Page 97 of Antidote

Before I know it, we’re pulling up to the gallery. There’s bad traffic and a long line of cabs. I’m tempted to get out of the car and walk the rest of the way, but I think better of it. I need to calm the hell down, because if my queasy stomach is anything to go by, the last thing I want to do is throw up on Ollie. No, I need to get my shit together.

I breathe in deeply, close my eyes, and do it again ten more times. I can feel the driver’s eyes on me, but I tune him out. This isn’t just an important moment—it’s monumental. This is my first time seeing Ollie in person in a year. I want to be present for that, not a mess. Even if he doesn’t want to see me and tells me to leave him alone, at least I will get a good look at him. I’ll get to gaze into his eyes and see if he’s full of shit or if he really has moved on.

I always know the truth when we look at each other. I’ll find out if he misses me just as much as I’ve missed him. If he feels like he’s drowning without me, and his only life raft are my text messages every night.

I wonder what he’d do if I suddenly disappeared. Would he miss me? Would it drive him crazy?

Finally, the cab pulls up to the sidewalk, and I pay him, then get out. There’s definitely a crowd building up out here, and someone is at the door, letting them in slowly. I get in line and wait, knowing that only so many people will fit in there. But the moment the guy’s eyes land on me, recognition shines in his eyes. I usually don’t use my status as a pro hockey player to get things I want, but I’ll do anything for Ollie. So when he gestures for me to come to him, my feet can’t carry me there fast enough.

“Mr. Hartman.” He greets with a smile. “What brings you here?”

I think of lying, but then say fuck it and smile back before leaning in. “Can you keep a secret?”

His eyebrows arch all the way to his hairline. “Of course.”

He’s probably lying, but I don’t care right now. “The love of my life is in there.” I sigh and rake my fingers through my hair, probably ruining it. “I need to see him.”

“Who?” His brows furrow. “Wait, you’re?—”

“Gay?” I chuckle, considering I’ve never had to explain my sexuality before. I’ve never dated anyone. “Yes.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.” His eyes light up. “You’re going to break a lot of hearts when this gets out.”

I smirk. “I don’t care.” Then I ask with a serious expression. “Will you let me in?”

“You can have whatever you want.” He winks. “Just, can you sign my hand? I want to get it tattooed.”

What the hell?

But I smile and nod. He hands me a Sharpie, and I sign the back of his hand, then give it back. His eyes light up, and he steps to the side, letting me in. My first thought is how bright it is in here. The second is how crowded it is. How the hell will I find my boy in here?

The walls are bright white, and the floors are a light hardwood. There are black columns spread out around the room from floor to ceiling, and it looks like they might be structural. I notice every single detail—but the paintings. I can’t bring myself to look at them yet. People are whispering about how beautiful they are, how breathtaking, and using words I don’t understand because I don’t know shit about art. Well, I guess that’s not true. I know that Ollie is fucking amazing, and if the whispers are anything to go by, these people think so too.

After a few moments of hesitation, I allow myself to skim. I don’t know what I expected, but this wasn’t it. There are a couple of pieces that have a different style than usual, at least the style he had a year ago. But as I walk around, I see every piece has the color green in it—Every. Single. One.

My heart beats faster as I’m drawn toward a painting from across the room. I walk toward it, my hands shaking and my knees weak, until I’m standing right in front of it.

Antidote—that’s the name of the painting according to the silver tag below it. It’s my eyes. Deep green…and I look sad.

Is this how I always look? Does he see me, still? I feel as miserable and sad as this conveys, making me feel even more vulnerable. He can’t possibly know, unless he’s been watching me. Has he been watching me? Has my Ollie been keeping up with me? God, I hope so.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone’s hand on another man’s lower back. Turning my head, I realize Ollie is standing right next to me—completely oblivious. A group of people are talking to him, and he expresses himself animatedly. It’s the happiest I’ve seen him in a long time—even in our past life together. However, I can’t even enjoy it because someone else is touching him. Someone who isn’t me. A man with blond hair has his hand firmly pressed against Ollie’s lower back. He’s grinning, and his blue eyes crinkle with joy as he gazes at my Ollie.

My. Ollie.

Mine.

Instead of walking up to him and demanding his attention though, I twist around and find a curator. I might not be able to walk right up to him and kiss him, but I know how to draw attention to myself. How I can get him to talk to me, and it’s going to happen one way or another. I also know exactly how to get that other fucker to stop touching what’s mine, although I need Ollie on board first. I can’t go ruining everything he’s ever built, or he’s going to stay well and far away from me. At least I’m logical now. The Hunter from a year ago would’ve pounded this man’s face in. I still might.

Deep breaths.

I finally find a lady, and she greets me with a warm smile. I smile back because I have to, even though I feel like my heart is going to beat out of my chest. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be, but there’s no backing out now. I’ll keep some paintings in the house I bought for us when I got drafted, and then I’ll keep some others in the condo.

“I’d like to buy everything.”

The lady’s brown eyes widen and she gasps, covering her mouth. I'd be amused at her reaction if I wasn’t so heartbroken about some other guy touching Ollie. Except right now, all I feel is jealousy, sadness, and rage wrapped all in one.

“Everything?” she asks, mouth agape. “That’s?—”

---