Right Man, Right Time

“Come out with us, man,” Pacey says as he slips his shirt on.

“I’m good,” I answer.

“That’s not the right answer,” Posey says as he buttons up his shirt. “We just took another win, and we deserve a chance to celebrate your fucking hat trick. Now come on. You’re coming.”

“I don’t need to celebrate.” I slip my shoe on and then the other. “I’m fine just going home.”

“Well, we’re not fine with it,” Hornsby says. “Penny has already told me I can go celebrate because Holden is sleeping, so we’re fucking celebrating.” Hornsby shakes my shoulders. “Three fucking goals, man. That’s something to celebrate.”

Knowing they won’t leave me alone, I succumb to their demands. “Fine.”

Posey fist-pumps the air. “Great, you can ride with me.”

“I can drive myself.”

Posey laughs at that. “As if we would let you just drive, allowing you not to show up. No, dude, you have to be escorted.”

Dammit. They know me too well.

“Fine,” I say as I slip my suit jacket on. “But I’m leaving when I want to fucking leave.”

“You’re required at least thirty minutes,” Pacey says.

“No, two drinks,” Hornsby counters.

“Two big alcoholic drinks,” Posey says.

I glance at Holmes, and he just shrugs. “I agree with them.”

“Wow, dude.” I shake my head. “Fine, two large alcoholic drinks.”

“Thatta boy,” Posey says, shaking my shoulders. “Let’s hit the road.”

He pushes me toward the exit, and together, we walk past the media and out of the arena. When we reach Posey’s car, he goes to my side and opens the door for me.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t go anywhere,” he says and then nods to the car. “Get in.”

“You’re being ridiculo—”

My voice falls as Posey buckles me in himself. When he’s done, he pats me on the leg and then goes to his side of the car.

When he’s settled, I say, “That was taking it too far.”

“Felt right to me.”

He pulls out of the parking space, the other guys following closely. “So . . . what do you want to talk about?” Posey asks.

“Probably not what you want to talk about.”

“And what do you think I want to talk about?” he asks.

“I don’t know . . . my love life and how I’m a recluse now who doesn’t hang out with you four, so that’s why you’ve pressured me into going out with you tonight.”

“You said it, not me. So let’s chat about that.”

“There’s nothing to chat about.”

“Sure there is.” Posey makes a left and heads toward downtown. “Have you heard from Ollie at all?”

“Wow,” I say. “Less than a minute. I thought you’d at least give it five minutes before you brought her up.”

“Nah, no beating around the bush over here. Got to get straight to the point. So have you?”

“No. She took my advice and got out of my life.”

“Okay, so no correspondence at all?”

“No,” I answer.

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Good,” I respond even though that’s a lie.

I don’t feel good at all.

I actually can’t fucking sleep at night.

My body’s on autopilot as I move through the motions, never feeling anything. When I got in those fights after I found out about the article, I didn’t feel a goddamn thing. When I came home and confronted her, I felt nothing. When I scored the hat trick today, there was zero joy within me.

I’m just dead inside.

And when I go home and lie in my bed wishing for my mind to stop whirling about Ollie, I can’t stop thinking about how I wish she was in my bed with me, naked and curled into my side. How I miss her sweet moans as I drove inside her. How I miss her witty remarks when we’re joking around. How I miss her never-ending hugs, her addicting cuddles, and her mind-blowing kisses.

I miss her so goddamn much that the only time I ever feel anything is at night, when I’m alone and wishing she was there. That’s when I feel pain.

It’s why going out tonight sounds slightly appealing because it will cut down on the time when I’ll be alone, feeling that pain.

“Why don’t I believe you when you say you’re good?”

“Because you’re annoying,” I answer.

“Well, at least your maturity is intact,” he says, annoying me even more.

IT’S TOO FUCKING CROWDED in here.

The music is too loud.

And even though it’s an Irish pub that gives you the sense that you’re back in Ireland with its creaky floorboards, Gaelic band, and large pints, I want nothing to do with it.

“I don’t know about this,” I say to Posey as he pushes me through the crowd cheering for us.

“We have a private space in the back, don’t worry.” He guides me through a curtained-off area and into an open room with high-top tables and chairs scattered throughout.

