Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69004 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“How doesn’t matter. You didn’t lose it, Matty. Even if you never use it in the way you’d hoped, even if it’s never what you do, it’s still a part of you. It’s still there. Fuck, it’s inside of you, swimming in the marrow of your bones. Pumping through your heart. In each breath you take. If you want it, if you really fucking want it, all you have to do is reach out and grab it.”
Matt inhaled a deep breath, was afraid to speak because his goddamned voice would probably shake too much. It’s inside of you, swimming in the marrow of your bones. Pumping through your heart. In each breath you take.
It was. It always had been. It didn’t matter how much he tried to forget it, how much he ignored it. Music would always be sewn into him. He could deny it as much as he wanted but Oliver was right.
So then Matt did exactly what Oliver said. He reached out and took the folder from his hand.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Things had felt slightly awkward when Oliver told him he was going to grab a cup of coffee and go get some writing done. Matt almost asked him again if they were okay, if he’d fucked up. Almost told Oliver that he couldn’t handle the thought of losing him, but he hadn’t.
The truth was, Matt had pulled away from Oliver for years and now here he was, back at Oliver’s house when he needed a break from his life. Only now he was fucking him and then wanting to beg him not to let anything change. That was a whole hell of a lot of demands to put on someone. Christ, had he always done that? Had he always orchestrated their relationship that way? Stayed away when he saw fit. Come back when he wanted. Showed up in Oliver’s room when he needed him.
So, he’d kept his mouth shut, grabbed his shorts, and slunk out of Oliver’s room like he’d just been caught fucking someone he shouldn’t have, which was pretty close to the truth.
As Oliver locked himself in his office writing, Matt spent hours in Oliver’s spare room going through pages and pages of music. It was amazing to realize how much he’d written, how much time he used to spend with notes and melodies and trying to bring them together into something special.
Matt fingered through the pages, the buzz under his skin getting more and more intense. It was like untapped energy that he hadn’t known was there but now it fueled him, made him feel alive in ways he hadn’t felt in years.
It was strong enough to carry him downstairs. To make him pull the bench out to the piano for the second time that day. It forced his arms to life and his fingers to move until he played.
Some of the pieces were two frames long while some were pages. Some of them were shit while others made the buzz turn into a riot, into passion and love and beauty that felt like it oozed from his pores, from his fingertips.
His heart beat too hard and too fast. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to cry but he didn’t do either of those things. Matt just played—scribbled out old notes he’d written to himself and added new ones. Marked out sections, crumpled papers, added frames.
He breathed again.
For the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe.
“Matt?” He flinched at the sound of Oliver’s voice behind him. “I’m sorry to interrupt but it’s almost six. I thought you might be getting hungry.”
He turned to Oliver just as he approached him. He wore a pair of shorts that he’d put on earlier and a T-shirt.
“It’s six?” That was impossible.
“Yeah. I haven’t heard you stop in hours so I figured you didn’t realize.” He paused and then a slow smile tugged at Oliver’s lips. “You really got lost in it, didn’t you?”
He had. He really fucking had…and it was because of Oliver. He rubbed his hands together because they felt too dry. He’d always had a problem with that, but really, it was just a distraction for himself because he wanted to kiss Oliver, he felt so fucking good.
Instead, Matt asked, “Have you eaten?”
A wrinkle formed above Oliver’s brow. “No.”
“Come on.” Matt forced himself up from the piano. His knees cracked when he did, his legs not wanting to straighten properly; he’d sat on the bench for so long. “I want to make you something to eat.” He wasn’t sure he could eat, himself. He was too fucking excited, but he wanted to feed Oliver.
Matt made it all the way to the kitchen before Oliver’s words stopped him in his tracks. “You have nothing to thank me for.”
That was what he’d been trying to do, hadn’t he? Thank Oliver for today. Even if it ended now, he…