Page 83 of Caden & Theo
And no matter how many miles or years have passed, he’s always been there—in the back of my mind, lodged stubbornly in my chest.
I’m quiet. I trace the seam of my prosthetic sleeve. The carbon fiber is cool under my touch.
“Are you worried about seeing him?” Dad asks so softly, it almost doesn’t register.
I swallow, throat suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I admit. “I guess I am.”
“He’s still in Gomillion, right? Still teaching?”
I nod, forgetting for a second that he can’t see me. “Saw his photo on the site.” I don’t tell him I’ve been staring at it for weeks.
There’s a pause. I can hear the clink of Dad’s mug against a countertop. “He still look like trouble?”
I huff out a breath, something between a scoff and a laugh. “He never looked like trouble,” I say softly. “He looked like… all the reasons I ever wanted to be good.” I sigh. “He still looks like home.”
That silence stretches again. This one hurts.
“I ruined everything, Dad.”
“No,” he says firmly. “It was a goddamn accident, Cade. It could’ve been any one of us in that car.”
“I suggested we take a break,” I whisper, “but I didn’t push. I knew he was tired. He’d driven six hours after a full day of classes to be at that game, and I let him think he could push through.”
“You were twenty-two,” Dad says.
“But I blamed him. For a long time.”
“You were grieving. You were angry. You lost so much.”
“I lost everything,” I say, voice rough. “And so did he. And I walked away. Pushed him away. I let Mom answer the door. I let that be the last memory.”
“Son,” he says, and there’s something shaky in it now. “I get it. I do. But Theo wasn’t the only one who lost something that night. We all did. Just… your mom and I managed to get you back. It took a while, but you’re the same Caden we’ve always known and loved. We’re so damn proud of you.”
Guilt and gratitude tangle in my gut. “I know. Thank you, and I’m sorry.” Those first two years had been hell for all of us.
“Don’t be sorry to me,” he says. “Just… if you see him, talk to him.”
I let the words sit for a moment, my chest tight. “I don’t even know if he’ll be there.”
“You said you saw his name on the committee list.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “But that doesn’t mean he’ll show.”
“Well,” Dad says, “you’re still going. That counts for something.”
I nod again, uselessly.
“We really are proud of you, son,” he repeats, softer this time, like he needs me to feel it. “You’ve built something incredible out of the ashes.”
I blink against the sudden sting in my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”
“And hey,” he adds, “if you bring me back one of those yearbooks, I won’t have to pretend to remember what your prom date looked like.”
I snort. “That was a disaster.”
“I recall. She ditched you, right?”
I snort, remembering how I’d been so relieved when she had—especially because that night changed who I was to my core. It was the night I kissed Theo. “Yeah, yeah,” I say.
