Page 104 of Caden & Theo
That was the night everything changed for the first time. Before the accident. Before the distance. Before the years when silence replaced every word we’d ever said. That night, in the soft chaos of foam and the starry night and whispered secrets, Caden kissed me. Not a friendly brush, not a quick dare—butkissed me.Certain and slow and deep enough to rearrange my bones. I remember the smell of his cologne, the taste of soda and mint gum, the way my hands locked at the back of his neck like I was afraid he’d vanish if I let go.
And now he’s crossing the gym toward me like no time has passed at all.
Only it has. Fifteen years. A lifetime. And still—still—he looks at me like I’m the point he’s been aiming for since he walked in.
He stops in front of me, close enough that the noise of the room fades into a background hum. His gaze drops, just briefly, before rising again.
“Nice suspenders,” he says, and the corner of his mouth tilts up.
I glance down at them, then back at him. “You mocking me, North?”
He lifts his hand, hesitates a second, then hooks a finger under one strap and gives it a soft snap against my chest. My skin prickles.
“Not mocking,” he says. “Just… they’re so you. I like them.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me fight not to look away.
Before I can think of a reply, he says, “You left after the basketball game.”
I swallow and force a half shrug. “Yeah. Had stuff to do before tonight.”
One eyebrow arches. “Stuff like… running in the opposite direction?”
I glare at him, but there’s no real heat in it. “Stuff like… minding my own business.” I pause. “How are you feeling after the game?”
His eyes narrow slightly. “Why? Because of my leg?”
Fuck. My stomach tightens. This is the conversation we’ve never had, and it feels like walking barefoot across glass.
“Partly,” I admit. And because I need to breathe, I add, “Also, you’re pushing forty, old man. Thought you might need an ice bath.”
That earns me the smallest smile, a flicker of the Caden I used to know. “Cute. Real cute.”
My heart’s pounding now, but I press on. “So… your prosthesis. I’ve… uh… read up on them. Over the years.” I glanceaway for a beat, then back at him. “And a little more today when I saw what you were wearing on the court.”
He studies me like he’s trying to decide if I’m messing with him. “You… researched prostheses?”
I nod, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “Yeah.”
Something softens in his expression—surprise, maybe, or something heavier.
Before either of us can say more, someone across the gym calls my name. It’s almost time for the dinner seating.
“I should—” I start.
“I get it. Let’s talk after the meal,” he says, stepping in just close enough that my pulse jumps. “Somewhere quiet.”
I want to say yes so badly, it scares me. But fear sits heavily in my chest—fear of opening that door and finding out nothing’s changed, or worse, that everything has. He broke me once. I don’t think I ever healed.
I hesitate long enough that he clearly notices.
His gaze flicks over my face, and then he says, “Here. Give it back after the meal.”
Something small and solid presses into my palm. His fingers linger for the briefest moment before he turns and walks away.
I stand there, staring after him—at the broad shoulders, the easy, confident gait, the way his jeans fit far too well—and my fingers tighten instinctively around the object.
Hard plastic.
