Page 29 of Caden & Theo
“Nice.” My voice sounds a little too neutral. I clear my throat. “Wear deodorant. Don’t fall for the Jungle Juice scam.”
He laughs. “I’ve been warned. It’s probably Gatorade and regret in a bucket.”
“You know it.”
We’re quiet again, and I can tell he’s about to say something, so I fill the space first. “I’ve got four weeks left,” I say. “Until my birthday. I already asked my mom, and she said I can take the car.”
“Yeah? That’s amazing.”
“I’m coming up Friday afternoon and staying till Sunday. Nonnegotiable.”
He exhales slowly. “God, I can’t wait to see you.”
My heart pounds. “I want to kiss you so bad it hurts.”
He groans softly. “Don’t start.”
“You started it.”
“I said I was going to a party, not that I needed to hear about your thirst.”
“Too late.”
He laughs again, but I can hear the ache underneath it. “You still got the comic I made you?” he asks, voice low.
“Of course I do,” I say, no hesitation. “It’s taped inside my closet. I see it every day.”
“Still holding up?”
“Couple of creases, but yeah. It’s my favorite thing.”
There’s a pause—one of those soft ones that stretch and breathe. Then he says, “I really wish I could touch you right now.”
My whole chest tightens. “Me too.”
We don’t say more. Not the big thing. Not yet. We don’t have to. Not when it’s folded into every breath, every word, every beat of the line between us. Still holding. Still strong.
When I finally put my phone down, I head downstairs. Amelia’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling her phone. “Wow,” she says without looking up, “you’re actually leaving the house? What’s the occasion—lonely hearts club meeting?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, pulling on my sneakers.
She smirks. “Don’t sulk just because your boyfriend’s off at college and you’ve got no other friends.”
My ears burn. “I so do,” I correct, a little too quickly.
“Mm-hm,” she says, clearly not buying it, then goes back to her screen. The worst part? She’s not entirely wrong. Thankfully, I’ve got Kurtis, and I like some of the guys on the basketball team well enough, but it’s not lost on me how much of my time—years of it—has been spent orbiting Caden.
I didn’t really plan to go to the lake, but I can’t stay in the house either. Not after that phone call. Not after hearing Caden’s voice, full of noise and random people as students outside hisroom were gearing up for the party, knowing I can’t be there. That I’mnotthere.
It’s almost nine by the time I make it to the lake.
The lake’s one of those unofficial spots. No signs, no security, just a patch of sandy shoreline off a gravel road where teenagers go to pretend they’re in a music video. There’s a firepit burning low near the rocks, a couple of old lawn chairs, and someone’s Jeep parked too close to the water blasting Lil Jon through tinny speakers.
I park a little ways off and walk the rest.
A few people nod at me as I pass—kids from school, some upperclassmen, some juniors I recognize from gym or assemblies. There’s drinking, low-level flirting, some folks paired off and sitting too close on someone’s tailgate. It smells like cheap beer, bug spray, and humidity.
I find my friend Kurtis near the back, sitting on a log and nursing a Coke like it’s something stronger. He’s been my friend since middle school, when we both got cut from soccer and sat on the bleachers talking trash about gym class.
