Page 23 of Caden & Theo
Outside, I can hear the soft thud of a car door closing. Probably my dad rearranging bags for the third time. Mom’s been fussing over snacks and maps since six thirty. We’re supposed to hit the road by eight sharp. It’s now seven thirty.
My room’s pretty empty now—closet mostly bare, desk stripped, posters rolled and rubber-banded in a box in the back seat. There’s a duffel near the door with the stuff I didn’t want crushed under a printer or a crate of clothes. And then there’s me, flat on my bed, wrapped around Theo.
It’s quiet in here, but not the peaceful kind. It’s that thick, weighted silence—like the world is holding its breath.
Theo’s tucked into my side, one leg hitched over mine, his hand curled in the fabric of my T-shirt like he’s afraid I’ll float off without the anchor. His cheek’s pressed against my chest, and I can feel his lashes flutter every few seconds. He’s not crying. Neither of us are. But it’s all there, just under the surface.
He shifts slightly. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”
I nod, then tip my chin down until my lips brush the top of his soft curls—those stubborn, gentle ones that still won’t grow into the afro he wants. “I know.”
“They’re gonna start calling for you any minute.”
“I know.”
He exhales through his nose. “Still not going.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
Because we already talked about it. No big dramatic goodbye in the driveway. No awkward hug in front of my parents. And definitely not in the dorm. I’m sharing a room with some guy named Bryce who already sent a three-paragraph intro email about his collection of vintage video game controllers. Not the place.
Honestly, if Theo came, I wouldn’t know how to stay.
So here we are. On my old mattress. On the edge of everything.
He tilts his head back to look at me, and his eyes—God, those eyes—are glassy but steady. “You’re excited.”
“I am.”
“I hate that I’m kind of mad about that.”
I smile, even though it cracks something in me. “I get it.”
“Because I want you to go. I want you to do everything—like, all of it. The classes and basketball and new friends and parties with weird dorm food and loud music.”
“Sounds incredible.”
“But I also want to hit pause right here,” he says, curling tighter into me. “And just… keep you.”
I bury my hand in the back of his fluffy strands. “If your mom had gotten frisky just five and a half months earlier, we’d be going together.”
He snorts. “Or if yours had waited.”
“Greedy woman,” I mutter.
“Sloppy timing,” he agrees, then quiets. “Do you think we’d be different if we were the same age?”
I hesitate. “I think we’d be dangerous.”
He laughs at that. It’s soft and sharp all at once. “We’re already dangerous.”
“True,” I say, brushing his jaw with my thumb. “But then I’d get to do this every day.”
His expression wobbles a little. “You think it’s going to be hard? There?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Freshman with a scholarship? They’re going to expect everything and then some. I have to show up early, prove I’m not just hype. I’ve already got training sessions scheduled before classes even start. And then there’s Bryce.”
“Bryce the enthusiastic gamer.”
