If Silbie thought she'd get any sleep after Owen left, she'd been fooling herself. She rolled to her side and fluffed her pillow. Still unable to get comfortable, she flopped onto her back and slid her feet to her hips until her knees pointed toward the ceiling.

She'd never seen him act the way he had tonight. As long as he'd been with Jeb, things were fine. They laughed and talked, and Owen seemed—normal. The man she'd fallen in love with. But the minute they were alone, everything changed. It was as if he'd flipped a switch.

She swung her feet to the floor and sat on the edge of the mattress. Tomorrow night would be better. She'd make sure of it. She glanced at the clock for the hundredth time and rubbed the back of her neck. Four a.m. It was no use. She'd tossed and turned until her muscles ached as if she'd done too many Bird of Paradise yoga poses.

She made her way into the bathroom and scrounged around in the medicine cabinet until she found an over the counter sleep-aid. Five months out of date. She shook out two tablets, popped them in her mouth, and washed them down with a handful of water.

Next, she stumbled to Maia's printer, grabbed a sheet of paper, scribbled a do-not-wake-me note to Jeb, and taped it to her bedroom door. Maybe her insomnia was a blessing. At least now, she'd sleep most of the day and not stress about her movie date.

One thing was for sure. No more little nice girl. Tonight, she'd spell it out for him. His issues didn't matter to her. She could live with those. Even help if he'd let her. She just needed to convince him.

She climbed back into bed and began to count backward from a hundred.

Meeting Jeb Westlake had been the highlight of last night. Not only because he was a former NFL tackle, but because he'd furnished a much-needed diversion. The secret to spending time with Silbie was to avoid her.

Tonight, Owen would insist Dante join them for the movie. That's the only way Owen would make it through the date. When he was near her, temptation surrounded him like a toxic cloud. Once the evening was over, and he had all the information he wanted, he'd never see her again. At least not in person.

He didn't want to hurt her, but his nightmares made him dangerous. He'd never forgive himself if he choked her, or fought her in his sleep.  It was a real possibility. The episodes were getting less and less, but he couldn't trust himself. No, the best thing for Silbie, if she wanted to accept it or not, was having him stay out of her life.

The aroma of bacon lured him into the kitchen where he found Dante seated at the bar. He laid down his phone. "There's pancakes and bacon in the warming drawer."

Owen took a plate and cup from the cabinet, helped himself to the food and coffee, then joined Dante.

His brother slid utensils, along with butter and syrup toward Owen. "You came home earlier than expected last night. Why didn't you come in to talk to me? Date didn't go well?"

"Yes—and no. Her security guy is Jeb Westlake."

"No shit."

"Yeah," he snorted. "He joined us for dinner."

"Is that the yes or no part?"

Owen slathered his pancakes with butter, then drenched them with syrup. "Whaddaya mean?"

"You're glad he was there—or not? He's just her employee, right?"

Owen hissed out a breath. "They're not romantically involved if that's what you think. He's married. I was glad he was there. We talked football."

Dante cocked his head. "Where was Silbie?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Messing around in the kitchen."

"You never had the chance to ask her about the hotel?"

"I tried, but we both ended up mad. She wants to come here tonight and watch a movie. Said she'd give me more answers then. I need you to join us."

"No can do," he held up his hands. "I have a meeting downtown with the owner of the local bar."

"Then I'll cancel."

"You sure you want to do that?"

Deep down, Owen wasn't sure of anything when it came to Silbie. But he'd kept her out of his life for months, and he needed to stick to it. What kind of relationship could they have when her life centered around fans, and he couldn't be in a room with more than two people without having a panic attack? "Yeah. Now that I know she's the mystery woman, the rest of it doesn't matter. I need to let it go."

Dante nodded. "I agree."

"Do you mind if I use the Harley today? I thought I'd scope out some possible locations for the movie theater."

"Sounds good."

Bea's house—Silbie stopped herself. Guessed she needed to get used to calling it Dante's house now. Rumor had it he'd inherited everything. Tongues wagged as soon as the news broke. Everything from brainwashing her to trading sex for assets. Silbie laughed. That sounded like a movie title.

She wheeled her car into the drive. The place was dark. Looked like no one was home. She shoved the gear into park, then made her way to the front door. She'd given Jeb the night off. Figured she'd be safe enough with Owen and Dante, and if there were any Shutter Nutters in town, they'd never think to look at Be—Dante's house.

She rang the bell. No answer. She tried a second time. Nada. Well, if this didn't beat all she didn't know what did. The nerve of Owen! Or, maybe he was inside and just wanted to make her sweat. She stomped back to her car, climbed in, and called Dante.

"Where's Owen?" The question came out louder than she intended.

