Garrett
Page 60
Fuck, my life is grand.
Chapter 20
Olivia
“Are you all settled in?” Stevie asks as he tucks the blanket around me. I have my recliner kicked all the way back, my IV is going strong, and I have the most recent issues of Cosmopolitan, Vogue, and Elle.
“I’m good,” I tell him with a smile. “Maybe some ginger ale in a bit.”
“You got it, kiddo. I left something in the van and I need to lock it up.”
“I still can’t believe you drove me here in the delivery van,” I mutter. “It sticks out like a sore thumb.”
And it does. It’s the same color purple that Fleurish is painted in, and you can see it coming from a mile away. He does nothing but give me a smirk and flounce out of the treatment room. Thankfully, Stevie’s dressed fairly sedate today, in a pair of white skinny jeans and a Hello Kitty T-shirt. His Mohawk is tipped in blue, but he’s forgone any facial rhinestones.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reach under the blanket to fish it out. When I see MY HOTTIE on the screen, I smile big. I mean really big. Garrett changed his name in my contacts to that a few days ago, and it still tickles me.
“What’s up?” I say cheerfully into the phone.
“You’re awful chipper for someone that’s having chemotherapy today,” he says, his voice as deep as the ocean and as smooth as melted chocolate. I sigh to myself and close my eyes so I can conjure up his face. “Are you all hooked up?”
“All hooked up,” I tell him as I glance up at the bag of drugs that is dripping into my vein. “Stevie has me tucked in and I’m going to gorge myself on trashy magazines for the next few hours.”
Garrett is silent for a moment, and then he says, “I miss you. I wish I was there.”
My heart swells to nearly bursting proportions, because while his words have a profound effect on me, it’s the tone of his voice that does me in. So wistful, filled with longing. It’s exactly how I’ve been feeling since he left yesterday for an extended road trip for games against both L.A. teams. He won’t be back for another four days and it sucks.
Just plain sucks.
“I miss you too. And you’re up awful early,” I muse, noting that it’s only six A.M. in California right now.
“Wanted to talk to you…wish you good luck when you started the treatment,” he says simply, and again…my heart thumps with abandon. “I’m going to get a light workout in this morning with Alex, then we’ll head over to the arena around lunchtime.”
“I’ll be watching you tonight on TV,” I tell him as I fiddle with the edge of my blanket. “Cheering you on in between puking sessions.”
Garrett curses low. “Not funny, Olivia.”
“Little bit, right?” I tease.
“Not even,” he grumbles. “It kills me that you’re going to be sick and I’m stuck out here. I should be there with you.”
“No, you should be right where you are, doing your job,” I tell him adamantly. “I’ll be fine. Stevie’s going to stay with me, and Dr. Yoffman even said that each round will get easier. I might not even get sick.”
I can hear him blow out a gust of frustrated air, and he says something to me, but my attention is immediately diverted to entrance of the treatment room.
“What the hell?” I say into the phone, my jaw dropping low.
“What?” Garrett demands. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, you are not going to believe this. Hold on,” I tell him as I put him on speakerphone and immediately pull up my camera app. Holding it out in front of me, I take a picture of the freak show that is walking my way and text it to Garrett. “I just texted you a picture. And now, all of a sudden, I am really wishing you were here instead of Stevie.”
I wait a moment, then I hear Garrett laughing on the other end as he pulls up my texted photo. “Holy shit. Why in the hell is he carrying that?”
“I have no clue, but let me find out. Talk to you tonight after the game?”
“Sure thing, baby. Rest up and be well. Miss you.”
“Miss you too,” I say distractedly, then I disconnect.
And I stare up at Stevie standing there with a huge smile on his face and holding a six-foot inflatable palm tree. He’s slightly out of breath and his face is red, but what stands out the most is that he’s changed into a white tank top, a red sarong with palm trees patterned over it, and flip-flops. He has several leis around his neck made from what looks to be plumeria.
“What are you doing?” I ask, incredulous.
“Just hold tight,” he says vaguely as he puts the palm tree right beside my IV stand. “I’m not done yet.”
Glancing around the room, I see everyone is looking our way…some with curiosity, others with full-blown smiles. A little girl who sits two chairs over with a bright pink scarf covering her bald head watches with large eyes and a tiny tilt to her lips. There are a total of five other people in treatment with me today, and it’s quite boring just sitting here watching liquid fall droplet by droplet into your body. I’m sure this is the most interesting thing they’ve ever seen while getting their chemo.
Stevie walks back out, and within just moments comes back in pulling a large cooler with wheels and a huge beach bag over his shoulder. I watch in stunned awe as he lugs everything right up to my recliner.
“You’re going to get us thrown out of here,” I hiss at him, my eyes darting over to the nurse’s station, which is empty right now. There’s not much that goes on in the treatment room, and usually a nurse will come by every hour and check on everyone’s progress.
