Garrett (Cold Fury Hockey 2)

My last text to her was meant to get her off her ass to respond to me. It was short and to the point.

Contact me or I'm getting on the next plane to Portland.

Bitter disappointment bubbles from within as I see the text isn't from her, but rather Stevie. He's become my sounding board...the only one who really knows how I feel about Olivia, but he's as clueless as I am when it comes to the inner workings of Olivia's brain. She's refused his calls, but did send him a text that just said she needed some time alone and she'd contact him soon.

Per Alex, she sent the same message to Sutton.

For me...I get nothing from her. Fuck, that pisses me off.

While Stevie isn't who I wanted to hear from, his text brings me a small measure of peace. When I realized my efforts to get through to Olivia via her cellphone weren't working, I decided to circumvent that and reach out to the one person that I know is firmly in my corner.

His text was simple. Call me. I have an idea.

For the first time in days, I actually smile. It's a devious smile, because I'm not done with Olivia yet. She may be avoiding me, but I'm going to figure a way to get to her...to make her at least talk to me. And apparently I'm going to use Stevie to help.

The sound of players stomping into the locker room filters in and I stuff my phone back into my bag.

"Samuelson...my office...now!" Pretore barks at me. I know I'm in deep shit, but I can't seem to muster up enough energy to care about it. My thoughts are consumed by Olivia, and until I can figure out what the fuck is going through her head, nothing else really fucking matters.

--

I blew Alex off after the game. We didn't win, so there was no celebratory party at Houlihan's, but rather Alex invited me out to a more obscure bar where we could have a beer and "talk." I didn't feel like talking to him, so I took a rain check and he gave me a worried look. I ignored him and now I'm home.

Kicking my shoes off, I flop down on my couch and dial Stevie. He answers on the second ring.

"Stupid penalty, girlfriend," he chides me. I can't help but smirk, because Stevie has become a reluctant hockey fan. Or, rather, he's become a Garrett Samuelson fan, because Olivia made him come over to her apartment to watch all my away games.

And...ouch...just thinking of Olivia, sitting at home with Stevie and cheering me on while I was away, causes pain to throb in the center of my chest. I wonder if she watched the game tonight, but it's doubtful. She told me that Maryana doesn't own a TV.

"Yeah, I know, but I don't give a shit. What's your idea?"

"Okay, here's what I was thinking," Stevie says in a hushed whisper.

"Are you with someone?" I cut in.

"What? No, why?" he asks with surprise.

"You're whispering. Why are you whispering?"

"I don't know," Stevie says with exasperation. "I'm getting ready to go all covert, so it felt like a whisper was in order."

"Fuck, you're weird," I grumble into the phone, and Stevie gives a girly chuckle.

"Okay, clearly she's ignoring me, you, and Sutton. I have no clue why she's ignoring you, but it's obvious she's ignoring me and Sutton because we've made it plain to her that we're on your side."

"You have?" I ask with surprise.

"Of course, sweetheart," Stevie simpers. "We've been double-teaming her with voice mails and texts, telling her to get off her ass and call you."

A warm feeling of gratitude overwhelms me because I had no idea that they were being vocal with Olivia. I just figured Stevie was listening to me spill my pain, and I hadn't really discussed any of this with Sutton because she wasn't exactly on my side when all this started. But knowing that she's on my side now makes me want to wrap her up in a big bear hug.

"So, what's the big idea?" I ask, bringing us back to the real issue.

"We're getting Maryana involved. We need someone on the inside," Stevie says in a hushed whisper again, and I know he's gone all Mission: Impossible on me.

"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."

"Why haven't you returned my calls or texts?" I ask, and I can't help the tinge of anger in my voice.

She doesn't answer me, and the silence is deafening. My anger surges, builds hot, and fans into fury. "For fuck's sake, Olivia. What the hell is going on with you? Everything seemed perfect, then you just drop off the radar."