Garrett

  "No arguments," I agree, and nestle in so I can indeed watch my honey kick some ass on the ice.

  Chapter 21

  Garrett

  My legs are burning. Feels like fucking lava flowing through my quads. My line has already been out here for close to fifty seconds, but there hasn't been a sufficient break in the action to allow us to change up.

  This has been a hard-fought game so far against the Demons...the second L.A. team we've played this week. Every time they've scored, we've answered, but we haven't been able to pull ahead. As the final minutes of the game tick down, both sides are running on their reserve fuel tanks, and I'd kill for someone to just ice the puck so the whistle will blow.

  Instead, a greater wish is granted to me.

  The Demons' center makes a sloppy backhanded pass to his winger and it's almost too easy to intercept, even on my blown legs. I pick the puck cleanly, and the first thing that flashes through my mind is Go, Go, Go. The second thing I think about is Olivia...wondering if she's screaming while she watches from her apartment.

  Just the thought of her gives me a burst of energy and I dig my blades into the ice hard, streaking down the right side. Alex calls out from behind--on your heels--so I know someone's hot on my ass and Alex will be supportive down the middle.

  I close in on the goalie, a big, burly bastard who takes up too much of the net. The Demon behind me reaches out in a half-assed attempt to hook me, but the blade of his stick scrapes harmlessly across my ankle. I can hear Alex tapping his stick and calling, "Dump it." He's an option, but I don't need him to tell me that, and in fact, we play so well in sync together that I know he's doing that to get the Demon off my ass...provoking said Demon to commit to him instead.

  It works because I can literally feel his presence drop back and then it's just me and the goalie. I cut left across the net, aiming for the upper pocket, and when the goalie stretches his frame upward, I give a short flick through the five-hole, clean into the net.

  The red light goes off, Alex practically tackles me from behind, and then I'm swamped by my other teammates. And while this is usually one of my favorite moments as a hockey player, my only thought is of Olivia and how I imagine she's going crazy for my goal right now.

  --

  I walk out of the locker room shower, one towel around my waist and another over my shoulders, and I use one end to rub over my hair.

  "Dude...you were on fire tonight," Alex says as I walk up to my locker, which sits next to his. He's already half dressed, but I take my time. I know the bus that will take us back to the hotel won't be leaving for at least another half hour, as some of our players were getting ice baths for their joints.

  Dropping the towel around my waist, I pull on my underwear and then sit down on the bench. "Thanks, man."

  Reaching for my phone, I turn it on and wait for it to boot up so I can check my texts, eager to see what Olivia has left for me. After the Dragons game the day before yesterday, I turned my phone on to find out she had texted me after every single exciting play that I had made. It may have only been a good forecheck or it could have been an assist or goal, but her texts made me feel awesome.

  Holy hell, babe. You are amazing.

  You totally smoked that douche.

  Can you hear me screaming from across the nation?

  You are so hot on the ice. I'm surprised you're not melting it. :)

  My screen pops up, a photo of me and Olivia that Sutton had taken of us together at Busch Gardens. Her arms are wrapped around my waist, mine around her shoulders, the fronts of our bodies pressed in tight. Our faces are turned toward the camera and my chin rests on top of her head. Both of our smiles are a mile wide, and it's probably the best representation of what my relationship with Olivia has been like so far. Fun, thrilling, comforting, and natural. I'm discounting, of course, the parts that have been terrifying and stressful.

  Hitting the text icon, I'm immediately dismayed to see no new messages from her. In fact, there's been no response to the text I sent her just before the game. A quick Miss you text.

  It's unlike her to ignore a text from me. In fact, if anything, we've been voraciously texting each other during my entire trip out west, filling in the gaps when we couldn't talk on the phone. A small flicker of unease settles in my stomach, and never once do I even consider that she's purposely ignoring me. That's not Olivia's style.

  Maybe she's having a rough night. I mean, she had her second round of chemo just yesterday, so maybe she's sick. I talked to her just this morning, though, and she said her nausea had been well controlled but that she was feeling more tired than normal. Maybe she fell asleep and just couldn't stay up for the game.

