Owen limped to the window and peered out at the Dallas skyline. Dante and Bea were nice enough to let him stay at the hotel, and for him, it was a better choice than going to Parkers Prairie and running the risk of seeing Silbie.

One thing was for sure. He never wanted to go back to his apartment. His last night there held too many memories of her. It was where they'd made love, and she'd promised to wait. His breath froze in his throat, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He swiped it away, then whispered a laugh. Some hero he was. A sniveling, broken man was more like it.

He jerked toward the door at the sound of Dante's voice.

"Is the room okay? As I said, it's yours for as long as you want. Bea and I are right down the hall."

"The room's fine. You don't have to babysit me."

"I know, but since you won't agree to a phone or a computer, and you won't answer the hotel phone, stopping by is the only way I can check up on you. Dad's worried. We all are."

"When are you gonna get it through your head I don't want to talk to anymore. Leave me the hell alone!"

Dante folded his arms over his chest. "Yeah, so you've said time and time again. Maybe after you've had a few days to think about it, you know, now that you're getting back to your old self, you'll change your mind."

His old self. What a crock. That guy disappeared in Iran, lash by lash. Lonely night after lonely night. And, he was pretty sure, he'd never get him back. "No chance of that, so let it go, man."

"Whatever you say. Care to join me and Bea for dinner?"

"No, thanks. I'll order room service. Don't have much of an appetite anyway."

"Okay, I'll leave you to it. I'll take you to your counseling session tomorrow. Two o'clock. Call me if you need me before then."

"Got it."

As soon as Dante left, Owen connected the phone and dialed room service. "Yeah, could you send up a bottle of whiskey?"

Just after midnight, once again, he stood at the window and gazed at the city's distant lights shimmering through the—no, he wouldn't say the word. He'd call it drizzle. Even Mother Nature mocked him with the title of Silbie's movie. He knocked back his—what was it, his fourth or fifth drink? He'd lost count. But the bottle was almost half empty, so regardless of the number, this needed to be his last.

It'd been so long since he'd had the hard stuff, he'd felt the effects after the first drink, but getting a buzz wasn't his goal. He needed to be numb. It was the only way he tamped down all the emotions swirling in his brain. Rejection? Hurt? Jealousy? Or, knowing no matter how much alcohol masked his feelings, he'd never stop loving her.

God, he was pathetic, acting like a high school boy with his first crush. What was he thinking? He'd fought those feelings before, and he could again. Even after falling in love at first sight, he'd resisted her. She'd been too young. At least in number. Not many girls knew what they wanted at eighteen, but Silbie did. And she'd wanted him.

He shook the thought from his head and set the glass on the table. Enough pity party for one night, he staggered to the bed and collapsed onto the mattress.

*

Silbie glided with even strokes, water slipping through her fingers like satin ribbons. Once she reached the pool's edge, she pushed into a backstroke, gazing at the stars as she made her way to the other end.

When she reached it, she found Jo waiting, towel in one hand, papers in the other. "You better get out, sugar pie, before you turn into a prune."

Silbie lifted out of the water and accepted the towel, then pointed to the papers. "What's that?"

"The names of Owen's rescue team."

"Wow. That was fast."

"I told you Miles Landry is the best PI I've ever met. He'd even found a missing heiress last year. I'd put him up against any Georgia bloodhound. Of course, your job was nothing compared to what he usually sniffs out for clients." She offered the list to Silbie.

"Anyway, along with the rescuers, he included Owen's daily activities. Other than meeting with a counselor once a week, he's pretty much a hermit. He has a physical therapist come to him. No cell. No computer. Unplugs his hotel phone most of the time. I don't think Dante was lying about him being in a bad place. Sounds like he has a serious case of PTSD."

Jo reached into her pocket and held up a thumb drive. "He sent this, too. Since the love of your life barely ventures outside, Miles couldn't get many photos. I know you didn't ask for pictures, but I thought you'd want to see him."

Silbie stepped forward, then stopped. "If I weren't sopping wet, I'd hug you. Thank you so much."

"Happy to help. I think you should consider getting him a dog. I have a friend back home who had a rough time, and a service dog pulled him out of it. I know a great trainer. I can give you his contact information if you're interested."

"I am."

"Okay. I'll email it to you. Oh, and with Maia gone, you're welcome to stay in the house with me tonight. Choose one of the spare bedrooms."

"Thanks, but the guest house has become home to me. I should probably look for a place of my own, but I love it here. I don't know what I'd do without you, Jolene."

She waved her hands in the air as if directing traffic. "Don't you dare. I love having you and Maia here. Even Logan when he stays over. I've been thinking of asking him to move into one of the upstairs bedrooms. Bless his heart. I need to keep a closer eye on him. Make sure he doesn't get sucked into the party crowd. I worry about him."

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Logan came through the gate, walked to stand next to Jolene, and put his arm around her. "You think I'm partying too much?"

"No, but you and Silbie are my youngest clients, and new to the movie business. That gives me a reason to be a bit overprotective." She pinched his cheeks. "Y'all are my babies."

"Well, Mom, I'm gonna go for a swim." He chuckled, then turned to Silbie. "Join me?"

"Sure. Just for a little while. But first, I want to look over this list."

"I'll leave y'all to it. Spend the night if you like, Logan. Just lock the door behind you when you come inside. Night, night, sweeties."

"Goodnight, Mom," Logan said and drove into the water.

Silbie headed toward the guest house and spoke over her shoulder. "I'll be right back." While her computer booted up, she flipped the pages studying the ten names of the men who brought Owen home. Once the laptop came on, she inserted the thumb drive and scrolled through the photos. She placed her finger against the screen and touched Owen's image. Her breath hitched, and tears flooded her cheeks.

He looked so thin. Pale. Lost.

"Oh, See-bee. Don't cry." Logan said from the doorway. He rushed to her side. "You know I can't stand it when you do."

She buried her face against his shoulder. "I don't know what I'm going to do. He needs me. I know he does."

"We'll figure it out. I promise."

"What can I do if he won't agree to see me? I can't force my way in."

"As I recall, that's what you said you did before he went overseas. You need to get that badass attitude back. Don't give him a choice. Find your inner bad girl. The one who turned the sprinklers on those photographers."

Silbie leaned away, wiped her face with the palms of her hands, and locked her gaze on Logan. "You're right. One way or another, he's going to see me. If he wants to get rid of me, he's going to have to tell me to my face."

♫ ♬ Better watch out going for the knock out ♫ ♬

Anyone who has read All Roads Lead Home get that little crossover Easter egg in this chapter?

TEASER: "They'll never agree to that."