Garrett
Page 65
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 mad, 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.
And, damn…he was right.
So I promised…I wouldn’t hide anything from him again. I promised that after he made it clear that I couldn’t waste my energy on worrying about him, and that I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt, that he could handle this and still be a competitive hockey player.
So, why do I still want to slap some sense into his stubborn head? Because he’s acting like I’m still lying up in the hospital. He’s refusing to see that I’m fine…all better. Back having energy, feeling great, and so ready to have him fuck me the way he has before.
Instead, I suffered excuse after excuse of him putting me off.
The day he got back…okay, I understood that. I had just been released from the hospital, so I was fine to just let him hold me that night.
The next night, I got that too. He said he didn’t want to overexert me and that maybe we needed to wait another day. Just to make sure that all my strength was back and I wasn’t overtaxed.
The third, fourth, and fifth days were impossible to have sex with him because he went on a short three-day road trip and I had to make do with my memories. Which was incredibly frustrating.
But I reached my breaking point last night when Garrett flew in late and showed up at my apartment. I was primed and ready to have some raunchy, headboard-banging sex. Instead, he gave me some bullshit that he was “too tired” from the road trip and just wanted to get a good night’s sleep. He gave me a sweet kiss on my forehead and melded my body to his, but did nothing more than hold me gently all night.
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 mad, 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.
And, damn…he was right.
So I promised…I wouldn’t hide anything from him again. I promised that after he made it clear that I couldn’t waste my energy on worrying about him, and that I needed to give him the benefit of the doubt, that he could handle this and still be a competitive hockey player.
So, why do I still want to slap some sense into his stubborn head? Because he’s acting like I’m still lying up in the hospital. He’s refusing to see that I’m fine…all better. Back having energy, feeling great, and so ready to have him fuck me the way he has before.
Instead, I suffered excuse after excuse of him putting me off.
The day he got back…okay, I understood that. I had just been released from the hospital, so I was fine to just let him hold me that night.
The next night, I got that too. He said he didn’t want to overexert me and that maybe we needed to wait another day. Just to make sure that all my strength was back and I wasn’t overtaxed.
The third, fourth, and fifth days were impossible to have sex with him because he went on a short three-day road trip and I had to make do with my memories. Which was incredibly frustrating.
But I reached my breaking point last night when Garrett flew in late and showed up at my apartment. I was primed and ready to have some raunchy, headboard-banging sex. Instead, he gave me some bullshit that he was “too tired” from the road trip and just wanted to get a good night’s sleep. He gave me a sweet kiss on my forehead and melded my body to his, but did nothing more than hold me gently all night.
