Page 110 of Caden & Theo
Across the gym, someone calls my name. I glance toward the voice, but my eyes are drawn back to Caden instantly, unwilling to lose him even for a second.
He smirks faintly, like he can read my hesitation. “Go. Do your thing.” Then, before I can argue, his fingers tighten around mine just once. He leans close enough that I can feel the heat of his breath at my temple. “But come back to me after. I’m not letting the night end with this.”
I nod, throat too tight for words.
He releases my hand, and for the first time tonight, I feel the absence like a physical ache. My palm tingles, empty.
As I start to move away, I almost tell him. About the firefighter LEGO tucked into my life like the molded plastic deity of a secret shrine. About the way I’ve never stopped carrying him. But the words catch, and all I can do is look back once to see him standing there so solid, so sure, and promise myself maybe—maybe—I’ll find the courage before the night is over.
By the timeI finish wrangling the final detail for the reunion committee, my head’s buzzing with more than logistics. The gym feels brighter now—maybe because I know he’s waiting. And sure enough, when I weave back through the crowd, I spot him where I left him. He’s leaning against the wall, arms folded like patience itself, but his eyes track me the second I step into view.
The world fades down to that gaze.
“Back,” I murmur, almost apologetic.
“Took you long enough,” he says, but the corner of his mouth lifts.
I stop in front of him, suddenly tongue-tied. There are words I should say, things I’ve carried too long, but they jam in my throat. So instead, I ask, “You happy?”
It startles him, just a little. His brows draw together. “Happy?”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat, fighting to sound casual. “Like… not just tonight. In general. Life.”
For a second, he looks at me like he’s checking if it’s a trick question. Then his gaze softens. “Yeah. I am. Took me a long time to get here, but… yeah. I’m good.”
I sink into the words as if into warm water. He deserves that peace. That harmony.
He tilts his head. “You?”
My laugh is thin, almost swallowed. “Yeah. Content. My job’s steady. I’ve got my routines. I’m good.”
But the tension in the air between us says otherwise. We both know it. I can be content and still ache. Still miss. Still want. Because what I haven’t gotten over—what I’ll never get over—is him.
The silence stretches, heavy with everything unsaid. I force myself to breathe, to remember this moment is a gift. Twenty years ago, I wanted this so badly, it hurt—to come to prom with him, to have him look at me the way he’s looking now. I never got it then. But maybe tonight is the second chance I never deserved.
The reunion committee’s overzealous playlist switches tracks. A slow ballad from the Lionel Richie hums through the gym, tinny but familiar. It’s the kind of song made for leaning close, for swaying on creaky gym floors under paper streamers.
I swallow, pulse hammering. “Dance with me.”
His brow arches, like he wants to test if I’m serious. But then he nods, simple as a promise. “Yeah. Let’s.”
We step out onto the floor. Couples are scattered across the gym—some clinging too close, some laughing, some moving awkwardly in circles that don’t quite sync to the beat. The disco ball throws fractured light across everyone’s faces.
And then there’s us.
I reach for him. My hand finds his shoulder, tentative at first. His palm slides against mine, warm and solid, pulling me closer until our chests almost brush. The air between us is electric, thick with memory and longing.
We start to sway a little unevenly, but it doesn’t matter. The music threads in around us, but it’s not the song that anchors me—it’s him. The heat of his hand at my waist. The steady pressure of his palm against mine.
I can’t help staring. His face is inches from mine, softened by the spinning lights. There’s a crease between his brows, like he’s trying to read me as carefully as I’m reading him.
“Never thought I’d get this,” I admit, voice low. “Back then… all I wanted was to dance with you. Just once.”
His throat works, and his grip tightens slightly. “Could’ve fooled me,” he murmurs. “You always looked so damn sure of yourself.”
I shake my head, almost laughing. “I was never sure of anything. Except you.”
The words hang there, too raw to take back. His breath catches, and suddenly his forehead dips, just barely brushing mine. The closeness is dizzying. Every nerve ending in me screams to close the distance, to take what I’ve wanted for so long.