"At home. Where are you?"

"I'm at your house, and he's not answering the door. There aren't any lights on, so I'm assuming he's stood me up."

"He told me he was going to cancel. He didn't call?"

She should have expected this, but once again, she'd held out hope things would work in her favor. She dug her fingernails into her palm as the truth pierced her heart. Owen didn't love her anymore. Just like everyone else had lied to her, she'd lied to herself. If it didn't hurt so much, she'd laugh. Despite her misery, she knew what she had to do.

"No, he didn't. Guess he figured if he did, I'd have his number, and clearly, he doesn't want me to be able to talk to him."

"I'm sorry, Silbie. I'll call him and—"

"No," she answered roughly. "Don't do anything. Thanks."

Silbie wanted to kick herself for being such an idiot. Despite her success, she was still just a naïve teenager who'd bought into the whole cheesy cock of love cliches.

Not anymore. Love doesn't conquer all because she'd fought with no chance of winning.  Absence made her heart grow fonder but had turned his to stone. And, what was the time limit for love to be patient? She'd waited for months, and it wasn't enough.

She dashed into her house and slammed the door behind her. Tears burned her eyes, but she blinked them away.

Jeb turned off the TV and came to his feet. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," her voice broke. She swallowed the lump in her throat and started. "Call the pilot, please. I've decided to go back to California."

His face pinched. "Something happen with Owen?"

"Yeah... He finally made me understand he's done with me."

"Oh, damn. I'm sorry."

She waved him off. "No need to be. I'm fine. Let me know the E-T-A." She started down the hall then turned back. "Wait.  Never mind. You know what? Since the plane is coming from Dallas, we'll just go ahead and drive to the strip. That'll give us time to grab a bite to eat and turn in the rental car. Oh, and if you don't mind, strip the sheets off your bed and bring them to the laundry room. I'll call the cleaning lady and have her come tomorrow to get the house in order."

He paused for a lengthy second, clearly uncomfortable with her emotions – or lack, thereof. "You sure you're alright?"

She plastered on a fake smile. "Just peachy."

The front door slammed so hard, it shook the house like a sonic boom. Apparently, Dante's meeting had not gone well. Owen jumped to his feet and headed downstairs. He only made it half-way before Dante appeared, clearly mad as hell.

"Why didn't you call and cancel your date like you said you would?"

"Just didn't." Owen turned and walked back to his room, with Dante on his heels.

"What'd you do? Hide out here in your room?"

"Yeah."

He grunted in annoyance. "How adult of you."

"You want to talk about being an adult? What about Silbie and her little game of dress-up?"

Dante drew a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Honest to God, I feel like I'm dealing with a fifteen-year-old. You want her out of your life, then man up. Tell her it's over. Finito. Terminado." He threw his hands up and grimaced. "Know what? You want to play the poor-pitiful-me card from now on, then do it. I'm done running interference for you." He turned and stomped off.

Owen called after him. "I never asked you to."

"Yeah, well good," he retorted. "Because you're on your own."

Owen glanced down at Dash. "Too bad you're not a guard dog. If you were, I'd have you bite his ass."

Dash tilted his head as if considering it.

Owen ran his fingers through the dog's fur. Sometimes he wished the mutt could talk. Instead, he'd have to settle for Dr. Sequig's advice. And he would, during their Facetime session tomorrow morning. That was a joke.  The good doctor never offered opinions—only questions.

The next morning, with very little sleep, Owen answered his phone, and Dr. Sequig appeared on the screen, sporting his usual cheerful attitude.

"Good morning. How'd you sleep last night?"

"Not good."

He clasped his hands together. Owen could just imagine the 'How do you feel about that?' emoting over the screen. "Nightmare or stress over your date?"

"Neither," he huffed.

Dr. Sequig looked up from making notes and locked his gaze on Owen. He hated when he did that. It was like he could read his mind.

"Still no night terrors since sleeping with the mystery woman?"

"No."

"That's a definite improvement."

Owen narrowed his eyes. "Your point?"

"Just an observation."

"But you have an opinion, right? You just don't want to tell me." Owen wanted to knock that smirk right off the shrink's face.

"No. But if I did, what do you think it would be?"

"That the two are connected."

"Do you think they are?"

"No."

"Okay. What about your anger? Last we spoke, you were upset about having to spend time with Silbie in order to get information. Were you able to control your anger during last night's date?"

"Didn't happen."

"Good. You didn't get mad?"

"No, the date didn't happen."

"She canceled?"

"I didn't answer the door."

"Hmm. You think that was the best way to handle it?"

Why did Owen put himself through the endless third degree? Dr. Sequig. Dante. One question after another. Why wouldn't everyone let him live his life?

