Garrett (Cold Fury Hockey 2)

"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."