  I type out a quick text. Are you okay?

  After I hit "send," I set the phone down and start to get dressed, the general locker room chatter tuned out as I ponder if Olivia is feeling okay. While I've had my head in both games completely, the rest of my time I've been worrying. Though I know there's not much I could do for her if I was there, and I know she's well taken care of by her friends, it still chafes at me that my girlfriend has cancer and I'm not there by her side when she needs me the most.

  "Something wrong, man?" Alex asks with a backhanded slap at my arm to get my attention.

  I shoot him a quick glance and let my eyes drop back down to the buttons of my dress shirt. "Nah...I'm good."

  "You don't look good. What's with the worry face?"

  Swiveling my head his way, I try to school my features. "Worry face?"

  "Yeah...like this." Alex scrunches his eyebrows inward and pulls his lips down into a frown. He looks ridiculous.

  "You're cracked in the head," I tell him with a laugh that sounds completely flat even to my ears.

  "Garrett," Alex says seriously. "What's wrong?"

  "It's nothing. I'm sure it's nothing. Just worried that Olivia hasn't texted me. Stupid right? I mean, I just talked to her this morning."

  "Not stupid, man," Alex validates me. "She just had her treatment. Of course you're going to be worried."

  I bite down on my lower lip, consider my options, then grab the phone. I dial Olivia's cell number, but after four rings, it goes through to her voice mail. She doesn't have a landline, so I do the only thing I can...leave a voice message and hope it doesn't sound too desperate.

  "Hey...it's me. Just a little worried that I haven't heard from you. Call me when you get this."

  I disconnect and stuff my phone in my pocket, pulling on my suit jacket and forgoing putting my tie back on.

  Alex claps me on the shoulder and gives me a little shake. "I'm sure she's fine. Come on...let's get a beer down in the hotel bar when we get back and then we'll get a good night's sleep. Our plane leaves early tomorrow and you'll be seeing her in less than twenty-four hours."

  "Yeah, sure," I agree with a halfhearted smile, and just then my phone buzzes in my pocket. When I pull it out, my stomach immediately settles when I see Olivia's name.

  "Hey," I say as soon as I connect. "I was worried about you."

  I'm stunned when Stevie answers me in a tired voice. "Hey, Garrett...it's Stevie."

  "What's wrong?" I snap in a burst of fear. Because I know something is wrong if Olivia didn't answer her phone. Alex's head snaps toward me and his eyes narrow in concern.

  "Listen...Olivia's fine," Stevie says hesitantly. "But she's in the hospital."

  A stab of electrical fear punches through my chest and sucks the breath out of my lungs. I can't even respond to him. My mouth opens and closes like a gasping fish out of water.

  "Garrett? Are you there?" Stevie asks.

  Shaking my head, I give a little cough to clear the emotion out of my throat. My voice is still raspy when I respond, "Yeah...sorry. I'm here. What happened?"

  "Um...her red blood cell count is dangerously low. She's been feeling really tired since her treatments, and by this afternoon she couldn't even get out of bed...was having some difficulty breathing and some chest pain. She called me, and
I brought her to the emergency room. We've been here a few hours."

  "Jesus Christ," I curse helplessly. I hate this feeling of weakness and lack of control. "Why did this happen?"

  "Apparently, the chemo battles cancer by stopping the cells from dividing. Unfortunately, it can also stop her blood cells from doing the same. It's not uncommon...at least that's what Dr. Yoffman said. They gave her a red-blood-cell transfusion and they'll monitor her levels. Dr. Yoffman wants to keep her overnight, but he said she should be fine with this transfusion and feels confident she can go home in the morning."

  I scrub my hand through my hair, my mind spinning. The team's plane doesn't leave until tomorrow morning, and we'll be back home early afternoon. I'm wondering if I can get a flight out of here tonight, and I know my next call will be to the airline.

  Then a thought strikes me and I become suspicious. "You're not sugarcoating this for me, are you?"

  Stevie snorts in offense, but his voice is patient. "I swear I'm not. She's going to be fine."

