Tell Owen or not? That battle had gone on in Dante's head for days. On one hand, out of courtesy, Owen had a right to know Dante had made plans to attend Silbie's premier. On the other, her name had not been spoken since the day he'd showed her email to Owen, which pretty much said any subject concerning her was off limits.

However, he couldn't disappear without saying something, and knowing Owen, Dante couldn't be vague. He closed the folder and stacked it on the pile of papers waiting for his signature. He couldn't concentrate on work. Not with Owen upstairs brooding.

At least he wasn't drinking anymore. And giving him the park and movie projects seemed to help, but he was still struggling. Anger. Anxiety. Trust. Self-confidence. The list was long.

Nothing felt worse than the inability to help those Dante loved and cared about. He couldn't save Bea, and now—his brother. At the risk of his own sanity, Dante needed to let it go. Put some of Dr. Sequig's therapy babble to good use—we can only save ourselves. After Owen complained about his shrink sessions, Dante sometimes felt like he was the one on the couch. Not that psychoanalysis would hurt him. Like everyone else, he had issues. Wealth. Grief. Power.

Two of those weren't considered problems by most people. He laughed out loud as the quote from Spiderman popped into his head. With great power comes great responsibility. They needed to add an addendum—and great pain in your ass.

Screw it. No need tiptoeing around Owen. If he couldn't handle Dante going to Silbie's premier, so be it. He was done babying his brother. Dante couldn't help him if he couldn't help himself. Since Dad married Silbie's mom, the two families were blended and avoiding Silbie wasn't possible. Sooner or later, they'd cross paths, and he had to accept it. If not, holidays would be hell.

Not to mention the decision Dante'd made to sell Bea's house and build a new home on the land that joined Silbie's. That revelation might be enough to undo all of Owen's progress.

Dante pushed away from the desk and headed toward Owen's room ready to deliver the news. By the time he reached the bottom of the stairs, Owen's laughter stopped him in his tracks. He'd not heard him laugh like this in—he couldn't remember the last time.

He climbed a few more steps and listened again. Did Owen have a guest? Maybe he was on the phone. Taking the remaining rungs two at a time, Dante reached the bedroom door and eased it open.

Owen sat on the bed scrolling through pictures on his phone.

"What's so funny?"

"Silbie."

"She sent you pictures? How'd she get your number?"

Owen wiggled the phone in the air. "It's my old phone. The Army sent my personal things to Dad's address. He brought them over yesterday while you were gone. After my morning therapy session, I decided to go through them. Silbie kept emailing and sending photos even during my captivity."

"She didn't know you were missing. None of us did. Dad chose to keep the news to himself."

He raised his eyebrows at this. "Really? Now I understand why she wasn't staying at her mom's house. Guess the secret caused trouble between them."

"No, she forgave her for that, but when no one told her you'd been rescued, that didn't go over so well."

"That was my fault. I asked that she not be told."

Dante sighed. "The request caused a serious riff between them. Things still aren't back to normal, but at least they're speaking. In time, Silbie will get over it. You had a session this morning? I thought you had one yesterday."

"I've had one every day for the last couple of weeks. If the Army doesn't pay for them, I'm gonna owe him a shit load of money. Good thing my new project manager position pays so well."

"Yeah, I guess so." Owen's mood was the best it'd been since he'd come home. Dante needed to keep it going. "Silbie send any nudes?"

He glared at his brother.

Dante held his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, just saying if she did, now that she's famous we could get mega bucks for them."

"Like I'd want the world to see my girlfriend naked," he grumbled. "No one deserves that."

Dante stepped back. "Whoa. Did you just call her your girlfriend?"

"I—she—I meant at the time, she was my girlfriend. When she sent them."

Dante chuckled. "That Freudian slip is a good segue into something I need to tell you."

Owen stiffened and pulled his brows together. "About Silbie?"

Dante nodded and swallowed hard. He opened his mouth to speak, but Owen beat him to it.

"She's not pregnant, is she?"

For a split second, something flickered in Owen's eyes. Dante's breath caught. "What? Why would you think she's pregnant?"

"Never mind. Clearly that isn't your news. So, what is it?"

He shook his head. "No, we're not leaving this subject until you explain. Why would you think that?"

"She's been so determined for us to get back together, and that night at the hotel—I—we—didn't—"

"Holy hell. You didn't use protection?" Dante slumped down onto the bed next to his brother. This meeting had taken a turn he'd not seen coming. "No way. She wouldn't risk her career. And she's probably not ready for that. Right?"

"I don't know why I said that."

Dante folded his arms and gazed at his brother. "You're disappointed."

"What are you talking about?"

"I saw it. Your expression. It was just a flash, but it was there. You hoped she was. Oh. My. God."

"You're crazy," he groaned.

"Am I?" Now he was on a roll. "Where do you go during your daily Harley rides?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"You visit the construction site of her new house, don't you?" He tapped his chin, feigning contemplation. "Come to think of it, I saw the tracks. Didn't pay much attention, thinking one of the workers rode a bike, but it was you. What do you do, Owen? Stare at the place and fantasize about the life you could have with her? Picture a treehouse in that big Oak where your kids would play?"

