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?”

   “It’s Dennis,” she deadpanned.

   “What?”

   “Dennis. He’s the other asshole I’m trying to look good for.”

   I laughed. “Dennis, that fat old bald man that calls you ‘girl’? The one that memorizes ball stats from 1863?”

   She nodded.

   “Shit, I got my work cut out for me.”

   She slowly peeled her shirt off, put on a bra, and shrugged on the dress I’d handed to her. When she reached for her wig, I stopped her. “Leave it, babe. I told you I thought you’d be beautiful with dark hair, blonde hair, or no hair at all. And I was right. You’re beautiful without it.”

   She gasped, loud and slow. “You guys!” she yelled.

   My teammates laughed.

   “When did you—? How did you—?” And then she cried—the good kind of cry. She tried to bolt, like I knew she would, so I held on to her waist to make sure she stayed put.

   “What’s wrong?” I teased.

   She buried her head in my chest.

   “Chloe,” Grant, our team captain, sang. “You don’t want to show us some love?”

   She raised her head, looked up at me, and whispered loudly, “Blake. The entire Duke basketball team is in our living room.”

   “I know.”

   “It’s not funny!” she said a little louder.

   I laughed.

   Then she stomped on my foot. Hard.

   That got laughs.

   She finally looked at the team. “Where did all your hair go?”

   They cheered just as Mom came out with a birthday cake. We sang Happy Birthday, and Chloe blew out the candles, crying the entire time.

   Josh and Tommy showed up a little later, and so did Mary and Dean and the kids. It didn’t take long for her exhaustion to settle in.

   “I need to take a nap,” she said. “But you stay down here. I’ll only be an hour.”

   I led her upstairs, helped her change, and got her into bed.

   “Why did the team do that?” she asked once she was settled. “Why did they shave off their hair? For me?”

   “And for me, too. They wanted to do something. It was Grant’s idea. They all raised money and made a charity event out of it. The money went to Duke Cancer Institute.”

   “I like them. They’re good people.” Her eyes started to drift shut as she slowly lost the will to stay awake.

   “Sleep, baby. I’ll come up and check on you in a bit.”

   “I love you, Blake,” she whispered. “Thank you for giving me this life.”

   A second later, she was asleep. I stayed up there for another half hour, watching her chest peacefully rise and fall.

   Though I’d never admit it to her, it was hard. Keeping up with college classes, basketball, taking care of her . . . sometimes, it got the best of me. The pressure and the uncertainties of our life made every day a struggle. Mom being around helped, but when Chloe was in for a session or a doctor’s appointment, and I had practice or games and couldn’t be with her—I hated it.

   At first, I’d been a mess on the court. I’d been distracted, and the coaches and the players, they’d understood. But I hadn’t thought it was fair to them for me to take up a spot when my head and my heart weren’t always in the game. I’d tried to quit once. Chloe—she didn’t know this. Coach had said to give it a year, and if I still felt the same—if the pressure was still too much—he’d let me walk. He’d be disappointed, but he’d let me go.