Gone for You (Wild Side 1)

Oliver paused, worked his jaw but then he nodded. “Yeah…yeah, I guess you’re right.”

And they weren’t only talking about music.

“Come on.” Matt nodded toward the window. “Let’s go. I think I need to be here with you today.”

Oliver didn’t respond. He only returned the nod and got out of the car.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

And sometimes I realize when something isn’t meant to be. Not everything is.

That little bit of truth Oliver had always struggled with. No matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise, not everything he wanted was meant to be. It was idealized thinking to believe it was.

Miles and Matt both saw the world that way—they were more similar than either of them realized—but Oliver never had. He wanted to believe anything was possible. That he and Matt were meant to be. Matt would compose and his group of friends would always be happy and close and life would never get in the way.…But life did, didn’t it? More than Oliver wanted to admit.

He heard Matt suck in a breath beside him. “I forgot how beautiful it is up here.” He loved the architecture. The beautiful white building on the hill. The view of Los Angeles below.

And it was. That was why Oliver loved it so much. They made their way inside the building and into a large open area. It was stark white, except for the color in the paintings on the wall and that of the people walking through.

“You should come visit me in New York sometime. I’ll take you to The Met.”

That was the first time Matt had ever asked him to New York. Matt had been gone ten years and he’d never visited him there. Before, he would have jumped at the suggestion but now he shrugged and said, “Yeah, maybe.”

They made their way through the quiet room. There was nothing but abstracts here, which Oliver had to admit weren’t really his thing.

They were mostly quiet as they made their way from room to room. Matt let Oliver lead him, following behind him as he took in all the art. He’d always been creative, always known he’d wanted to do something in the arts. For a while, he’d thought acting until he settled in with his love of words. It made more sense anyway. Oliver was more comfortable in his books than anywhere else, which was why it frustrated him so badly when he struggled.

“Ollie, look at this,” Matt said in a hushed tone.

He hadn’t realized Matt had snuck away from him. He was in an archway that led toward another section of the museum. Oliver followed him over. He hadn’t taken the time to look online to see the current exhibits. He never did. He enjoyed not knowing what to expect when he came. It made the experience more exciting and interesting.

The first thing Oliver saw when he walked into the room was a photograph of a man. He was naked, sitting backward on a chair, facing away from the camera. His arms were over the back, his body slouched as if he leaned over it, with his head down. His body language screamed sorrow, melancholy, but that wasn’t what caught Oliver’s attention. No, it was the artwork on his back. He had a huge piece—a dragon tattooed onto his skin. It almost looked as sad as the man. As painful.

“Tony needs a tattoo,” he whispered.

“Who?” Matt asked.

“Tony. He’s Davis’s new partner. He lost his family when he was a child. It’s why he became an investigator. He needs a piece on his back that represents his loss.” It didn’t hit him until right now. No, this knowledge didn’t solve his current issue with Davis and Tony but it was another building block in Tony’s character. It helped him connect with Tony more, which would make it easier for everything else to fall into place. Oliver and Davis were different in so many ways but in others, he knew Davis so well, he felt like an extension of himself. That wasn’t the case with Tony.

“It amazes me you can do that.” Matt’s arm brushed against his; they stood so close. “My mind doesn’t work that way. I couldn’t just have something click into place the way you do. I remember that from high school when you used to write all those stories. We could be anywhere and you’d pull your phone out and type in an idea because of a random man you saw in the parking lot or a display in a store window.”

“Please.” Oliver nudged him with his elbow. “It’s not as if you don’t do incredible things. You started playing the piano, by ear, with no lessons for years. You used to compose music like it was as easy as breathing. It’s a part of you. You can try to deny it all you want, not mention it at all but it’s still a part of you.” He was likely overstepping his bounds. This wasn’t his place but Oliver couldn’t let this moment go without having said what he did.