  "Can I talk to her?" I blurt out, needing to hear her own voice before I believe it.

  "She's sleeping right now. I had her phone and saw you called...knew you'd be worried."

  "Okay...I'm going to try to get a flight out tonight because the team flight doesn't get in until tomorrow afternoon. With some luck, I can be there tomorrow morning before they release her."

  Stevie's silent for a moment, and then I hear misgiving in his voice. "Yeah...um, listen...she didn't want you to know. She asked me not to call you when they admitted her and she won't be happy about me calling you now, or about you rushing back."

  "What the fuck?" I yell into the phone, anger sizzling white hot through me. "She didn't want me to know?"

  "She didn't want you to worry," Stevie placates. "She didn't want to distract you from the game."

  "Fuck that," I growl. "If something like this ever happens again, you better be the first to call me, and I don't care if I'm getting ready to board a plane or skate out onto the ice. I should be told this shit, and if you hide it from me again, I'll take it personally and whip your ass."

  "Whatever," Stevie sneers. "You're not my mamma, and I don't answer to you."

  "Yeah? Well, fuck you, asshole," I yell into the phone as my gaze flicks over to Alex, who is staring at me in concern. His eyebrows raise sky high.

  I wait for Stevie to come back at me, but all he says in a very soft voice is, "Are you done? Feel better now?"

  "No," I grumble into the phone. "I don't feel better and I'm sorry...that was uncalled for. I'm just a little wigged out."

  "I get it," he says and then tries to talk me down further. "Look...she's fine right now, just resting. Take the team flight home and she'll be back at her apartment by the time you land. It's all good."

  "All right," I breathe out in a gust of frustration. "I'll see you tomorrow, but if she wakes up and feels like calling me...have her do it. I don't care what time. I just..."

  My words trail off, floating out to the universe of uncertainty.

  "You just need to hear her voice," Stevie guesses.

  "Yeah...that would help."

  "Got it, girlfriend," Stevie coos at me, and I disconnect, shoving my phone back in my pocket.

  "What the hell is going on?" Alex asks.

  "Olivia is in the hospital. Her red blood cell count is low and they gave her some type of transfusion or something."

  Alex immediately grabs his phone out of his locker and unlocks it. "Shit...Sutton left me a text before we even went out on the ice. I'm sorry, man...I didn't check."

  He holds the phone up and I read Sutton's text. At least she wasn't banning me from knowing that my girlfriend was in the hospital. Call me ASAP. Olivia is in hospital. On way there now. Trying to get word to Garrett.

  Then another text about an hour after that. I'm here. She's going to be fine. Low blood count. Don't panic.

  I raise my eyes to Alex and give him a wry grin. "At least Sutton was looking out for me."

  "Yeah, well, I think she still feels like she owes you or something," he says and snickers.

  Reaching into the locker, I pull out my watch and put it on, then shove my wallet in my back pocket. "I'm going to get on the Internet in the coach's office to see if I can book a flight out of here tonight."

  "Dude...they are not going to like that," Alex says in a low whisper, and he's right. We are required to travel with the team, and I think it has something to do with the way we are insured, but frankly...if my plane goes down, that's the least of my worries right now.

  "I couldn't give a fuck," I call out to him over my shoulder as I walk toward the visiting coach's office.

  Luckily, Coach Pretore isn't in here, as I saw him in the training room talking to one of my teammates whose leg was immersed in an ice bath. I immediately jump on his laptop and check available flights, feeling the need to punch a hole through the wall when I see there isn't anything direct that will get me in any earlier than the team flight tomorrow. I briefly consider chartering a personal flight, knowing that it will cost me an arm and a leg, but then immediately dismiss it. Now I'm starting to seem a little overly obsessive, and Stevie and Sutton both seem assured that Olivia is going to be fine.

  With a sigh of resignation, I get up from the desk and walk out of the office, my shoulders slumped with fatigue. I head for the exit where I know the bus will be waiting and pull my phone out of my pocket. I hold it close to me because I don't want to miss out if Olivia calls me.

  Because I really, really need to hear her voice right now.

