Page 19 of Caden & Theo

And I—despite my best efforts—am trying very hard not to eye-fuck my boyfriend in front of a dozen people who only know us as best friends.

Caden’s taking this whole “I’m about to leave for college” thing in total stride. He’s been training all summer—early-morning runs, strength workouts, protein shakes that smell like sadness—and still somehow has time to hang out with me nearly every day. Like clockwork. Like nothing’s changing.

Except everything is.

He leaves in less than a month.

Me? I start school next week—senior year. One last lap before the finish line. But it doesn’t feel triumphant or exciting. It feels like we’re living in the part of the movie where the sun starts to set and the music gets all wistful.

Cameron flops into the chair beside me, dripping water onto the towel I forgot to use. His brown skin gleams under the bright light, the kind of summer shine we all carry after hours on the court and in the sun. “You good?”

I pop a Dorito into my mouth. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

“About Caden leaving?” he says, way too casually for someone who doesn’t know. Or does he? Cam’s sharp. If anyone’s clocked us, it’d be him.

I lift a shoulder. “Sort of.”

He nods but doesn’t press. Instead, he grabs a soda and leans back with a sigh. “It’s going to be weird without seeing everyone.”

I nod again. “Yeah.”

Truth is, it already feels weird. Every time I look at Caden, I feel that tug in my chest—that constant awareness that we’re on a timer. Every kiss, every shared look, every time he brushes his hand against mine when no one’s paying us any mind… it all feels loaded. Like we’re soaking up as much as we can before the clock runs out.

A splash hits nearby, and I glance over just in time to see Shane belly flop into the shallow end with the grace of a brick.

“Dumbass,” Cameron mutters, but he’s smiling.

Caden stands and stretches, his muscles flexing, then jogs toward the group gathering by the diving board for some new game that involves a football and probably too much testosterone from the guys here. His grin is bright, his movements easy.

He fits here. With them. With me. With all of it. But soon, he won’t be here at all.

I take another sip of flat root beer and pretend the ache in my chest is just sunburn.

About twenty minutes later, he wanders back over, damp and grinning. He drops down beside me on my lounge chair, taking up way too much space and knocking my knee with his.

“Hey,” he says, a little breathless.

“Hey yourself.” I glance around. Everyone’s occupied—Cam’s still by the snacks, Shane’s mid-wrestle with Dale over a pool float, and the rest are too busy trying to out-splash each other to notice us.

“You okay?” Caden asks quietly.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

“You’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

I shrug. “Maybe I’m just practicing for senior year.”

He gives me that look—the one where his eyes soften and his lips twitch like he wants to smile but knows better. “Is this about me leaving?”

“No,” I lie. “I mean, yes. Kind of.”

He nods slowly. “I get it. I really do.”

There’s a pause. The kind that could be filled with something important if we were somewhere else. But we’re not. So instead, I say, “You excited?”

Caden leans back on his elbows, gaze drifting toward the sky. “Yeah. Nervous, but excited. I’ve got to earn my spot on the team, y’know? Try for the starting five? Scholarship or not, they’re not handing me anything.”

“You will,” I say, because it’s true. “You’re a beast.”