Love, Ally by Hannah Gray

thirty-three

Ally

“You sure you don’t need me to come in?” I ask Lenny on the phone. Praying he’ll say he needs me to work.

After telling Cole everything and the tough loss his team had, things were finally starting to settle down. Until today.

Birthdays aren’t my favorite. In fact, they sort of put me in a weird funk. Every. Single. Year.

“Kid, it’s slower than a herd of turtles walking through peanut butter,” his Southern accent says, unimpressed. “Stay the heck home. We’re thinking of closing early anyway.”

“All right,” I sigh. “Guess I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Yes, you will. Go study or learn something. Damn kids these days just want to party.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, old man,” I joke back before ending the call.

I glance at the clock. It’s only three in the afternoon. I’ve finished my classes and schoolwork for the day. Sloane has a late class tonight, and Cole had an away game yesterday and isn’t due back for another few hours.

Lying back on my bed, I close my eyes. Just get through this day. It’ll be over before you know it.

A knock at the door sends me shooting straight up.

“Allycat, open up,” Cole’s deep voice yells. I don’t even have time to answer when he drawls, “I know what day it is, you knucklehead. I know you’re in there, hiding.”

Rolling my eyes, I walk over and pull the door open. “I was hoping you wouldn’t look at the calendar.” Putting a hand on my hip, I give him a cutting look. “I thought you wouldn’t be back until later.”

He gives me a charming look before kissing my cheek. “Why, it’s November 2, sweetheart. You know I wouldn’t forget your birthday,” he says, holding his arm behind his back. “And I lied about the time. I didn’t want your ass trying to escape before I got home.”

“I hate this day,” I point out. “I wish we could just skip it.”

Pulling out a pack of Hostess CupCakes from behind his back, he opens them, and then he pulls a candle out of his pocket and sticks it in the middle of one. “Traditions are traditions, Al.”

Birthdays were never a thing when I was growing up. It also didn’t help that I spent my twelfth birthday dealing with the aftermath of finding my mother’s overdosed body that morning.

I’d already hated birthdays because she never remembered mine. And if I’d tried to tell her, she’d usually flip her shit and call me ungrateful.

So, yeah, birthdays have never been my favorite thing. Once I found her dead, that was just the icing on the cake for why I fucking hate birthdays.

He pulls a lighter out of his other pocket and lights the candle. “Make a wish and blow it out.”

Closing my eyes, I make a wish. A wish that means more to me than anything else. I wish for Cole’s dreams to come true.

He’s done this every year since I was thirteen. Our foster parents never acknowledged our birthdays either, and we obviously didn’t have much money for presents or cakes. But he knew I loved cupcakes, so a pack of cupcakes was what I got. He made sure of it each year.

Looking at him, I blow the candle out.

Holding it up to my mouth, he nods at it. “Take a bite.”

I do as I was told. No doubt, my face is covered in the creamy filling. Taking it from him, I glance down before smiling. He looks away for a split second, just long enough for me to smash it against his face.

I can’t stop myself from laughing as he wipes his arm over his cake-covered face.

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that!” he says before pulling me against him, wiggling his eyebrows. “Or you can lick it off of me. I think you got some down here,” he says, patting his crotch.

I roll my eyes. “You are such a perv.” Leaning up, I kiss his frosting-covered face. “But thank you for always doing this. It means a lot to me.” I smile. “Even if I still fight it every year.”

“Every. Single. God. Damn. Year.” He shakes his head with his hands on my hips. His eyes are more green today than blue as they dance between mine. “Well, besides the one we were apart.” His expression looks pained.

“But you did this with all the other ones,” I point out. “Because that’s who you are.”

He’s the guy who knows that, deep down, I’d be sadder if we didn’t acknowledge my birthday at all, so he does something small yet special like this. He’s also the guy who could try to throw a surprise party or tell Sloane it’s my birthday, but he knows I would hate that. So, instead, he does something that is comfortable for me.

Like I said … that’s who he is.

And who he is, is way too good for who I am. But I hope he never figures that out.