Page 88 of Caden & Theo
And the past barrels into the present so hard, I nearly forget how to breathe.
The years collapse.
He looks older… a given. But thirty-eight suits him in a way that feels unfair. Like time gave him angles and grace, definition and quiet strength. His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to show the forearms I used to fall asleep within. Dark jeans, a slight five-o’clock shadow, casual and devastatingly composed.
He’s still beautiful.
But this is the man version of the boy I loved. The one I planned my whole damn future with. The one I thought I’d follow anywhere, until “anywhere” became a hospital room with too much white and too many machines, and him saying,“Don’t come back.”
That was fifteen years ago.
Fifteen years since the accident.
Fifteen years since I stood by his bed, hands shaking, thinking love was enough to fix what had broken.
He told me to leave.
And I did.
And I’ve hated myself for it every day since.
But now—here he is.
Standing on the street we spent years playing together on, looking at me like I’m still someone he recognizes.
The world blurs a little at the edges just from how hard my heart starts to beat.
He doesn’t speak. Neither do I. We just stare across the gravel and air and fifteen years of silence.
I take a step forward, unsure if I’ll keep going, unsure if he’ll run.
But he doesn’t move. He just watches me, expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes still look like they did when we were teenagers and dreaming about apartments with too much light and cities that didn’t know our names.
My mouth goes dry.
And then, finally, softly, he says my name. “Theo.”
It lands somewhere between a prayer and a regret. I feel it all the way in my bones.
“Hey,” I whisper.
And just like that, everything changes. It’s not fixed, not forgiven. But started.
Again.
NINETEEN
CADEN
I don’t knowwhat the hell I’m doing here.
I didn’t even enter the B&B. I just kept driving past it. Past the grocery store that has an updated sign. Past the field we used to cut through on the way to the gym, now fenced off and “under development” if the cheap banner signs are to be believed.
My hands did the driving, but my heart had steered.
And now I’m here. On the street I haven’t dared to think about in nearly sixteen years. Parked in front of a house I once knew like the back of my hand. Except now the front door is the wrong color—dark teal instead of white—and there’s a different car in the driveway. Not his old Jeep. Not his mom’s sedan. But I know it’s still home.
Theo’s home.
