The Best Kind of Forever (Riverside Reapers)
The Best Kind of Forever: Chapter 33

HAYES

“Three different 7-Eleven’s,” I growl, tucking my jacket under one arm and using the other to slam the car door. “I’m convinced they don’t exist.”

Lila clucks her tongue in thought. “Maybe they’re seasonal? Or maybe they have to be specially imported from China?”

I sigh, sticking my key into the lock. “If they give me shit for this, I’m going to start spitting in their food.”

All I want to do is lie down and sleep for twelve hours straight. It’s dark in the house for some reason, but I don’t think much of it. I dump my keys onto the small table I know is by the door, and once the lights turn on, I hear a synergetic “Surprise!”

My scream is so high-pitched that my neighbors probably think I’m either being murdered or going through a second puberty. My shoulders deflate as soon as I realize there isn’t some knife-wielding intruder in the house, but my face falls when I notice the decorations and food…and camera.

A camera that just captured my not-so-manly reaction. It’s going to go in the scrapbook for sure.

The group has this scrapbook filled with pictures of us doing stupid shit so that when we’re old and gray, we can look back on those fun times in our early twenties and laugh. But it’s mainly easy blackmail.

There’s a picture of Gage totally blacked out during his first NHL party in nothing but his tighty-whities. Then there’s that time Fulton got his head stuck in one of those baby swings that you see on kids’ playgrounds, and he had to be cut out of it by the fire department. Casen’s is of him dressed up in cat ears and a collar after he lost a bet.

Bristol has a whole page dedicated to when he accidentally shaved off one of his eyebrows after watching a YouTube tutorial for manscaping. Kit…I actually don’t know what Kit’s is. Does he not have anything? No, that can’t be true. Or maybe it can. Everything Kit does is stupid, so maybe we just grew tired of always photoing him.

My photos are arguably the most embarrassing. And I’m not a guy who’s easy to embarrass, you know? When I was in college, there was this prank war going on between me and Bristol. I think it started when I accidentally cockblocked him on a date—I just wanted to watch The Notebook with them, okay?—but he claims I did it on purpose.

That following weekend, our hockey team had a big game against the Santa Barbara Sables. We hadn’t been playing well that whole season, so we really needed to turn things around. That’s when I started bulking up a lot and hitting the gym more regularly so I could take on some of the bigger players.

Bristol, being the class clown he was at the time, thought it would be oh so funny to put laxatives in my protein drink before the game. It was, in fact, not funny. I was in the bathroom for a good three hours after the game. And that’s a secret I’m taking with me to my grave.

I’ve entered the Seventh Circle of Hell. I must have. A surprise party. And not just any surprise party, but a birthday surprise party. A wonderful mixture of the two things I hate most.

I’ve never liked my birthday. I mean, I guess that’s a lie. I liked it when my mother was still alive. I loved it, actually. I loved waking up to the smell of her chocolate chip pancakes in the morning. She made me feel so special, so loved. So when she died… a part of me died with her. And a part of me began to resent my birthday.

I’ve told the guys that when November twelfth comes around, I don’t want to do anything. I don’t accept gifts. If I even see something resembling a birthday dessert of any kind, I lose my mind. I never told them why. It’s not because I don’t trust them, I just don’t really talk about my mom with anyone.

I miss her so much some days that I would do anything to be with her again, even for a second, even if that meant a lifetime of pain for my father and my sister. It’s selfish of me, I know. I’ve grieved her for over half my life.

“Big brother!” A pair of small arms swing around my neck, and I’m too afraid to remove whoever is clinging to me like a koala.

I immediately do a double take, unlatch Faye from my body, and stare at her in sheer disbelief. “Faye? You’re here?”

“Didn’t expect us to fly ya sister out, did ya?” Kit says, patting me on the chest.

“You’re really here,” I echo back to my sister.

Since she lives in Pennsylvania, we rarely ever see each other. Our schedules are so busy that we only get together for the holidays.

“I’m here.” She hugs me again, and this time, I stay in her arms for what feels like forever. My dad working on himself, my sister being here…everything’s perfect. Well, almost perfect.

That’s when I spot Aeris, and a swirling mass of electricity breaks out into brilliant displays of color in my body. I’ve been falling harder and harder for her, which I didn’t think was possible. I’m whipped for her, and I’ll shout it from the rooftops, even despite my slight fear of heights.

I give her a quick peck on the lips. “You guys really didn’t need to do anything for me.”

“Come on, dude. This day is special because you’re special. Of course we had to do something,” Gage says.

I look around between my friends—my family. Maybe this will be the first birthday of mine that I don’t completely despise. Maybe I’ll make a new tradition this year.

“Oh, and if a woman named Crystal Methanie comes by the house, this is definitely not the correct address.”