Page 32 of Caden & Theo

“Hey,”he says.“So, I picked this one for you to play when you miss me but don’t want to say it out loud.”

A beat.

“It’s okay to miss me, by the way. I miss you too.”

My hands tighten on the wheel. Four more weeks. Just four. And then I’ll get to see him again. Not through a screen via Skype. Not with delays and dropped calls. Justhim. Real and close and mine.

I press Play on the next track and drive through the dark, the music holding me like a promise.

EIGHT

CADEN

I’ve checkedmy phone five times in the last three minutes. Which is ridiculous, because the screen is still blank. There are no new messages. No “almost there.” No “parking now.” No Theo. I know he wouldn’t be able to text and drive, but still, it’s driving me insane… the waiting.

I’m standing on the edge of the parking lot, pacing like I’ve got somewhere else to be. I don’t. I’ve been here for twenty minutes already, bouncing between the grass and the curb like a damn wind-up toy with too much charge and nowhere to go.

I can’t sit still. Won’t.

Six weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since I last saw him. Since I hugged him in his bedroom with the door half closed, tried to be quiet about it, and left him something stupid and sweet to find later.

Now it’s Friday, late September, and the day after his eighteenth birthday. The air’s different—still warm, but gentler and less aggressive. The leaves around campus are starting to think about changing, a couple of brave ones going golden too early, like they want to be first. It smells like cut grass and cheap laundry detergent and fried food from the student center. My legs ache a little from this morning’s drills, but I barely notice.

I got lucky this weekend. Bryce, my roommate, decided to go home. Something about his cousin’s wedding and needing clean socks. I didn’t ask questions. I just grinned and helped him pack, because it means I have the room to myself. Me and Theo.

God, just thinking it makes something knot tight in my stomach. He’s on his way. I know it. But every second without him is another second too long.

I nod at a couple of people as they pass—Marisol from my writing seminar, clutching a giant reusable coffee cup like it’s oxygen; Rashad from the team, earbuds in, hoodie up. He nods back but doesn’t stop, which is fine by me.

The sky’s that soft, early-evening blue where everything looks like it was shot through a vintage filter. I can see across the lot to the line of dorm buildings, red-brick and boxy, softened by the trees between them and the basketball courts in the distance. There’s a low thud of a ball bouncing, followed by a shout. Someone’s still putting in work. I should be too.

But I’m not.

Because then, finally, I see it.

A silver Prius turns the corner, creeping slowly through the narrow rows. I know it’s his before I even see the driver. It’s the same car I’ve been picturing in my head for days—his mom’s, technically, but it suits him. Quiet. Practical. Undeniably reliable.

It parks halfway down the row, and then the door opens, and he steps out.

Theo.

His hair is a little longer and is just starting to fall into his eyes. He’s wearing a faded navy hoodie and cutoff khaki shorts, and he’s squinting into the sun like it personally offended him. He looks… tired. Like school’s already been a lot. But also lit up from the inside, like this is the thing that’s been keeping him going.

And he’s here.

I move without thinking. Feet carrying me forward too fast, too eager.

He spots me just as I reach him, and his face breaks into that stupid, perfect grin. The one that gets me every single time.

We don’t say anything. We just grab each other. His arms lock around my waist; mine wrap around his shoulders, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck. He smells like cinnamon gum and car air and him. I inhale like I’ve been holding my breath for a month.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey,” I say back, voice already thick.

We pull apart, but just barely. His hands are still on my sides, mine on his shoulders. If this were a movie, we’d kiss now. Right here, in front of the Prius and the half-empty parking lot and whoever’s watching.