Page 81 of Caden & Theo
And there it is. Front and center, beneath a grainy banner of the high school:Gomillion High: 20-Year Reunion Weekend!
My heart flips strangely. It’s the same information I was forwarded in December, but seeing it here—on the school’s actual site—makes it feel official. Concrete.
Two days to go.
I swallow and scroll through the schedule, the font a little too bright against the dark background.
The reunion spans the whole weekend—cocktails and mingling on Friday night, a tour and alumni basketball game Saturday, and some kind of wild throwback prom, complete with speeches, dinner, and dancing. It’s ambitious for a town as small as Gomillion, but that’s just how folks there are—small town, big energy.
And I’d bet good money Kirkwood had a hand in the flair. That guy always did love a legacy moment.
My eyes catch on “Alumni Game.”
Yeah. Not this time.
Well, maybe.
I scroll faster, a little too fast, then slow down and click into the Staff page before I can change my mind.
There he is.
Theo.
English teacher. Gomillion High’s all-around smart kid turned homegrown legacy.
His staff photo is casual but professional. A navy button-up, sleeves rolled to the elbow, paired with bright yellow suspenders that shouldn’t be as charming as they are. His smile tugs slightlyto the left, modest but warm. His hair’s in a low fade now—with brush waves on top and clipped extremely short at the sides and back, neat with crisp line up, no curls in sight.
My breath catches.
He looks older. Stronger. Grounded in a way that’s new. Still lean, but not fragile. He looks like a man who’s done the hard work of becoming himself. And hell, he’s still beautiful.
I lean back and let my eyes close for a second. Something deep and dull aches in my chest. Nostalgia twisted with regret. I can still smell lake water and sweat from the gym, still hear the slam of a locker door and his laugh echoing off cement walls.
I open my eyes again and click into the Sports page and then the basketball schedule. His name’s there again—assistant coach.
It wasn’t even a surprise the first time I looked.
He always remembered the plays, read the scouting reports. I just showed up and improvised. He made the game matter.
I stare at his picture for a long time. The lines at the corners of his eyes are new. But the eyes themselves—still sharp. Still thoughtful. Still full of the things he never quite said out loud.
And I miss him.
Damn it, I didn’t expect that part to hit this hard.
I close the tab.
I don’t need reminders of everything I left behind. Even if I had reasons. Even if I’ve spent the last fifteen years convincing myself it was the only way he could move forward.
With someone else. Somewhere else.
He deserved that.
I just never expected he’d go back home, though, to Gomillion.
That thought knocks into me like a cheap shot to the ribs.
Cameron mentioned it once, years ago. I’d just opened the gym. My business was still barely standing upright.
