Page 105 of Caden & Theo
My stomach somersaults.
It can’t be.
I look down, and my throat closes. Sitting in my palm is a LEGO man. The hot dog vendor.
The one I made.
He kept it. All these years. He kept “me” close.
My vision blurs, and I have to blink hard before anyone sees.
How the hell am I supposed to sit through the next hour—smiling, chatting, acting normal—when all I want to do is grab him, demand answers, and maybe—God help me—kiss him until I remember exactly what he tastes like?
I slide the LEGO man into my pocket like it’s contraband, fingers curling around it until my knuckles ache. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded right now.
Or maybe it’s the opposite—maybe it’s the thing unmooring me entirely.
By the time I make it to my assigned table for volunteers, I’ve got the reunion smile plastered on—polished, polite, just a shade too bright. The gym’s been transformed into something vaguely resembling a wedding reception: round tables with white tablecloths, centerpieces of dyed carnations in retro glass vases, flickering LED candles. The catering staff is already making the rounds with plates of something that smells faintly of garlic and nostalgia.
But all I can think about is Caden.
He’s across the room, laughing at something AJ said. Cameron’s at his side, radiating easy charm. The three of them look like they were airlifted in from a cooler, better-dressed world.
Caden hasn’t looked over at me again—not yet—but I feel the connection like a live wire.
Someone asks me about the alumni game—how hard the kids played, whether, as the ref, I was biased—and I manage to shake my head and throw in a joke about “generously ignoring a few traveling calls.” They laugh. I smile. My hand stays in my pocket.
The first course comes out. I take a bite of salad that has a sharp kick of goat’s cheese, nodding at the conversation around me without hearing a word. Across the gym, Caden tips his head back to drink his water, the line of his throat catching the light.I remember kissing that skin. I remember the exact sound he made when I did.
I press my fingers harder into the LEGO man.
By the time the main course arrives—ribs with red wine sauce—I’ve caught him looking twice. Quick glances, both times, but enough to make my stomach twist. The second time, his gaze drops to my pocket.
He knows.
I spend the rest of the meal trying to act normal while mentally cataloging every possible thing I could say when we finally talk. All the questions. All the apologies. All the things I never said because there wasn’t time, or because I was too much of a coward, or because the moment had already passed.
The speeches start—former teachers sharing memories, a few classmates hamming it up with exaggerated stories from senior year. Laughter ripples around the room, but it feels far away. My eyes keep drifting to him. He’s not laughing. Not really. He’s watching me.
When the “fun awards” kick in—Most Changed, Still Hasn’t Changed, High School Sweethearts Who Lasted—I’m clapping along automatically. My heart’s not in it. The air between us is stretched so tight, I swear it might snap.
Finally,finally, the dinner portion wraps. Chairs scrape back. Music hums through the speakers. People drift toward the dance floor.
And across the room, Caden stands.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave. Just tips his chin the barest bit toward the side door, then starts walking.
My pulse hammers.
I know I should give it a minute. I know I should play it cool.
I also know I’m going to follow him right the hell now.
TWENTY-THREE
CADEN
The imprintof the LEGO still lingers in my palm even though it isn’t there anymore. When I handed it to Theo before dinner, I might as well have been cutting out my own heart and putting it in his hands. It was stupid, reckless—and the truest thing I’ve done in fifteen years.
