Page 108 of Caden & Theo
“I’ve wanted you to come for years,” I say. “I was a coward. I’m trying not to be one now.”
“I can come,” he says quietly. “School’s out. I have flexibility in the first weeks of summer vacation.”
The relief that floods me is so sudden, it almost makes me dizzy. “Good.”
A swell of sound rises from the gym. The DJ leans into an anthem, the kind that runs on muscle memory. Someone shouts a lyric. Laughter scatters out the doors and down the steps.
Theo glances back, then toward me again. Sweat shines at his temple. I want to touch him there just to prove I can.
“I’m terrified,” he admits. “I keep thinking of the last time I saw you in a bed, and the words you said, and I’m afraid this will be that again, just… slower.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m afraid too. But I’m not that man. And I don’t want us to be boys trying to survive a fire by standing in separate rooms. We’ll do this face-to-face or not at all.”
He nods. The movement is small but decisive. “Okay.”
We let the word settle.
Another couple steps out into the night, passing us with the distracted focus of people hunting for a quiet corner. We give them the space and drift another few steps toward the practice field until the noise thins again. A breeze lifts—warm and damp and full of honeysuckle from the hedges that line the far side of the lot. Theo tilts his face into it. I watch the line of his throat and remember a thousand things I don’t want to pack into the span of a single chapter of my life.
“What did you think when you saw me walk in tonight?” I ask. “The truth.”
He lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “First, I thought the suspenders were a mistake because my heart started pounding like I’d sprinted stairs. Then I thought you looked… like a man. Not a memory. Solid. Taller somehow, even though you were always tall. I thought about how I wanted to touch your face and hated that I had no right to. Then I saw the way you were scanning the room and realized you weren’t looking for the bar or taking in the space. You were looking for me.” He swallows. “And I thought I should run before I did something that would make the night more complicated for both of us.”
“And you stayed,” I say.
“I stayed,” he responds.
We stand in that simple triumph for a few seconds. I can feel the dance floor revving up behind us, signaling the way reunions loosen into something sweeter once the speeches are over. The idea comes into my head intact, as if it’s been waiting for this exact type of air.
“Theo.”
He looks at me, and even in the shadows, I can see the amber flecks in his eyes that always made him impossible to forget.
“Be my prom date,” I say. “We lost the night we should’ve had. The party’s already happening. Come inside with me and claim the dance we were supposed to share twenty years ago.”
He goes still. His lips part. For a heartbeat, I am twenty again, braced for no because I don’t know how to carry yes.
He doesn’t give either. Not yet. He takes one step toward me until his suspenders brush my shirt, and he holds my gaze so long, I can hear my own pulse in my ears.
“No word of a lie, I really am scared,” he whispers. The honesty is the kind of courage I’ve always loved in him.
“I’ll lead,” I say. “And if it feels wrong, we stop.”
He nods once, slowly, like a man placing his feet on stones in a river, testing each one before trusting the weight of himself to it.
“Okay,” he says. His voice is rough. “Okay, Caden. Take me to prom.”
TWENTY-FOUR
THEO
The gym swallows us whole.It buzzes with nostalgia and noise—sequined dresses catching the gym lights, jackets shrugged on over bellies that weren’t there twenty years ago, voices pitched just a little too high as everyone tries to convince themselves this is fun and not surreal.
But none of it really touches me. The only thing I feel, the only thing anchoring me, is Caden’s hand wrapped around mine. His grip is steady, sure. It makes me feel like he’s decided something and there’s no going back. My own pulse is so frantic, I know he has to feel it thundering through my skin.
There are glances, of course. A few double takes. I brace for the worst, but most people only let their gazes linger a second before being drawn to some other spectacle across the gym. This room is full of distractions. Still, my stomach knots, the teenager in me bracing for the sting of whispers.
And then—just once—his thumb brushes across the back of my hand. That’s all. Barely any pressure, barely any motion. But it’s enough to tell me I’m not doing this alone.
