“Someone on the inside?” I ask with amusement. “We’re not breaking into Fort Knox.”

“Yes, we are,” Stevie argues. “Or at least close to it. For whatever reason, Olivia is locked up tight.”

That sure was true enough. She’s managed to cut off the three closest friends to her without any explanation.

“What can her mom possibly do?”

“She can talk some fucking sense into her,” Stevie says with resolve, and I know he’s serious, because he rarely curses. “You need to call her…right now. I just talked to her a bit ago and she’s really worried about Olivia.”

“Why?” I ask with a sudden blast of icy fear. “Is she feeling okay?”

“She’s fine…physically, but…well, just call Maryana. She wants to talk to you.”

Stevie gives me Maryana’s number, but I don’t dial her right away. Instead, I change out of my dress clothes, opting for a pair of workout shorts and a ratty T-shirt. Grabbing a bottle of beer from my fridge, I head out to the back patio. It’s one of my favorite places to relax, especially at night, when the pool lights are on and the subtle accent lighting around the perimeter softly twinkles, illuminating the various plants in the garden beds.

Flopping down on a chaise longue, I kick my feet up and take a hefty swallow of the beer. Deep breath in, back out again, and I dial Maryana.

“Hello,” she answers in that singsong voice of hers that reminds me of rainbows and unicorns.

“Maryana…it’s Garrett,” I say, my thumb absently running over the condensation on the beer bottle.

“Garrett…sweetheart. I’m so glad you called. Did you talk to Stevie?”

“Yeah…just now. He said you’re worried about Olivia.”

“I am, and I’m worried about you too. Worried about the both of you. What’s going on?”

I sigh deeply and set the beer bottle on the concrete. Scrubbing my hand over my face, I look up at the star-filled night. “I have no clue. Everything was fine…perfect, actually. I assumed she was going out for a visit with you, and that she’d be back soon. Now she won’t answer my calls or texts.”

“She won’t talk to me either. I’ve asked her about you and she won’t tell me anything. She won’t talk to Stevie or Sutton. This isn’t like her.”

“Has she said when she’s coming back here?”

Maryana is silent for a moment, then says, “I don’t think she’s going back until her next treatment.”

“Fuck,” I breathe out in frustration, then immediately say, “Sorry. But that’s two and a half weeks away.”

“I know,” Maryana sympathizes. “Is there any way you can fly out here? She’ll be forced to talk to you.”

I rub the bridge of my nose because a dull ache starts behind my eyes. “I can’t. We don’t have any games on the West Coast for a few months, and even if I did, the schedule is packed too tight. I wouldn’t have any time.”

At this moment, and for the first time in my life, I hate my job. Hate the way this career binds me and takes away a tiny freedom that could put me on a plane and have me standing before Olivia to find out what the hell is going on.

Maryana is silent, and I realize with a sinking feeling that she’s not going to be able to help me any more than Stevie or Sutton can. It seems Olivia may be lost to me until she comes back for her treatment, and I’m worried that more time apart without any communication is going to continue to drive a wedge between us.

And I’m pretty sure that is Olivia’s plan.

“Oh, screw it,” I hear Maryana huff into the phone.

“What?” I ask.

“Just hold on…I’m in my bedroom.”

Maryana is silent, but I can hear the sound of a door opening, padding footsteps, then another door opening.

“It’s for you.” I hear Maryana’s voice dimly, and I realize the phone isn’t near her face anymore. I have a mental image of her handing the phone to Olivia, and I know this is exactly what’s happened when I hear Olivia’s voice say, “Who is it?”

Just those tiny three words—not the three words I’d kill to hear, but just three words in her beautiful voice—cause my heart to pound loudly within my chest.

“It’s Garrett,” I hear Maryana say, and there’s a hard edge to her voice. I didn’t think Maryana could do “hard,” but apparently she can when she feels motivated.

“I don’t want to talk to him,” Olivia says desperately.

“Tough shit,” Maryana says. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but you stay locked up in your room all day and night; won’t talk to me, Stevie, Sutton, or Garrett; and we’re all worried sick about you. Now you get your ass up and you talk to this man. You owe him an explanation at the very least. It’s the mature thing to do.”

Silence, and I imagine Maryana and Olivia are engaged in a staring war. Then I hear some shuffling sounds, a loud intake of breath, and then Olivia says “Hey” into the phone.

“Hey,” I say back, and for someone who has been desperately trying to get Olivia to talk to me for the past three and half days, I’m suddenly at a loss for words myself.

Clearing my throat, I start with my biggest concern. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes,” she says softly. “I’m doing fine.”