"You are too," I whisper back, and I'm sad that once we close our eyes and go to sleep, our time together is coming to an end.
Chapter 11
Garrett
Grabbing the bag that holds some cans of chicken noodle soup, I get out of my car and peer up at Olivia's apartment. I can't believe in the span of just three days, I've apparently gone from philandering playboy to bringing soup to my sick girlfriend.
Okay, correction...she's not my girlfriend. She's just a woman who I very much like, very much love fucking, and can't seem to stay away from.
When I woke up this morning, Olivia was gone, and it left me feeling restless and irritated. Even her perky little note that said Had a great time last night. Thanks so much left a bad taste in my mouth. It felt almost final, and while I hadn't thought much about it last night when I drifted off to sleep, her body pressed in warmly against mine, I certainly woke up this morning wanting to see more of Olivia. In fact, I had planned on asking her to come watch the scrimmage game we had this afternoon, and maybe catching an early dinner after.
But she was gone, and I was befuddled.
So, I did what no one would have ever expected me to do. I texted her like a foolish, lovestruck boy.
Hey. Great time last night too. Any interest in coming to see my scrimmage game? Maybe dinner after?
She didn't respond and I was left scratching my head. Women just didn't ignore me. They were usually falling all over themselves to have a bit of my attention.
So I stewed and pondered, and wondered if something happened last night that maybe gave her the impression I was done with her. I mean...she knew about my ways. She knew that I wasn't a member of the monogamy club, and I had even told her that three dates was my limit. Did she take that seriously? Is she ignoring me because she thinks that's what I want right now?
I got in a light workout, choosing to do only a short run and lay off the weights today so I could conserve my gas for the scrimmage. Just as I was packing up to leave my house and head over to the arena for the game, I decided to text Olivia one more time. Maybe she had just been busy and forgotten to text me back.
Hey. Everything okay? Haven't heard back from you.
She responded almost immediately. Sorry. Not feeling well. So, scrimmage and dinner out...Maybe in a few days?
The heavy feeling in my chest I'd been sporting most of the day suddenly eased, and I was almost jubilant to know that she wasn't avoiding me. At least...I don't think she is. That could still be a brush-off, but I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt.
I texted her back. Sure. Feel better and talk soon.
Feeling immensely relieved about the Olivia situation, I went on over to the arena and ended up having a fantastic game. I got paired up on the same line as Alex, which is what we normally play during the regular season, and we killed it. He got a goal and I got two assists.
By the time I walked out of the arena with my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I had come up with the absolutely brilliant plan to go see how Olivia was doing. So I stopped at the grocery store and got some chicken noodle soup, because that's what you're supposed to eat when you're sick, right?
But now, standing here at her apartment building, I'm having all sorts of doubts. A slight panicky feeling settles low in my chest, and I feel like a fool for coming over here. I don't do this type of stuff. I have no clue how to take care of someone who's sick, and I've certainly never wanted to do that before. Hell...I've never even really wanted to have that much of a conversation with a woman. Wasn't high on my agenda.
But, yeah...deep down, I really do want to see if Olivia is okay, and for some weird reason, I sort of want her to want me to take care of her. So I push the unease aside and head up to her apartment.
I knock on the door softly and can hear footsteps approach the door.
When it opens...holy shit, she doesn't look good. She's got a big, fluffy robe wrapped tight around her and her hands clutch at the neckline, pulling it even tighter, as if she's freezing. Her skin is pale and sweaty, and she looks just miserable.
"What are you doing here?" she asks softly.
I hold up the grocery bag. "Brought you some soup. Thought I'd check in on you and see if you need anything."
Her eyes are dull as she stares at me. "Um...thanks, but I'm fine, really. I'm just going to get in bed and try to get some sleep, so you should probably go."
"Okay," I say tenuously, a little hurt by the fact she doesn't seem to need anything from me. "Call you later?"
She gives me a wan smile and nods. I lean in to give her a kiss on her forehead, but before my lips can even touch her skin, she makes a gagging sound and spins away from me. I watch as she lurches down her short hallway and practically throws herself into the bathroom. Retching noises filter out and my legs involuntarily move in that direction.
As I round the corner, Olivia is kneeling on the floor, hunched over the toilet. She's bracing herself with one hand and with the other she holds her long hair to the side so it doesn't drop down into the bowl. I watch as she heaves and hurls, but nothing comes up. Nothing but a terrible gagging sound as she tries to purge something from her stomach that's just not there.
I step into the bathroom and squat down on my haunches beside her. I carefully gather the hair away from her and hold it out of the way, my other hand coming to rest on her upper back, where I stroke her gently. She continues to gag into the bowl for a few minutes, and then finally it subsides.
Olivia slumps down onto her butt, her legs curled up underneath of her, and leans back against the tub. She rests her head on the edge and her eyes squeeze shut while she takes shallow breaths. I stand up and grab a washcloth that's hanging on a little bar to the right of the sink. I soak it under cold water and wring it out. I remember my mom doing this for me when I was sick, and the coolness always felt good.
Turning, I squat back down in front of Olivia and press the wet cloth to her forehead. She sighs in relief and murmurs, "Thanks."
"No problem," I tell her, and then try to lighten the mood. "That was quite a show you put on for me."
She rewards me with a tired smile. "Yeah...well, that's why I was trying to push you out the door. I didn't want you to see that."
"Stomach bug?" I ask her.
"Something like that," she mutters, and casts her gaze down to the floor.
Lifting a hand up, I touch her cheek and
find it hot to the touch. Really hot. "I think you have a fever, Olivia. And based on how badly you're trying to throw up, maybe you have the flu or something."
"It's not flu season," she says dismissively. "But I'll be fine. I'm sure this will pass soon."
"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure. While I think you are like the hottest woman I've ever known, frankly...you look like death warmed over right now. I think you should go to a doctor."
"No, I'm good."
"You're not good, Olivia," I say in frustration, and I reach a hand out to her. "Come on. Let's get you up and dressed and I'll take you myself."
"I'm not going to a damned doctor," she grits out, grabbing the cloth from my hand and curling it in her fist.
"Yes, you are, stubborn girl. I bet you have the flu," I say confidently, digging this new role of coddler and worrywart. I take her hand so I can get her up, but she jerks away from me.
"It's not the fucking flu," she snarls, and I flinch slightly from the anger in her voice.
"Olivia...babe...you're sick," I say gently...soothingly. "Let me do something to help."
"You can't help me," she says, her voice broken and sad. Her eyes raise to mine and I see misery there.
Tilting my head, I give her a reassuring smile. "Oh, yeah?...Why can't I help you?"
She takes a deep breath in and blows it out forcefully. Her voice is tired and resigned when she says, "Because I have cancer, Garrett. I'm sick today because I had my first chemotherapy appointment this morning, and I'm sick from that."
Her words physically punch into me, and I fall backward on my butt...every bit of strength in my legs suddenly disappearing. My jaw drops while my hands weakly support my weight on the tiled floor. I look at her in disbelief. "Cancer?"
"Yes...cancer," she says resolutely.
We sit in her bathroom and stare at each other for a long moment. I feel sick to my stomach, and I feel...terrified. I feel anger as well...that I'm just now finding out about this.
"I don't understand," I say slowly.
Because I'm confused as fuck.
"I have a lymphoma cancer. Follicular B-cell lymphoma, to be exact. I was diagnosed just a few days before we met. I had my first oncology appointment the morning of our first date. Today was my first chemo. It's all happening so fast."