Page 90 of Caden & Theo
I step closer. Not too close, but enough to cross the space between the sidewalk and the porch. I can feel my limp with every step, like a flare of heat under my skin.
“You’re not gonna tell me I look like shit?”
“You don’t.” He looks me over, eyes lingering maybe a second too long. “You look… older. Tired.”
I smile crookedly. “Accurate.”
“You hungry?” he asks, like we’re two guys catching up after a game, not two men standing on the wreckage of what they once were.
“I’m always hungry,” I say.
He nods once and opens the door. “Come in, then. I’ve got beer and leftover spaghetti if you’re brave.”
The house smells like pine cleaner and something faintly citrus. It’s tidy. Not overly neat, but lived-in. There’s a framed photo of his parents by the door, a pair of running shoes kicked to one side. I follow him down the hall to the kitchen, watching the way his shoulders move, how he rubs the back of his neck like he always did when he’s thinking too much.
He grabs two beers from the fridge, pops the tops, and hands me one without looking. I take it. The cold bottle sweats against my palm.
We stand there in silence for a beat. Maybe two.
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Theo says quietly, his eyes not quite meeting mine.
I open my mouth, then close it again. The instinct is there—to spill everything, apologize, rewind the years. But it’s too soon. The silence between us isn’t an empty thing—it’s dense, packed tight with memories and regrets and the ache of too much time lost. So I just nod and let the words die in my throat.
We move into the living room with our beers, the space familiar, but Theo’s clearly made it his own. We sit on opposite ends of the couch like polite strangers with a shared past neither of us knows how to address.
He doesn’t ask why I’m really here. I don’t ask how he’s really been.
Instead, we talk around it, skimming along the surface of safer topics.
“You’re coaching the team?” I ask, lifting my beer to my lips.
“Yeah. Well, assistant coaching,” he says. “Varsity boys. We made district finals this year.”
“That’s great.” I glance at him. “You always were patient with kids.”
He chuckles lightly. “You’re the only one who’d say that.”
I smile. “Because I once saw you try to teach a four-year-old how to tie his shoes.”
“That kid had it out for me,” he says, and this time, the smile sticks longer.
We fall into an uneasy rhythm after that. Talking about town politics, the way Main Street’s finally getting repaved, the new stores. I nod along even though I already saw it when I drove past it all. Still, I like hearing it from him. Like I’m borrowing his version of Gomillion to layer over my own memories.
Theo’s body is relaxed, one arm slung over the back of the couch, but there’s a tightness in his shoulders that doesn’t ease. Like he’s braced for something. Like he’s waiting for me to break open the past while he’s still trying to figure out if he even wants me to.
I don’t. Not yet.
It’s enough just to be here, even if I can feel the weight of the years pressing down like a hand on the back of my neck.
I clear my throat. “How’s Amelia doing? I haven’t seen her since….” I let the sentence trail off, because finishing it would mean sayingsince before the accident.
His expression softens. “She’s good. Living in Charlotte now. Got her degree, went into social work. She’s tough as nails—exactly the kind of person you want fighting for you.”
“Yeah?” I smile into my beer. “Sounds about right.”
“She and John divorced last year, but she’s holding it down. Connor’s eleven now.” His voice. “Smart kid. Loves basketball, but he’s really into robotics too. Joined a STEM league last year and won his first competition. You’d like him.”
“Man.” I shake my head, grinning. “We’re old enough to have middle-schoolers running around calling us ‘sir.’ That’s wild.”
