Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(135)

Ollie: NO! That’s so exciting. Are you going to do it?

Ross: I told him I was slightly apprehensive since I have the dorm and I don’t want to lose that, you know just in case something happens between us, but he said I could keep it and he wouldn’t be insulted. He understands the need for security.

Ollie: You found yourself a good one. So, is that a yes, then?

Ross: It’s a yes. I’m moving in this weekend when they return from their away trip.

Ollie: Send me pictures of your his and his closet.

Ross: It will be beautiful.

Ollie: I have no doubt in my mind.

“Hey, Ollie,” Ryot Bisley says as he comes up to my desk.

Let me tell you the difference between Roberts’s office and The Jock Report office. Instead of cubicles, it’s all open seating. We all have laptops, and we can come and go as we please, hook up to any station, and get comfortable. There are recliners, private rooms for concentration, and games like ping pong and air hockey all through the space so you can take a mental break. It’s truly amazing here.

“Hey, Ryot,” I say, setting my phone down.

“I have a new client who just signed on, and I was hoping you could help him with his article. It’s his first time, and he’s a bit self-conscious about his editing abilities.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for. I’d be more than happy to look over it.”

“Great,” Ryot says, then hands me a printed-out piece of paper. Odd, we usually do everything online, but this will work. “If you could make it a priority, I’d appreciate it.”

“Sure, I’ll get to it right now,” I answer.

“Thanks, Ollie. Let me know if you have questions, and when you’re done, just bring it to my office.”

“Sure, not a problem.” Ryot takes off, and I walk over to the community office supply table, grab a red pen and highlighter, and then sit in one of the recliners.

Once I’m comfortable, I lift the paper and read the title.

“The Truth About Silas Taters . . .”

What the actual fuck.

I look up toward Ryot’s office and see that he’s disappeared behind his door. This is not an article I want to read. It’s not an article I should read because who knows what he’s going to say, something that might hurt me. It’s been several weeks since Silas threw me out of his life . . . and I don’t feel anywhere near healed. Will I ever stop hurting?

But I can’t tell Ryot I can’t edit the piece because when I took this job, I swore to myself not only will I be the most loyal employee to the men who gave me a chance, but that I would do anything they asked.

Anything.

And this is anything.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I squeeze my eyes shut.

You have to do this. There’s no option. So just read it and get it over with.

On a deep breath, I focus my eyes back on the paper.

“The Truth About Silas Taters.”

Written by Silas Taters

You might know me as a starting forward for the Vancouver Agitators, for my quick feet on the ice, and my ability to conceal a puck until the last minute, tricking the opposite team’s goalie.

Others unfortunately might know me from a recent article that was released about my personal life.

Either way, you know of me, and I figured I should set the record straight.

This past summer, a girl in a bar kissed me. I wasn’t expecting to fall for her, nor was I expecting her to make me feel wanted, needed again.

But she did.

In a few short weeks, I found myself falling hard for this girl.

Who is this girl? Ollie Owens, the girl who wrote the infamous article about me.

I know what you’re thinking, how could you fall for someone who’d write an article about me in such a negative way? Here’s the thing, the article she turned in wasn’t the article that was published.

Her words were manipulated.

Her truth was skewed.

And because of her loyalty to me, to the Agitators, and to the fans, she confronted the offender who changed her article, only to lose everything, including me in the process.

Why am I telling you this? Because this is why The Jock Report exists, so you can hear our story rather than a story construed by someone else looking for clicks.

Was I cheated on? Yes.

Was that private information that shouldn’t have been put on a public forum? Yes.

Will there be consequences for the person who changed the article? Yes.

I’m going to end this by saying I’m not good when it comes to this social media stuff, and I’m sure as hell not good at writing articles, but what I’m good at is admitting when I’m wrong.

And I was wrong about Ollie Owens.

Losing her will be my biggest loss to date, and that includes last year’s championship run.

Tears stream down my face as I stare at the paper in front of me, wishing and hoping my eyes aren’t deceiving me.

“Reading anything good?”

My eyes dart up and find Silas standing in front of me wearing a pair of jeans and a black polo. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, his beard has been trimmed to look like scruff, and those gorgeous blue eyes I’ve fallen in love with stare right at me.

“Silas,” I say, just above a whisper.

He kneels in front of me and reaches out to take my hand. He wets his lips and says, “I’m sorry, Oliana.” Hearing my full name nearly rips me apart. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should have given you a chance to talk to me, to tell me your truth, but I was so caught up in the hurt from Sarah, seeing it be repeated that I, fuck . . . I said things to you I never should have said.”