  Chapter 22

  Olivia

  God, I want to slap some sense into Garrett. He's driving me absolutely bonkers and this shit stops as of today.

  I'm serious...no more. No more hovering, hand-holding, and smothering. No more asking me if I'm okay every other minute and certainly no more handling me with kid gloves.

  I've been out of the hospital for a week now, and he's treating me like a fine piece of china. Completely breakable, otherwise useless, and stuck up on a protective shelf with a bright spotlight on it. I get that he's worried, but he's gone overboard and my patience has worn thin.

  Let's just say that when he got back from the L.A. road trip, he was not happy with me. In fact, we had our first fight and it was a doozy.

  Stevie and Sutton had just brought me home from the hospital. The transfusion was like a miracle fix, and within just a few hours I was feeling fantastic. My energy was back, there was color in my cheeks--at least according to Stevie--and I was actually hungry. I did have to stay overnight in the hospital, but only because it was too late to let me go by the time the transfusion had been completed.

  But Dr. Yoffman released me early the next morning, the discharge nurse pushed my papers through quickly, and I was back at my apartment and hunkered down with a bunch of movies by mid-morning. Sutton and Stevie had to get back to work, but I assured them I was fine on my own. Besides, I knew Garrett would be coming straight to my place once the team plane landed, and I anticipated a bit of a fight.

  How could I not? Not when Stevie told me that Garrett was pissed I told him not to call. Certainly not when I heard that Garrett threatened to kick Stevie's ass, which was not cool, in my book.

  And sure enough...when I opened the door to let Garrett in, his eyes traveled critically over my body and his lips were in a flat line. He couldn't find any fault with my appearance, though, because not only did I feel so much better, but I had taken the time to blow out my hair and put makeup on. I knew I looked fantastic.

  That didn't stop him though.

  Didn't stop him from laying into me even as he took me into his arms. After he pulled me in close and placed a kiss on top of my head, he growled at me. "I'm so pissed at you for not having Stevie call me. So fucking pissed."

  I rolled my eyes, but he couldn't see that. Which was good. No sense in fanning the flames.

  Instead, I pulled back and gave him a stern look. "I know you're m
ad, but I didn't want to worry you. For Pete's sake, Garrett...you were getting ready to step out onto the ice. It's not like I was dying or anything."

  Yeah...that wasn't the most tactful word to use.

  Dying.

  Garrett released his hold on me like I was diseased, and I've never seen him look so angry. "That's really fucking nice, Olivia. Just great."

  Then he spun away from me and left...slamming my door behind him.

  I stood there for all of two seconds, then I was throwing the door open and running out after him. He was already halfway to his car when I called out, "Garrett...don't leave. I'm sorry."

  He just threw a dismissive hand up over his head and snarled at me, "I'll be back later, when I cool down."

  That "later" ended up being three hours later, and I worried a trail in my rug from pacing back and forth. Was I wrong in not telling him what happened? I truly didn't want him to worry. I truly didn't want to mess his game up. Aren't those noble reasons? And besides...it's not like we're married or anything. I mean...seriously...we've been seeing each other only a little over a month.

  By the time he came back, I'd gone from feeling guilty to having a full head of steam myself. How dare he get mad at me? I'm the one with cancer...not him. It's my life, not his, so I should get to call the shots.

  It wasn't pretty when he walked back in. I laid into him, calling him overprotective and smothering. He gave it right back to me, calling me insensitive and self-absorbed. I almost kicked him in the nuts over that, but then all my anger drained away when he pulled me roughly in to his body and practically wrapped himself around me.

  "Please don't punish me for caring about you," he murmured with his face pressed into my neck. His words were truly pained, and guilt lanced back through me again. "And please don't shut me out again. I'm in this all the way with you, and I need you to be all the way in with me. Give me that respect, at least."

  That was it. I was done for. His words were spoken with a genuine need to be a part of this with me. He had taken this responsibility on his shoulders, and the price of caring for me was having to worry about me as well. But he had made it clear it was something that he wanted to do, and when I prevented that, I was not giving him the respect he deserved.