Well, that’s slightly better.

“Guinness?” Posey asks me.

“Sure,” I answer as I sit at one of the tables just as the guys filter into the back. Winnie is attached to Pacey, which I half expected. And then Rivers walks in with Ross right by him.

Fuck.

I haven’t seen Ross since the article’s release, which is one reason I avoided going out. I didn’t want to see him, especially since Ross and Ian are getting pretty serious now.

I turn away from him, hoping he doesn’t approach me, given the awkward elephant in the room. And what is he going to do when he goes back home? Is he going to report to Ollie about what state I’m in? Does she even care?

Probably not.

If she was willing to throw me under the bus, I’m pretty sure she doesn’t care about me at all.

And that’s what fucking stings the most. Is that I’m lying awake at all hours of the night, devastated over losing her, over her fucking me over, and she’s probably fine. Living her best life under Roberts’s command.

Christ, what the hell was I thinking, coming to this?

Really bad idea.

I need to leave.

I move off my stool and turn around just as I come face-to-face with Ross.

Of fucking course.

“Silas,” he says.

“Ross,” I reply. Rivers is only a few steps away, his eyes on us. I’m sure ready to pounce on me if I disrespect his man.

“Can I speak with you?”

“Yeah, I don’t think I want to do that,” I answer. “I was actually just on my way out.”

I slide to the side, but Ross slides in front of me. The balls on this guy because I have about forty pounds of muscle on him.

Rivers comes up behind him, equal height as me, and says, “Listen to him.”

Now, I could take Rivers. We might be almost evenly matched, but my pent-up anger will win out. But nothing screams low team morale than getting into a fight with one of your own, so I reluctantly sit back down while Ross takes a seat next to me.

“Thank you,” Ross says just as Posey drops my drink off in front of me. Rivers must tell him to leave us alone because it’s just me and Ross, probably one of the last people I want to talk to. “First of all, I don’t want you to think I’m trying to get you back together with Ollie. She’s moved on, but I think she deserves her truth to be told to you.”

She’s moved on?

Like . . . with another man?

It’s two stupid words—moved on—but because I still have these crazy feelings for her, it cuts me deep.

“Ollie was telling the truth. She had nothing to do with your private information going in the article. It was Candace. She edited the article, had the information about you, and slipped it in.”

“How would Candace know about that?” I ask. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Ollie and I were having lunch at the union one day. She was gushing about you, how you’ve made her feel special again and given her confidence.” My gut churns again. “And she was rambling of course and started to say how she’s helped you ever since you were cheated on, but she never got the full sentence out before she stopped herself and started to freak out. I guessed what she was saying, and she begged me not to say anything. I, of course, would take that to my grave not only to protect you but to protect my girl who was so distraught. Unfortunately, Candace was sitting right behind us and heard.”

My body starts to tingle with dread as I try to comprehend what he’s saying. “But . . . but she said it,” I say, grappling for anything.

“And regretted it the minute it came off her lips. She wasn’t gossiping, she was talking about how happy she was, and it just slipped.” Ross’s jaw grows tight. “And the fact that you didn’t give her a chance to explain that really pisses me off.”

I don’t say anything because frankly, I don’t know what to say.

“Ollie is the most loyal person I’ve ever met, so loyal that she confronted Roberts and quit on the spot when she found out the truth. She ended up losing credit for her internship, was kicked out of journalism school, and lost her scholarship for housing . . . because of you. Because of protecting you. She fucking loved you so much, and you couldn’t even let her explain.”

Ross shakes his head and gets up from the table.

“I understand you’re hurt, Silas. I’ve been in your position before on many occasions. But the difference between you and me is that I’ve learned who to trust and who not to trust. And I can assure you, Ollie Owens is a person you can trust. She’s not a person you throw away.”

Rivers comes up behind him and possessively grips the back of Ross’s neck. “She lost everything, Silas. Every fucking thing she cared about. Could you imagine what would have happened if she hadn’t lost you as well in all of this? She probably wouldn’t have had to leave. Although, maybe moving on is the best thing for her.”

He starts to walk away, but I stop him, standing as well. “What do you mean she’s moved on?”

