I cried. Harder than I’d ever cried before.
We hugged each other good night at her door. “Keep your head up, Chloe. You never know. It might not be cancer at all. It might be benign.”
It wasn’t benign; it was cancer, just like we’d all expected.
Blake wasn’t joking when he’d said that his mom would take charge. Within two weeks, she’d purchased a block of townhouses in Durham, a block away from Duke. One for us, one for her, and one for Dean and Mary, for when they visited. She’d called the Duke Athletic Department and committed Blake to playing and attending there. He’d wanted to defer, but we’d both pushed him to start that coming fall. Nothing should have to change, and his mom had guaranteed that she would be with me when he couldn’t. He’d made a joke about starting up a two-player team and calling it Team Uncoordinated Losers, but he’d been smiling as he’d said it. And that smile had been enough to let me know that things would be okay.
For a while.
His mom had made all the appointments for us. Blake had said that she actually looked as though she was enjoying herself, not because I was sick, but because she felt as if she had a reason to be a mom again.
Then one night, I told him that she’d make a great grandmother. We spent the rest of the evening naming our future kids.
I said Clayton.
He said Jordan, LeBron, Kobe, Shaquille, Barkley, and about ten other names.
I laughed and asked him if he planned on making enough babies to create his own basketball team.
His eyes lit up. “Can we do that? Oh man, that would be so good!” was his actual response.
God, I love him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Six Months Later
Blake
I crawled into bed and under the covers. It was already warm from her body heat. She was in bed a lot lately, always tired from her treatments. Carefully, I curled my arm around her stomach. “Baby,” I whispered in her ear.
Her cheeks rose as a smile formed. She turned in my arms, her eyes still closed. She leaned in, her mouth already puckered. I pressed my nose against her waiting lips—our standard morning ritual. And then I waited. I knew what was coming next. Her hand trailed up my arm, over my shoulder, up my neck, and into . . .
Her eyes snapped open. “Where is your hair?”
I shrugged.
Tears instantly pooled in her eyes, and she pouted. “You shaved it all off?”
I nodded.
“Because of me?” She wept.
“You’re just so damn beautiful with no hair, I wanted to be the same. I kinda look like Gollum, though.”
“You do not.” She giggled. “You look . . .” She trailed off.
“I look like what?”
“I don’t know.” She sulked. “I don’t have the words. I just love you.”
“I love you, too, baby. Happy birthday.”
Her pout turned into a smile. “Did you come in here to give me a present?”
“You told me not to get anything.”
Her smile widened. “You don’t have to.”
Then her hand was on my dick, and my eyes went huge. She started softly stroking me through my shorts, but I had to pull back. “Babe—”
“I’m feeling good today, baby,” she said quickly, moving so she was lying on top of me, her legs on either side, and her ass on my junk. My palm flattened against her back, pulling her down toward my waiting mouth. Then I kissed her. Softly, slowly. She started moving on me, getting me harder and harder.
And then I remembered.
I pulled back. “Shit.”
“What’s wrong?” Her hand went straight to the chemo tube in her chest, checking to see if it was still in place.
“You have visitors.”
“What?” She quickly got off me. “Who?”
I leaned up on my elbows, smirking, as I watched her rush to the walk-in closet. “Just some people who wanted to wish you happy birthday.”
She stuck her head out of the closet and glared. “Who, Blake?” she yelled.
Laughing, I rolled out of bed and joined her in the closet, taking a seat on a chair in the corner. “Just some people.” I shrugged again. I knew she’d get annoyed and call me an asshole, but she was kind of adorable when she got pissed.
She turned to me, wearing nothing but panties, an old shirt, and a frown on her beautiful face. “I have nothing to wear, and I’m ugly.”
I got up and was next to her in no time. She was looking in the full-length mirror. To me, she hadn’t changed much. She was a little thinner, her skin a little gaunter, and her hair was gone, but she was still beautiful. “You wanna know what I think?”
Her shoulders slumped. “No, I already know what you’re going to say.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re going to say that you think I’m beautiful, and that I haven’t changed, and if anything, I’ve just gotten better with time.”
I chuckled. “So if you know that’s how I feel, then what . . . ? Wait . . .” My eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to impress some other asshole? Who is he, Chloe? I’m gonna find him and beat his ass. Right now.”
She threw her head back and laughed. A sound that was rare—but that just made it ten times more rewarding.
I picked a dress off the rack and handed it to her. “Here, I’ve always liked you in this one.”
She placed her hand over her tube. “But it doesn’t cover this.”
“So?” I raised my eyebrows, waiting for her answer. She took it from my hand, but she looked uncomfortable. I added, “Baby, do you think it matters to whoever is waiting downstairs?”