Chapter 20
Olivia
“Are you all settled in?” Stevie asks as he tucks the blanket around me. I have my recliner kicked all the way back, my IV is going strong, and I have the most recent issues of Cosmopolitan, Vogue, and Elle.
“I’m good,” I tell him with a smile. “Maybe some ginger ale in a bit.”
“You got it, kiddo. I left something in the van and I need to lock it up.”
“I still can’t believe you drove me here in the delivery van,” I mutter. “It sticks out like a sore thumb.”
And it does. It’s the same color purple that Fleurish is painted in, and you can see it coming from a mile away. He does nothing but give me a smirk and flounce out of the treatment room. Thankfully, Stevie’s dressed fairly sedate today, in a pair of white skinny jeans and a Hello Kitty T-shirt. His Mohawk is tipped in blue, but he’s forgone any facial rhinestones.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reach under the blanket to fish it out. When I see MY HOTTIE on the screen, I smile big. I mean really big. Garrett changed his name in my contacts to that a few days ago, and it still tickles me.
“What’s up?” I say cheerfully into the phone.
“You’re awful chipper for someone that’s having chemotherapy today,” he says, his voice as deep as the ocean and as smooth as melted chocolate. I sigh to myself and close my eyes so I can conjure up his face. “Are you all hooked up?”
“All hooked up,” I tell him as I glance up at the bag of drugs that is dripping into my vein. “Stevie has me tucked in and I’m going to gorge myself on trashy magazines for the next few hours.”
Garrett is silent for a moment, and then he says, “I miss you. I wish I was there.”
My heart swells to nearly bursting proportions, because while his words have a profound effect on me, it’s the tone of his voice that does me in. So wistful, filled with longing. It’s exactly how I’ve been feeling since he left yesterday for an extended road trip for games against both L.A. teams. He won’t be back for another four days and it sucks.
Just plain sucks.
“I miss you too. And you’re up awful early,” I muse, noting that it’s only six A.M. in California right now.
“Wanted to talk to you…wish you good luck when you started the treatment,” he says simply, and again…my heart thumps with abandon. “I’m going to get a light workout in this morning with Alex, then we’ll head over to the arena around lunchtime.”
“I’ll be watching you tonight on TV,” I tell him as I fiddle with the edge of my blanket. “Cheering you on in between puking sessions.”
Garrett curses low. “Not funny, Olivia.”
“Little bit, right?” I tease.
“Not even,” he grumbles. “It kills me that you’re going to be sick and I’m stuck out here. I should be there with you.”
“No, you should be right where you are, doing your job,” I tell him adamantly. “I’ll be fine. Stevie’s going to stay with me, and Dr. Yoffman even said that each round will get easier. I might not even get sick.”
I can hear him blow out a gust of frustrated air, and he says something to me, but my attention is immediately diverted to entrance of the treatment room.
“What the hell?” I say into the phone, my jaw dropping low.
“What?” Garrett demands. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, you are not going to believe this. Hold on,” I tell him as I put him on speakerphone and immediately pull up my camera app. Holding it out in front of me, I take a picture of the freak show that is walking my way and text it to Garrett. “I just texted you a picture. And now, all of a sudden, I am really wishing you were here instead of Stevie.”
I wait a moment, then I hear Garrett laughing on the other end as he pulls up my texted photo. “Holy shit. Why in the hell is he carrying that?”
“I have no clue, but let me find out. Talk to you tonight after the game?”
“Sure thing, baby. Rest up and be well. Miss you.”
“Miss you too,” I say distractedly, then I disconnect.
And I stare up at Stevie standing there with a huge smile on his face and holding a six-foot inflatable palm tree. He’s slightly out of breath and his face is red, but what stands out the most is that he’s changed into a white tank top, a red sarong with palm trees patterned over it, and flip-flops. He has several leis around his neck made from what looks to be plumeria.
“What are you doing?” I ask, incredulous.
“Just hold tight,” he says vaguely as he puts the palm tree right beside my IV stand. “I’m not done yet.”
Glancing around the room, I see everyone is looking our way…some with curiosity, others with full-blown smiles. A little girl who sits two chairs over with a bright pink scarf covering her bald head watches with large eyes and a tiny tilt to her lips. There are a total of five other people in treatment with me today, and it’s quite boring just sitting here watching liquid fall droplet by droplet into your body. I’m sure this is the most interesting thing they’ve ever seen while getting their chemo.
Stevie walks back out, and within just moments comes back in pulling a large cooler with wheels and a huge beach bag over his shoulder. I watch in stunned awe as he lugs everything right up to my recliner.
“You’re going to get us thrown out of here,” I hiss at him, my eyes darting over to the nurse’s station, which is empty right now. There’s not much that goes on in the treatment room, and usually a nurse will come by every hour and check on everyone’s progress.
