m disappointed that you even wore those here today.” Jackson cleared his throat and I felt a blush creep up my neck and cheeks.
“We were, ah, running just a little behind this morning,” he chimed in, in my defense.
“Gross,” she grimaced. “Just, just don’t say anything else. I’ll get you a pair of pants or something.” She air-kissed both my cheeks and strode off on her mission to make me interview appropriate.
Jackson held my hand and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles, a habit I’d noticed when he was worried about me, or when he was thinking. It only took a minute of that gentle rhythmic touch on the back of my hand before I had all but forgotten how sick I’d felt on stage. I had to admit to myself that, once again, Jackson was probably right, and I’d let my anxiety get the better of me. It was a bitter pill to swallow, that I’d choked at the exact moment of my biggest victory and most important life success.
Ray touched the earpiece in his ear and took off with a small wave, only to return within a couple of minutes with a micro-mini skirt in denim, and a button-down shirt. I put them on and Shelby finished altering my makeup and brushing out my hair, but it had been wound up so long it looked like a corkscrew coming out of the back of my head.
Instead of brushing it out more and turning it into a thick, frizzy halo around my head. Shelby pinned it back up and put it back under the blue wig with the bobbed haircut. I looked in the mirror. Gone were the perpetually furrowed eyebrows and pursed, thin lips. I was gazing at the reflection of a woman with strong features and cheekbones, who knew what she wanted and went for it.
I loved competing, but each time I did, win or lose, it seemed harder for me to immerse myself in the love of the craft. I wanted to cosplay until Jackson and I were the old couple on the stage, still making beautiful designs and selling them at a premium to young upstarts like Lacey and the next generation of C.J.s. Jackson made me feel that again. Allowing him into the part of my life no man had ever entered was the best part of the whole damn competition. I would give back the trophy and the check that was in the envelope, another twenty thousand, to be exact, to go back to the hours we spent together in my costume room, working together while he sang country songs under his breath (mostly).
I glanced at Shelby, who was watching me with a thoughtful expression. She raised an eyebrow and scoffed, as though she knew exactly what I was thinking. That drum beat resounded in my chest again and I stole a peek at Jackson out of the corner of my eye. He was chatting with Ray, completely unconcerned now that he knew I was going to be okay. I met Shelby’s eyes again and shook my head, and she smiled in sympathy.
“Glad you’re finally figuring it out, Sweetie,” she said gently as she brushed imaginary flecks off my shoulder and patted stray hairs into place. “I hope I get to see the look on his face when he realizes you’ve caught up to him.” She paused, then corrected herself. “No. Scratch that. Ew, gross, I just got a mental image of exactly what will happen when he knows you love him as much as he loves you. I cannot unsee that.”
I laughed and shook my head. He hadn’t said anything about love. He had a plan, and he’d already let me change it more times than I would’ve if our situations were reversed. There was no way he felt the way I did. I glanced back at him, laughing, and comparing biceps with Ray. No, this feeling was mine alone. But I was going to do everything in my power to make him see that I was exactly what he needed. Somehow.