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.”

Understanding starts to dawn on me. “The bruises.”

“I’m a bit anemic as well. I honestly don’t know why that’s happening. I’ve had a million questions and never can seem to remember them all when I’m at the doctor’s.”

“The bruise and cut on your hip?”

“Bone-marrow biopsy yesterday morning,” she says softly.

“Jesus Christ, Olivia,” I say angrily. “You let me manhandle you…fuck you hard, when you’d had that done to your body?”

Her eyes flash at me hotly and she opens her mouth up, I’m betting to tear me a new one, but then her eyes roll backward and her hand flies to her mouth. She lurches up off the floor and hurls herself at the toilet again.

I immediately scramble up and grab her hair out of the way, wrapping my other arm around her waist to hold her up as she gags into the toilet. Again, nothing comes out, and she continues dry-heaving for a while.

“Fuck,” I mutter. “Have you been sick all day?”

She shakes her head. “No…started a few hours ago. They gave me some pills to take, but I threw them up.”

Olivia continues to retch and I hold her through it. When she’s done, I help her stand on shaky legs. “Let’s get you in the bed.”

She nods and pushes past me to walk out the bathroom door on her own, clearly letting me know she still has some gas in her. I have a feeling Olivia doesn’t like to feel weak and helpless. Which is funny…because that’s exactly how I feel right now.

I follow her back to her bedroom and she crawls into bed. I pull the covers up over her and my gaze falls on a prescription bottle on her nightstand next to a big bottle of Gatorade.

“Are these the pills that are supposed to stop the nausea?”

She nods at me.

“Can you try to take another dose?”

“Yeah…the other ones came up whole. But I’m pretty sure these are going to come up too.”

“Let’s just try,” I say reassuringly as I sit on the edge of her bed. I read the prescription bottle and shake out the dosage. I hand them to her and then unscrew the cap from the Gatorade. Handing it to her, I say, “Take just a few small sips with the pills. Give your stomach a chance to handle it.”

She takes a tiny sip of the liquid to wash the pills down and lies back on her pillow with her eyes closed. My fingers come up, my hand shaking slightly, and I smooth them over her forehead.