Page 125 of Caden & Theo
We stumble together through the hallway, knocking shoulders against walls, mouths never parting. He’s already tugging at my shirt, desperate fingers finding skin, and I let him strip me out of it. I want to be bare for him. I want there to be nothing between us but heat and hunger and history.
In the bedroom, we fall onto the bed, and it feels like the past two nights and completely new at the same time. Because this isn’t reunion-sex anymore. It isn’t fueled just by nostalgia or the ache of missing. This is us, knowing what we said over dinner, knowing what we promised.
Theo hovers over me, breath ragged. He drops his forehead to mine. “You terrify me,” he whispers. “Because I want this so bad.”
I slide my hands up his back, pulling him closer. “Then don’t be scared. Wanting it is enough.”
He kisses me again, and the heat builds fast. Clothes scatter—his shirt tossed, my pants shoved aside. It’s frantic and tender all at once, like we’re trying to memorize each other in the dark, the slow unraveling of everything we thought we had to hold on to.
We take our time and we don’t. We relearn every sound, every gasp, every shiver, until the world narrows again to the sharp edge of release and the soft collapse after.
When it’s over, we lie tangled, sweat cooling on our skin, his chest heaving against mine. The city hums outside the window, but inside this room, there’s only his breath and the thud of my heart.
Theo’s hand drifts to my chest, settling right over it. “Still scared,” he murmurs.
I cover his hand with mine, eyes closing. “Good. Means it’s real.”
And for the first time in fifteen years, I let myself believe it.
EPILOGUE
THEO
ONE YEAR LATER
Movingday arrives before I’m ready, but then again, I don’t think I ever could be.
I stand in the middle of what used to be my living room. The walls are bare. The shelves are empty. No hum of the old fridge down the hall, no smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen. Just dust in the corners and light falling through the windows. It feels wrong and right at the same time—like I’m abandoning something, but also finally setting it free.
The house is sold. The car too. Even the beat-up couch I fell asleep on so many times when the nights felt too long and too lonely. I said goodbye to all of it. Packed what mattered into boxes and sent them ahead—clothes, books, the pieces of a life I can’t bear to part with. Everything else? Gone.
What I’m left with is two suitcases. One with the essentials, one with the things I couldn’t leave behind. And the firefighter LEGO is tucked safely in my pocket. That’s it. My whole life distilled down to baggage I can wheel behind me through an airport.
I should feel unmoored. Instead, I feel light.
Still, I don’t leave without a knot in my chest. Gomillion is the place that sheltered me when everything fell apart. It’s where I rebuilt my life, where I found steadiness again. My friends here—they saved me in ways they’ll never fully know. And saying goodbye to them over beers last night was harder than I expected. They hugged me and told me I was doing the right thing, even if their eyes betrayed how much they’d miss me.
But there’s no doubt in me. This is the right move.
Because waiting for me on the other end is Caden.
The flight is long, but my nerves make it shorter. I doze once or twice, jolt awake with my chest thudding, then remind myself where I’m going. What I’m doing. Every time I picture his face at the arrival gate, the anxiety softens.
When the wheels touch down, my pulse quickens like I’m eighteen again, waiting outside the college locker room to see him after a game. I grip the handles of my suitcases too tightly, my palms damp.
And then—I see him.
Caden stands just beyond the crowd, tall and steady and grinning like he’s been holding his breath for a year and can finally exhale. His eyes catch mine, bright as they’ve ever been, and everything else blurs.
I don’t think. I don’t pause. I drop the handles of my bags and stride forward.
The moment we collide, his arms close around me, strong and sure, his mouth pressing to mine right here in the middle of the airport. No hesitation. No hiding. Just us. People stream around, voices echo through the terminal, but none of it touches me. All I feel is his lips on mine, his smile breaking against my mouth, the relief of finally being here.
We pull back only far enough to breathe, foreheads pressed together, grinning like fools. My eyes sting. His must too.
“You’re here,” he whispers.
“I’m here,” I rasp, my voice shaking.
