Page 55 of Caden & Theo
My knees give a little under the weight of all of it—the disappointment of not being drafted, the surge ofstill making it, and this unreal twist of fate that places me even closer to Theo than I dared to hope.
Hope slams into my chest like a fast break. And this time, it blooms.
My mom’s the first to move. She’s up and around the coffee table before I can stand, wrapping her arms tight around my shoulders and kissing my cheek like I’m still seventeen and just nailed a game-winner at districts.
“Oh, baby,” she breathes. “I knew it. I knew it would happen.”
I don’t have words yet. Not ones that make sense. I just squeeze her and nod.
My dad’s next, pulling us both into his arms. His clap on my back lands solid, grounding. He doesn’t say much. He never does in moments like this. He simply holds on and lets me know he’s proud.
And Theo… Theo just watches, beaming like the sun cracked right down the center of his chest.
I reach for him, without even thinking, and tug him into the huddle of bodies. For a second, I forget who’s watching, whomightput two and two together.
He leans in, sliding his arm around my waist, soft and familiar and absolutely necessary. “I am so fucking proud of you,” he murmurs, right against my jaw where only I can hear.
I squeeze his hand behind my back and whisper, “Love you.”
“Always.”
My heart swells so fast and so big it might actually explode.
And just like that, I’m a pro.
Not the way I imagined—no ESPN cameras zooming in on a teary-eyed Caden North as his name blares from the stage. No confetti. No Draft Day snapback from a glittering first-round table.
But it’s real. It’s honest. It’s mine.
And ours.
Marcus clears his throat, breaking the moment like a coach refocusing a huddle. “Okay, fam, emotions are good, we love emotions—but I need you focused again for a sec. You’ve got ten pages of contract paperwork to sign and a quick Skype call with Detroit’s media rep. Let’s keep it tight, twenty minutes max.”
Theo lets go of me, hands in his pockets, as I nod and follow Marcus to the dining table, where the laptop’s already set up. The contract slides open on the screen. My mom grabs reading glasses from her purse like she’s been preparing for this moment her whole life.
Theo stays close but quiet, leaning on the back of a chair, watching as I scroll through paragraphs of legalese about terms, expectations, and conditional clauses. He doesn’t say anything, but every time I glance up, his eyes meet mine like he’s checking in on my heart as much as my head.
The Skype call is short. Just a welcome, a nod from a media manager, and a few “We’re excited to see what you bring to the table” lines. I smile, I thank them, I say all the right things—even though the real victory is standing quietly behind me, wearing a smile I’d give anything to kiss.
By the time we’ve wrapped, Marcus is already lining up training camp details, dates, travel logistics. He tosses a folderonto the couch along with the hotel list. “You’ve got two days to breathe. Then we start work.”
I nod along, but my mind’s somewhere else. My hands are still shaking slightly from adrenaline, but my eyes keep flicking to Theo—who looks like he’s barely resisting the urge to grab my hand and pull me into the next room.
Which… honestly, sounds perfect.
He catches my eye, tilts his head just slightly, and smiles.
Marcus claps me on the back. “You earned this, kid. You really did.”
“Thanks,” I say. And I mean it. But I’m also suddenly so aware of how badly I want to get out of here. Not forever. Just long enough to feel what today means. Just long enough to have Theo—without pretending, without hiding, without even speaking.
I spin toward Theo as casually as I can and say, “You cool to help me grab my bag?”
He straightens immediately. “Absolutely.”
We duck out of the room with a few quick nods and fake mentions of packing or organizing, and I catch my mom smirking faintly, like she knows exactly what’s happening and is choosing not to ruin it.
Theo doesn’t say anything until the suite door closes behind us.
