Owen tossed the ball across the courtyard. In a flash, Dash retrieved it and dropped it at Owen's feet.

"One more time, then we're going inside."

Dash cocked his head as if to say, not likely.

Owen lobbed it again, then flipped up the collar of his jacket and hunched into it. A gust of wind swirled leaves banked against the brick wall. As if in concert, loneliness curled through him. He'd never felt more alone. But why not? He'd cut everyone important out of his life. Especially Silbie. He needed to face facts. She'd moved on. If he ever wanted to get over her, he had to do the same.

Dash nudged his leg. "Sorry. I was having a pity party moment." Owen picked up the ball and stuck it in his pocket, then scrubbed the dog's head. "You're a good boy, but you're stinky. Good thing you're going to the groomer tomorrow. Come on, let's get inside."

When Owen returned to his room, Dante waited.

"What's wrong?" Owen said.

He heaved a deep breath. "Bea and I are going back to Parkers Prairie on Monday and I want you to go with us."

"Okay."

"And I don't want an argument. I'm just not up to fighting with you about this.  She wants to go home—wait, did you say okay?"

"Yeah."

Dante scratched his head. "What the hell? You never agree to anything without a battle. Are you drunk?"

He shook his head. "No. Doctor's right.  I need to force myself to do shit I don't wanna do."

"Thank you. This means a lot to me." Dante chuckled. "Who knows, maybe you'll attend the party tomorrow night and get laid."

He raised a sardonic eyebrow in Dante's direction. "Let's just start with the Parkers Prairie trip and work up to parties."

"Whatever you say," he held his hands in mock surrender. "But I have to ask. Is it just the shrink sessions that brought this change on, or has something happened?"

Owen hung his head, then raised his eyes to Dante. "The best I've felt in a long time was during that fight at the bar—and that scared the shit out of me. I don't want to be that person. Maybe I'll never get back to the way I was, but I can't go on like this."

Dante laid his hand on Owen's shoulder. "You know I'll do anything to help you. Right?"

"You've already done so much, and I don't think I've ever thanked you. Not once. But I do. I'm just so tired of being angry all the time."

Dante embraced him. "We're gonna get through this."

Owen pulled away and wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. "I fucking hate this. I'm either wanting to tear someone to pieces or fighting tears. I'm losing my mind."

"No, you're not. You're willing to change to get better, which means you already are. Parkers Prairie will be good for you. For me, too. Hell, living in a hotel will drive anybody nuts."

"I hope you're right. If not, I don't know what I'll do."

Silbie should have known trying to sleep would be a lost cause. She'd tossed and turned most of the night finally passing out from exhaustion sometime past two. She'd rehearsed a dozen different scenarios of what she'd say to Owen only to ditch every idea.

It'd been months since he'd gotten home and regardless of the lies written about her if he truly loved her, wouldn't he contact her? He couldn't say the same about her. Dante swore he'd relayed all of her messages of how she still loved him—and still no response. Maybe this plan was a stupid ideam but if it was the only way she could see him, it was worth the risk.

Even if it was true that he no longer wanted her, he was going to have to tell her that – to her face. Afterward, if she had to give him up, as painful as it would be, she'd accept it. She'd never had a broken heart. How long would it take to mend? Probably never. At least not completely.

She glanced at the clock, then at Liz and Maia asleep in the next bed. Too early to disturb them. She slipped out of bed, tiptoed to her bag, and removed a script Jolene insisted she read. A fiftieth-anniversary remake of Klute, starring Jane Fonda. Those were some big shoes to fill. Ms. Fonda won an Oscar for that role.

Silbie had gone from superhero to mistress, and now Jolene wanted her to play a prostitute? What next—a human centipede?  She pitched the script aside. Maybe after she finished The French Mistress, she'd take a break. Jolene would argue to remain a star, Silbie needed to stay on the big screen as much as possible. Even though she loved acting more than she ever dreamed, she was tired. No one knew yet, but she'd purchased land in Parkers Prairie, and by this time next year, she'd have a home there. It would be her own place away from the limelight to unwind.

Was it wrong to want him one last time? Willing to let him think she was a stranger? Feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek? His hand holding hers? She'd do anything to see him again. She never imagined her first love would end up with so much pain.

Silbie picked up the mask and slipped it on in the bathroom. The design was alluring-black lace accented with glittering red rhinestones. She stretched the strap to make sure it was secure.

Now all she had to do was wait.

A shattered whiskey glass crunched under Owen's feet. He'd lost his temper again. Why were people so inefficient? Dash was supposed to be ready by five o'clock, then the groomer called to say they'd gotten behind and needed to keep him overnight. Unacceptable. Apparently, they didn't understand the importance of a service dog. Owen needed him. When the line of reality blurred, Dash brought him back. Lately, there were a lot of hazy lines.

He walked to the window and stared at the parking lot where partygoers in fancy costumes arrived for tonight's shindig. Ever since he'd had sex with a mysterious girl during Mardi Gras one year in college, women in masks excited him. The kitchen pantry had been close quarters, but he'd gotten no complaints.

He glanced down at his crotch. Even that memory didn't get a rise out of him. How pathetic. A shell of a man with a limp dick. A great epitaph for his tombstone.

He tossed the ball onto the bed and grabbed the whiskey bottle. One more drink and he'd reach his limit. A promise to Dante. Owen poured, replaced the lid, and then settled back in his chair. The liquid blazed a trail across his tongue and singed his throat. He set the glass on the side table and leaned his head back. Within a few minutes, the whiskey kicked in, and he slipped into a deep sleep.

Then his dream was back. The taste of adrenaline flooded his mouth. His heart pounded. Ears rang. Nostrils burned. Silbie sank into the desert sand. Owen tried to go to her, but his feet had taken root. He leaned forward, latched onto her hand, but the sinkhole was too strong. One by one, her fingers slipped from his until there was nothing left. The door opened, and Owen startled awake.

He wiped the sweat from his brow and gulped air. His vision darted to the window—the bed—the door. His pulse jumped. A shadowy figure pressed against the wall. Real or imagined? He couldn't be sure.

He shook his head, then squinted into the darkness. "Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here?"

Oh snap. What's about to happen?

TEASER: He spun around and grabbed her wrists. "Don't!"