Page 190 of Right Man, Right Time
And I immediately know I’m not welcome.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks.
Hands trembling, legs about to give out, I take a step forward and say, “I really need to talk to you.”
“About what?” he asks as he tosses his keys on the entryway table and walks over to the kitchen. That’s when I catch the black under his eye as well as the swelling. My heart aches, knowing I’m the reason he has that. I’m the reason he’s had such a rough few days. I’m the reason his team now has two losses.
“About the article,” I say.
“Nothing to talk about,” he replies as he grabs a beer from his fridge and pops it open. “You decided to take advantage of me to gain momentum in your career. Simple as that.”
He downs what seems like half of the can.
“I . . . I didn’t write that,” I say.
He lowers his can of beer and looks me in the eyes. “Do you really expect me to believe that? You wrote that fucking article. I read it before you turned it in. That was yours.”
“Yes, it was,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper from how tight my throat is. “But that part about you, it wasn’t written by me. I wouldn’t do that to you, Silas.”
“Wouldn’t you, though?” he asks. He takes another gulp of his beer and then sets it down on the counter. “You were desperate to make something of yourself, to impress Roberts, so what would stop you from using me? Seems like it’s worked out for you. The story is everywhere.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Silas. I wouldn’t do that to the man I love.”
“Love?” He scoffs with an ugly laugh. “You don’t fucking love me, and don’t even try to claim that you do,” he says while reaching into the fridge for another beer. “No one would ever write that about the person they love.”
“Silas, I didn’t write—”
“You fucked me, took what you wanted, and left me bleeding,” he says, his voice growing angrier. “Was it worth it?” He tips his beer back and chugs.
For the third time, I say, “I didn’t write that—”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Ollie,” he yells and slams his beer on the counter next to his empty can. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Before you turned in your article, three fucking people knew about Sarah cheating on me.” He holds up three fingers. “Me, Sarah . . . and you.”
“Well, did you ask Sarah? Maybe she said something.”
“She came up to me, horrified because her life has drastically changed. She’s getting harassed, about to lose her job, and her name is being dragged through the mud. She wouldn’t have done that to herself.”
“And you believe her?”
He takes a step forward. “Why the fuck would she damage her image to make you look better to your boss?”
It’s a good point.
“You’re out of options, Ollie. You sure as hell know it wasn’t me who said anything. No one else knew, so tell me again how this is not your fault.”
I can’t.
I have no answers for him.
No reason as to why or how this happened. I’m just as confused as he is.
“I’m . . . I’m sorry, Silas.”
He shakes his head. “Get the fuck out of here. Leave your key on the table.”
“Silas, please. Just give me a second to figure this all out. I can talk to Roberts and see what happened.”
“What the fuck do you not understand when I say get out of here?” he asks, yelling. He flings his arm toward the door. “Leave. You’re dead to me, Ollie.”
