IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(79)

He paused, removing his eye mask and rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair. “Conor would have loved nothing more than to be here today talking to you, but an illness in the family called him away. I’m honored to take his place, if only because I know if he were here he’d never be willing to toot his own horn. That’s not the kind of guy he is—he’s Harry, not Hermione.” He smiled and the audience chuckled.

I felt my cheeks burn. A part of me wished the ballroom floor would open up and swallow me whole, but a larger part of me held my breath, waiting to see what he would say next.

“Conor got started in gaming because of his grandfather. He owned an old chess set made out of carved bogwood that had been passed down to him by his own grandfather. It’s not the most beautiful chess set in the world, nor is it the most perfect. Every piece was created by hand and imbued with meaning. And every Sunday night, Conor’s grandfather would pull it out and they would sit down for a game or five.”

My throat tightened. Not only at the mention of my grandfather, but at the fact that Wells remembered me talking about him during our carriage ride in the park. It had been such a small story, more a passing reference than anything else, but he’d remembered.

“Not only did that inspire Conor’s love of gaming, it inspired his creation of Hold Your Piece because he understands that gaming can be personal—it can be a reflection of who you are or who you want to be, whether an Alliance Night Elf or a Druid Halfling. In this day and age, finding the time to carve your own game pieces from bogwood isn’t realistic, but that doesn’t mean you can’t create something meaningful.”

He grinned, relieving some of the emotional tension in the room. “Or something ridiculous. That’s the point. You get to be the creator. You get to decide.”

He clicked the remote and the screen flashed again to show a single game piece sitting alone on a white background. At first I thought it was just Kylo Ren, but then I noticed the wider shoulders and cut abs and realized it was actually Wells dressed as Kylo Ren. An exact replica of how he looked on stage. It was a perfect demonstration of just how accurate the Hold Your Piece printing process could be.

The audience laughed and began clapping enthusiastically, and I found myself buoyed by their enthusiastic response. And also already planning on printing out one of the Wells Kylo Rens for myself when I got home.

When the crowd died down, I assumed all that was left was a thank-you and a final invitation to stop by the booth.

I was wrong.

“If you don’t mind indulging me a moment longer, I just want to say one last thing about Conor Newell. I know how much he would love to see so many kids here today with their families. And there are also many of you who seem to be just starting out, like he did with his grandfather. This love of gaming and fantasy is what has brought everyone together. For many of you, it’s a side piece. You may, in your real lives, be a mechanic or a nurse, a student or a soccer player. Gaming and fandoms are maybe something you do late at night, in the privacy of your own web space. But I would encourage all of you, even those of you who are older villains like myself,” he said with a chuckle and gesture at his costume. “I’d encourage all of you to look at Conor as an example of what your real life can be like if you’re brave enough to follow your passions.”

I sucked in a gasp at the words. They were so unexpected and so heartfelt and not at all how I’d ever thought of myself. My cheeks heated at the praise. A part of me wanted to shrink back, not used to being so publicly complimented. But a larger part of me basked in the warmth of Wells’s praise. I held my breath as he continued speaking.

“Conor Newell was raised by two scientists. Teachers. They were professors at a small-town university and did what many of us consider to be dry research. Complex stuff. But they always encouraged Conor to follow his dreams and always reminded him that science and teaching were their own dreams, but they didn’t need to be his.”

The ballroom around me seemed to disappear, the crowd along with it. Until it was just Wells on the stage and me on the floor, watching. Listening. He didn’t know I was there—couldn’t have known. And yet it felt as though he were speaking just to me. Telling me how he saw me, what he thought of me.

It filled my heart, causing it to ache with wanting.

“So when Conor grew up and went to college, he didn’t simply follow the path of least resistance. He set a goal and made it happen. Got a business degree, opened his game shop, and worked his tail off to grow the company until he could support expansion. And when it came time to expand, once again, he didn’t simply make his shop bigger or open a second location—in other words, do the expected. He thought about what he wanted to do. And he began designing and working until,” he said, laying his hand on the top of the printer, “until he determined what his unique offering was. And then he worked even harder to perfect it before bringing it to market.”

The room was silent, rapt, listening to Wells. He stepped forward and held his hands out with his palms up. “When I got to know Conor and saw what was possible when you allow yourself to pursue your dreams, it’s like… it’s like I woke up, you know? I woke up and realized that we don’t ever have to keep doing what we’re doing if we aren’t happy anymore. We can reach for the stars and try new things. So I encourage you to look to Conor and all the other entrepreneurs and dreamers here this week and realize that this life, this passion, can be your real life if you want it to be. You just have to imagine it. Dream it. Believe in it. Then make it happen.”