Page 21 of Caden & Theo

The first serve comes from Cam—a bullet straight toward Jess, who actually yelps but recovers quickly. The game is chaos in the best way: bodies splashing, arms flailing, water arcing into the air like it’s part of the scoreboard. The ball bounces off the floatie-turned-net three times before Kurtis manages to spike it hard enough that Cameron misses.

We cheer. I steal a glance at Caden across the pool.

His hair is soaked, clinging to his forehead, and there’s a drop sliding down the line of his neck, glinting in the sun. He smirks at me like he knows I’m staring—and hedoesknow. He always knows.

He mouths, “You’re going down,” and I mouth back, “You wish.”

Every time we bump shoulders or pass close, my skin sparks. Every time he laughs, it hits somewhere low in my chest. And every time he does that little half smile thing—like he’s enjoying a joke only we get—it makes me want to pull him under the water and kiss him breathless.

But we keep it light and hidden behind splash fights and team trash talk.

“I swear he’s cheating,” Jess groans after Caden somehow volleys the ball one-handed while talking to Cam.

“I’m just talented,” he replies, completely unbothered.

“He’s slippery,” I add, moving next to her. “We’ll take him down together.”

Caden throws water in my face. “You’vetried.”

I stick my tongue out. “Your ego’s showing.”

He shrugs. “It always does.”

Everyone laughs, but beneath the noise, I feel the tug again—that low ache that won’t quit. The clock’s ticking. In a few weeks, this will all bebefore. These sunny days, the dumb jokes, the stolen glances. The version of him I get every day.

At least he’s got his own car now. That helps. The old white Honda Civic runs loud but steady. Still, I know the truth—once he’s in Kentucky, he’ll have class and early practices, weight training, film study, and God knows what else. He’ll be making new friends. Living in dorms. Being seen, admired, challenged.

He deserves it. Iwanthim to have it—but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss him like hell.

We play until the sun slips low enough that Kurtis’s mom yells from the kitchen window about “dinner or heatstroke.” We all groan and clamber out of the water, dripping and exhausted, towels wrapped around our shoulders like victory flags.

Kurtis tosses me a soda and bumps my arm. “Y’all staying a while?”

“Probably,” I say, glancing at Caden.

He lifts a brow, his signal. I nod, barely perceptible.

Later that night,after the pizza boxes have been flattened and shoved in the recycling bin, after the rest of the crew crashes on couches or heads home with half-hearted goodbyes, Caden and I slip out the back door and around to the far side of the house. There’s a strip of grass near the privacy fence, tucked behind the shed, where the moonlight hits just enough to see and not enough to be seen.

It’s our spot. Or at least, it is now.

He leans against the side of the shed, arms folded, watching me approach with that quiet intensity that makes my skin hum.

“Took you long enough,” he says, voice low.

“You’re the one who had to say goodbye to everyone twice,” I reply, stepping close.

He smirks. “I’m charming.”

“You’re slow.”

We’re toe to toe now. My heart’s already racing.

Caden reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together. “You were good today. In the game.”

“You’re just saying that because I didn’t throw the ball at your face.”

“I mean… the bar is low,” he teases, but his thumb brushes mine in a way that makes me forget how to breathe.