"Shut up."

He plowed on. "Or, maybe you dream of fishing in the pond with a son—having tea parties with a daughter."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Really?" Dante persisted, egging him on. "I think it's you who doesn't know what you're talking about. She has a premier in two days. I'm going. Come with me."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

Dante nodded, and, "Yeah, and that I've decided to sell the house."

If Owen seemed surprised, he didn't show it. "Where will you go?"

"I'm building on the acreage next to Silbie."

"Oh."

Dante slapped him on the back. "That's all you got?"

Owen heaved a deep breath and stared into space. "What if we can't make it work? What if I never get back to the man I was, and she ends up hating me?"

Dante slid his arm around Owen's shoulders. "What if I choke to death on my pancakes tomorrow morning? Or go to the mailbox and get runover by a trash truck? But—what if neither happens? Instead, I enjoy the pancakes and the mail is all coupons and junk. Everything we do is a gamble. You can't live your life full of what ifs. But—there is one sure bet. Unless you do something, you'll never hear from Silbie again."

Maybe it was from the pain of losing Owen, but Silbie found herself thinking more and more about how her life had changed in the last year. Up until then, she'd never been to California, much less the Dolby Theatre where she'd celebrate her first movie premier tonight. She should be bouncing with excitement, but she wasn't.

Since returning to LA, she'd stayed busy to keep Owen—and all the mistakes she'd made out of her head. She'd signed the contract to star in the remake of Klute. Met with designers to choose dresses for the premier and upcoming awards shows. Jolene had already received requests for Silbie to be a presenter at the Golden Globes and Oscars. Funny, she was more nervous to do those than appear in a movie. No retakes if she messed up.

And, in the past few days, Jolene had pitched a clothing and fragrance line, along with a book deal about Silbie's overnight rise to fame. Add the arrival of her family, it'd been a whirlwind—until she was alone. Then the pain she'd felt standing at Dante's door with no one to welcome her inside came crashing down all over again.

She'd not cried. If she was the grown-up she claimed to be, she couldn't allow tears. They would change nothing. Without warning, her eyes flooded.

She lurched forward, grabbed the extra bed pillow, and buried her face into it. Who was she kidding? She wasn't an adult. She was a silly nineteen-year-old who'd worn her heart on her sleeve. Why did she think a man like Owen would ever be interested in a teenager?

He'd been right all along. They weren't a good match. She'd just been too stubborn to see it. She dried her eyes, drew in a long breath, and just when she thought she was done crying, she cried harder.

Had someone not pounded on the door, Silbie might have cried all day. But Maia rushed into the room and put her hands on her hips.

"Stop it! Stop it right now. I won't let you make yourself sick. He's not worth it." She waved her hands in the air.  "I hate that he has problems, but even so, they shouldn't keep him from being considerate." She grabbed a handful of tissues and passed them to Silbie. "I say this with love, Silbie... get your shit together. Your dress is here. You need to try it on to make sure no last-minute alterations are necessary."

Maia pulled open the drapes, and sunlight beamed into the room. "While you throw on a robe, I'll make you an espresso." Maia turned back to face her. "Okay now?"

Silbie nodded.

"If you want Zach to kick Owen's butt, he will."

Silbie laughed. Maia always made her feel better. And, she was right. Owen's PTSD was no excuse. "It'd be more satisfying if I kicked him."

"That can be arranged."

"I'll keep it in mind. I feel better. Maybe a good cry is what I needed."

Jolene's voice drifted down the hall. "Are you awake, fancy pants?" She breezed into the room holding a stack of scripts. Jolene's eyes widened. "Lord have mercy! Maia, run over to my house and get the ice mask out of the freezer. Silbie cannot have puffy cry eyes before the premier."

Maia took off in a flash, and Jolene sat next to Silbie. "Did you sob him out of your system?"

"Not sure one good cry will do that, but I'm better."

"Good, now about these scripts. You're gonna want to do all of them."

Silbie clasped her hands behind her neck, leaned her head back, and stared at the ceiling. "Jolene, how many times do I have to tell you I'm taking a break."

"I understand. They're just now putting the cast and crew together for all of these. They won't be ready to start filming for at least a year. Your break will be over by then."

Silbie faced her again. "Are they romantic comedies? I'm not interested in anything else."

Maia returned with the mask and handed it to Silbie. "Jolene, I was about to make Silbie an espresso, you want one?"

"No. I have the final fitting for my dress in two hours. I've got to run. Just wanted to drop these off." She pushed the scripts closer to Silbie. "Keep the mask on for at least thirty minutes. Then, take a look at the scripts."

After Jolene left, Silbie shuffled through the pile and read titles and genres. Perils of Love Through Time. A time travel story. Solar Eclipse of the Heart, with an ensemble cast much like Steel Magnolias. A Matter of Wife and Debt. A western set in the 1800s. She'd not considered a cowboy story. That might be interesting. Then an image of Owen wearing jeans and boots flashed in her mind, and she buried her head in her hands and groaned.

Maybe Owen will finally get his head out of his ass. What do you guys think?

TEASER: He unsnapped his seatbelt and opened the car door. "I feel like I'm gonna throw up."