“Happy birthday!”

I walk into the lobby of my office on four hours sleep, only to be ambushed by a fucking surprise party. There are balloons everywhere, a buffet table loaded with food and champagne, and forty people popping up from behind the furniture. Jesus Christ.

I’d forgotten it was my birthday. Too bad no one else did.

“Thanks, everybody,” I say as confetti falls into my hair.

I blow a piece off my upper lip and try not to look annoyed. I’ve barely had time to take off my trench coat and already I’ve having coffee, a Mimosa, and a massive rainbow-sprinkled donut shoved in my face. Interns and support staff mill around chatting like I just gave everybody the day off. Which I didn’t.

But what the hell. They deserve it. And I’m not going to be a Scrooge as the first act of my thirty-second birthday.

“Hey, buddy,” Fritz says, cornering me near the reception desk. “Don’t look so excited.” He’s got pastry glaze on his chin and a coffee so loaded with cream it’s white.

I scowl at him. “Did you do this?”

He swallows a hunk of sugar and nods. “Yes.”

“For God’s sake, why?”

“To foster the illusion that you’re human and actually have birthdays.”

I’d never say it, but I’m touched. “Funny. Thanks.”

“There’s a big table of presents over there. Stuff that will explode in your face when you unwrap it.”

“And you…”

“Organized that, too. You’re welcome.” He takes a loud gulp of coffee. “How’s it going at home? Coral told me a little bit.”

At home. As if Grace and I are a typical suburban couple. “What’d she say?”

“Just that she likes her.”

I turn up my palm, which still stings. “She was a handful last night.”

“I’m not surprised. She’s in love with you.”

His words catch me off guard, making me smile like an idiot before I can force the emotion off my face. “Come on, Fritz. Girls in love don’t act that way.”

He shrugs. “She wouldn’t be that feisty otherwise. Most women, that kind of offer, they’d sit back and ride it out. She’s fighting. There’s something she’s trying to protect.”

I’d love to believe him, but I don’t. “Yeah, her fiancé’s memory. She’s in love with a dead guy.”

“Because nobody’s made that impossible yet.”

“No, Fritz. I’ve fought that battle before. I’m done.”

He pops a chunk of donut in his mouth and talks with his mouth full. “Uh huh. If you were done she wouldn’t be at your house right now.”

After half an hour of happy birthdays and small talk with my staff, I retreat to my office. My first instinct is to bring up Grace’s feed on my laptop, but I disabled it. It turned it off and left her with the remote as a gesture of trust. She feels so out of reach. She’ll be on her own all day, away from my protection and control.

I wish I could call her. For some stupid reason, I want her to know it’s my birthday. I want to hear her say it. Happy birthday, just like she said good morning when I brought her breakfast.

I don’t need champagne or balloons, I just want to see excitement in her eyes. Genuine feeling for me. I saw a glimpse of it last night, when her beautiful pain smashed the wall between us. I felt so close to her. Like I was in her mind. Like I could feel what she felt.

And then memory of James tore us apart. I thought I could rip him out of her heart, but he’s still there. Still fucking with me, even though he’s dead.

Tossing my empty coffee cup, I sit down at my desk. I check voicemail and messages, and am about to ask my assistant to schedule a conference call when a notification pops up on my laptop.

You have a new video message. Click here to view.

“Goddamn birthday,” I mutter.

I can just imagine who it’s from. Some guy I knew overseas years ago. My aunt in Canada, who every year tries to make up for twelve months of silence by keeping me on the phone for an hour and asking personal questions. She means well, but Christ. I last saw her when I was twelve.

I click on the link and reach into my desk drawer for some eye drops. That midnight drive around town left me shot. At least I don’t have anything pressing to deal with today.

I lean my head back, squirt in a few drops, and look at my laptop. At first I think it’s a fucking illusion. Blurry eyes combined with lack of sleep and the sting of Grace’s rejection.

But it’s none of those things. It’s very fucking real. My own ghost returned to life.

I click the arrow and the video plays. I thought she’d seem like a stranger, but she doesn’t. She’s everything she always was. She has the same golden skin, black hair, big eyes, and thick eyebrows that make her look intense, almost angry. Her hair hangs straight and long in front of one shoulder, and she’s speaking in that voice. That soft, musical accent I didn’t stop hearing for months after she left.

“Happy birthday, Bram,” she says. “It’s been a long time. I hope you’re happy and life is going well. It is from what I’ve heard.” She pauses and smiles her shy smile. “And from what I’ve seen. I’ve looked you up on Facebook a few times. Anyway, I’m living in London and…I still think about you. My father passed away a few years ago, so things have changed for me. I’m really on my own now. Maybe we could…see each other someday? For a drink. To talk. Happy birthday again. Uh…you have my email.”

The video stops. I sit back in my chair.

I stare at her frozen image until the sound of a popping champagne cork brings me back to reality.

“Holy shit,” I mutter.

Indira. It’s really her. She finally did what I wanted her to do. She came back to me.

But she didn’t do it until her father was dead. The man who controlled her every move, even when he was thousands of miles away in New Delhi. The man she was loyal to instead of me.

I watch the video again, and once more after that. I can’t believe she’s back after seven years. I can’t believe I won.

I stare at her face. Every angle is so familiar, like a song I used to know but haven’t heard in a long time. Everything I loved about her is the same. Except all the time that’s passed.

I should feel more. I fucking try to. I should want to talk to her and fuck her and hold her for days. My heart should be pounding and my cock ready to fuck the way it is when I watch Grace’s video feed.

But it’s too late. Everything I felt is broken now. What do they call it? A Pyrrhic victory. A win that feels a lot like losing.

The day she left the school, I was sure she’d be back. Her father had found out where she was, but she was an adult. We were in love. I was her teacher and she needed me. I’d taught her many things, but the most important was this: that the ultimate loyalty was to herself.

But she ran home to her father, and it took his death to bring her back to me. That’s not what I want. I don’t want loyalty that’s convenient. I want it to be hard. I want sacrifice.

I’ll never be second best again. I’d rather be nothing at all.

Thank you for the birthday wishes. Sorry to hear about your father. Glad you’re doing well.

That’s all I write to Indira. She’s a smart woman. She’ll understand what I really mean.

I moved on years ago. It’s over. Please don’t contact me again.

After I spend two hours on calls, I go out to the lobby to open gifts. I unwrap Bram Russell bobbleheads and fake prescriptions for Fukitol, then have takeout delivered for the whole office.

I’m standing in line with a paper plate and talking to one of the tech interns when my cell rings.

“Bram Russell,” I answer.

“It’s Miriam Peck,” barks a crotchety voice.

Even though she can’t see me, I paste on a smile. “Miriam! How are you?”

“I’m wondering what the hell you’re doing at the office on your birthday,” she says, and then she laughs. I’ve never heard her laugh before. It sounds like gravel hitting a window.

“You know me, always working,” I say. “Good thing I came in, because I’ve been the victim of a very nice surprise party.”

If she heard me, she gives no indication. “Well, I’m in town and I want you to meet me for lunch. The Irish pub on 19^th Street. I’ve been going there for thirty years.”

Lunch with Miriam Peck. Anything but that. Just give me another Boss Fuel mug. “That’s very kind, but really, it’s not –”

“I won’t take no,” she says. “It’s your birthday. I’ll be at my usual table in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minutes?”

“Don’t be late. Oh, and Bram?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” I say. But she’s already hung up.