Page 62 of Caden & Theo
He hasn’t moved. He doesn’t need to. Hope punches into my chest, hot and bright. I slide to the edge of the booth, grabbing hold of my jacket as I do, already moving to stand.
Elias touches my arm. “Hey—where’re you going?”
“I just—I need a sec,” I say, not even trying to cover the way I’m staring.
Elias follows my gaze, eyes narrowing slightly. “That your friend?”
The question is gentle, but it makes my skin prickle. “Yeah,” I answer. “That’s him.”
Understanding flickers across his face. Not judgment. Not disappointment. Just something calm and measured. “He came all this way?”
“Apparently.”
Elias nods. “Go, then.”
There’s no edge to it, no bitterness. Just quiet honesty.
Still, I feel like I owe him more. “Elias?—”
He cuts me off with a smile. “Theo, it’s okay. I know you said you weren’t seeing anyone, and I’m not trying to push. But… you talk about him like you don’t mean to. That says enough.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t lie.”
“I know,” he says, kind. “Go.”
I squeeze his shoulder once before slipping from the booth. My legs feel loose and jittery, like the adrenaline’s hitting all atonce. The crowd barely registers as I cut through it, my eyes on the one person who never stops pulling my focus.
Caden hasn’t moved. He’s still watching me, and there’s something wild and open in his expression. “Hey,” he says softly.
Just one word. Just that stupid, simple word—and it hits me in the chest like a freight train.
“Hi,” I reply, and somehow manage not to touch him, even though every nerve in my body is screaming to throw myself into his arms, wrap myself around him like my lifeline, and never let go.
He glances around, like he’s checking the space, maybe instinct, maybe nerves, then shifts his weight and nods toward the door. “My car’s outside. Wanna go?”
I don’t even answer. I just nod, move, and follow him through the crowd. The music keeps pounding behind me, the strobe lights still slicing through the air, but it already feels like we left that version of the night behind. The drinks, the dancing, the occasionally forced laughter with friends who don’t know half of what’s going on inside me. All of it slips away as we step into the cold.
Outside, it’s one of those winter nights where everything’s wet but it’s not quite raining. Misty and gray and heavy, like the sky is holding something back. Streetlights buzz faintly overhead, but they don’t do much. It’s too late. Or too early.
The parking lot is quiet. We don’t speak.
When he clicks the lock, his car chirps softly in the dark. Before we even get there, I’m on him.
I catch his sleeve, spin him by the wrist, and press my mouth to his like I’ve got something to prove. His back hits the passenger door with a softthunk, and he lets out a surprised laugh that turns into a groan against my lips.
My fingers fist in the front of his hoodie—hishoodie, God, I’ve missed this stupid hoodie—and I kiss him like the worldmight stop if I don’t. Fast and hungry and open-mouthed… the kind of kiss that tastes like frustration and relief and weeks of missing him.
“You’re here,” I murmur against his mouth, breath catching. “You’re really here.”
His hand slides under my coat, fingers splaying wide against my lower back. “Been a while since I’ve seen you tipsy.”
“I’m not drunk,” I lie, and he grins because we both know I’ve had enough to be bold. “Okay, maybe a bit. But mostly I’m just—God, I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” he says, brushing my curls back from my forehead. His touch is so familiar it nearly brings me to my knees. “Get in the car, Theo.”
He doesn’t have to ask twice. Once I’m in the passenger seat, I twist toward him immediately. He’s still got one hand on the wheel, but the other reaches for me like it can’t help itself.
“How long can you stay?” I ask, not hiding the hope in my voice.