"Yeah. I've told her more than once we're not getting back together, but she won't listen. So, I had to let actions speak louder than words."

"You've used those exact words?"

"What?"

"We're not getting back together."

"Maybe not exactly, but I've made it clear. She can't fix me. She's better off without me. She deserves someone normal."

"Hmm—"

"Stop doing that."

"What? That humming sound. Like you don't believe me."

"Do you see the difference in what you said and what you mean?"

"Not sure I understand the question."

"We're not getting back together is a statement of fact. It's what you believe. What you feel. What you want to convey so there's no misunderstanding. The other three you mention are reasons left to interpretation. I can argue your claim of being broken, unworthy, and undeserving. But if you say you don't want me as your therapist, I have to accept it."

Owen hated when the doctor made a good point. "Doesn't matter if I said it wrong, she got the message. I haven't heard from her."

"How do you feel about that?"

Another thing Owen hated was being constantly asked how he felt. "Fine."

"Meaning?"

"Okay. Cool. Good to go. Okey Dokey."

Dr. Sequig chuckled. "Although I appreciate your sarcasm, it won't explain why you judge yourself so harshly."

"I don't."

"Really? What about the reasons you gave Silbie?"

"Just because I don't want to complicate her life, doesn't mean I have a low opinion of myself."

"You consider yourself a complication?"

Owen fisted his hands. If he had the power to reach through the phone, he'd choke the living daylights out of Dr. Sequig. "Just spit it out, doc! Tell me what's wrong with me and how to change it."

"That isn't my job. You need to ask yourself why you feel the way you do. The real reason you don't want to reconnect with her."

"You're playing matchmaker now?"

"Not at all. Lately, you spend a lot of time talking about her, and I'd wager a great deal more thinking about her, which tells me, she's a big part of your issues. When you were with the mystery woman before you knew her identity, didn't you tell me you fantasized she was Silbie?"

"Yeah, but I'd been drinking and fell asleep, and when she just appeared out of nowhere, I—"

Dr. Sequig raised his hand. "I understand all of that. But you also said anytime you dreamed of a female, in your mind, she became Silbie. Why do you think that is?"

Owen shouldn't have to spell it out. Silbie was the only woman he'd ever been in love with. It was natural to fantasize about her.

The doctor's voice knocked the thought from his head. "And, until the masked woman showed up in your room, you were unsure about your ability to be intimate. According to what you said, that problem was solved."

"Your point?" he asked gruffly.

"If performance is no longer a concern, you need to examine the reasons you're still uncomfortable with women."

"I never said women make me uncomfortable."

"Only Silbie?"

"Well, yeah, because she wants something from me."

"What exactly?"

Owen ran his hand over his face. All the questions were giving him a headache. "My time."

"Anything else?"

"I don't know. Attention? Companionship?"

"Love, perhaps?"

Dash nudged Owen's leg. He looked down at the dog, then back at his phone screen. "Yeah. That, too."

"Do you love her?"

The question caught Owen off guard. Before he answered, the doctor spoke again.

"I want you to think about that along with everything else we've touched on today. And the answers need to be what's best for you—not her—or anyone else. The only life you can control is your own." The know-it-all glanced at his watch. "Can you do that?"

"Sure." The screen went dark. Owen pounded his fist against the desk and screamed. Damn therapy wasn't doing any good. All it did was confuse him. If it was up to him to figure everything out, then why the hell have a psychiatrist? He could get anybody to ask 'what do you think about that?' If Owen knew what he thought about everything, he wouldn't need a shrink.

"Are you okay?" Dante asked.

Owen swiveled his chair to face his companion. "Friggin' doctor screws me up more than helps. How the hell am I supposed to know why I feel the way I feel? I just do. Or why I think Silbie's better off without me. Or why I imagine every woman I dream about is her."

"Whoa. Every woman in your dreams—is Silbie?"

"Sort of." He shook his head. "They may look different, but in my head, they're her."

"Damn. That's messed up."

"Yeah. And I need him to explain why that happens, but he wants me to figure it out."

Dante waved his phone in the air. "I know I said I wasn't going to be a go-between anymore, but Silbie wanted me to pass this along to you."

"What it is?"

"An email. She's gone back to California. Sounds like you finally got your wish. She's out of your life for good."

"You read it?"

"Yeah, and I'd be flattered if any woman I cared about went to this much trouble to be with me." He passed his phone to Owen.

Owen stared down at the email, and when he finished reading, he looked back up at Dante. "No personal note? Just a play-by-play?"

"Yeah. After your behavior, I guess she figured that's all you'd be interested in."

Movie Hermione would say, "What. An. Idiot."

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

We're in end game, folks. Two chapters and an epilogue left. So soon.