“Afraid she found someone else?” Ross taunts. “It would serve you right. If you truly loved her, Silas, you would have listened to her and then made your decision, but you didn’t give her that chance. Shame on you. You don’t deserve to know what she’s doing now.”

And with that, he moves away, Ian at his side.

I back up and slowly sit down on the stool behind me, my mind whirling.

Holy fuck.

Was that . . . was that the truth?

Was that what she was trying to tell me all along?

A sickening feeling consumes me as I think about the last time I saw her, when she came to my apartment. When she tried to tell me the truth, and I wouldn’t let her. I wouldn’t believe her, and then I yelled at her to get the fuck out of my life.

And then she lost everything.

Her dreams.

Her goals.

She was kicked out of school?

Jesus Christ.

“You okay?” Posey asks.

“No.” I shake my head. “I’m not.” I glance up at Posey. “I fucked up, man. I fucked up big time.”

SHE’S MOVED ON.

Those three words have played over and over in my head all night, keeping me awake.

All I could think about is the look on her face when I told her to leave.

It haunted me last night.

Over and over again to the point that I pulled up her name in my phone, tempted to call her, but then I reminded myself what Ross said.

She’s moved on.

I shouldn’t call her if she’s with someone else.

I don’t want to come back into her life when clearly, she’s been able to let it all go.

Not me, though.

I can’t let this fucking go. It’s eating me alive.

I push through the weight room, feeling the sleepless night heavy on my shoulders. I have no energy to work out, so I’m just going through the motions now.

My eyes are bloodshot, my muscles are exhausted, and my brain fucking hurts.

“Hey,” a voice says as I walk up to the warm-up bikes. I look toward the weight racks where Rivers is about to load up his bar.

“Hey,” I say as I set my water bottle down.

“You look like shit.”

“Feel like it,” I say as I sit on the bike but don’t move.

“Any of this have to deal with what Ross said to you last night?”

“All of it,” I say as I grip my forehead. “Dude, please . . . please just tell me if she’s with someone else.”

He faces me and leans against the rack, arms crossed. “Ross didn’t want me saying anything to you.” He pushes his hand through his hair and says, “But fuck, I can’t have you getting in fights out there again. We just got our groove back.”

“Just fucking tell me,” I say, the pain so evident in my voice.

“I have no idea if she’s with someone else,” Rivers says. “But when Ross said she’d moved on, he meant she actually moved.”

“Moved?” I ask. “To where?”

“Los Angeles.”

“What?” I ask, feeling my fucking heart tumble to the ground. “She moved to Los Angeles?”

Rivers nods. “Yeah, she got a job with The Jock Report as an editor.”

“Fuck,” I mutter. “And she’s down there now?”

“She is,” Rivers says. “Ross was really upset about it, hence why he had to talk to you last night. He needed to get it off his chest.”

“I understand that,” I say and hang my head. “I fucked up so hard, Rivers.”

“You did,” he says. “But there’s always a way to make it better.”

“She moved. How can I make that better?”

“Distance doesn’t matter, especially if you love her, and I’m assuming you love her.”

I nod. “Even when I thought she hurt me, I never stopped loving her. Never.”

“Then there’s your answer. She might not live here now, but that shouldn’t stop you. If you want your girl back, then get her back.”

I PACE MY APARTMENT, trying to get the courage to make a phone call. But I’m chickening out, so scared as to what would happen . . .

Silas: I can’t do this.

Posey: Yes, you can.

Pacey: We went over this. You want her, go get her.

Hornsby: Coming from experience, if you love her, don’t let her go.

Holmes: You won’t feel right until you do.

Silas: I hate that you’re all right.

Posey: So execute the phone call and text us after. I’m frothing at the mouth for an update.

On a deep breath, I dial the number and bring the phone to my ear. Sweat builds up in my palm, and I hold my breath when the phone is answered.

“Hello?”

“JP?” I ask. “It’s Silas Taters.”

“Aah, I’ve been expecting your call. Let me guess, you’re ready to join The Jock Report?”

“Something like that,” I say. “I think I need your help. I’m in LA in two days. Think you can help me win my girl back?”

“I thrive for moments like this. I’m in.”