Where the Road Takes Me

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?”

 

“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.”

 

 

 

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