Page 65 of Caden & Theo

We lie together for a long while in silence, his heartbeat thudding steady beneath my ear. Then, quietly, I say, “I hate that we can’t have this all the time.”

His arms tighten around me. “I know.”

“I hate that you have to hide it.”

“I hate it too,” he says. “But I’m not hidingyou.Just… protecting what we have.”

I nod. Because I know it’s true. Still, it aches.

“You’re worth it,” I say into the quiet. “Even if it hurts sometimes.”

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs.

“Shut up,” I say, lifting my head. “Don’t even go there.”

His smile is tired, but real. “I’m trying. For us. For a future where I don’t have to compartmentalize the best part of my life.”

“I’ll wait for that future,” I whisper.

And he kisses me again. This time soft and slow, like maybe that future is already starting to take shape right here in this bed. Where it’s just us: real and raw and unafraid.

FOURTEEN

CADEN

The worldoutside the windshield is silver-blue and endless. Snow frosts the edges of the road, clinging to low fences and naked tree limbs like sugar. The Michigan winter doesn’t do subtle. It’s all sharp edges and breath you can see, and tonight, it’s showing off under a sky that’s gone full cotton candy—soft pink and pale gold bleeding into each other as the sun dips low behind us.

We’re winding through M-22, about forty miles out from Glen Arbor. The road curves like someone traced it with a lazy finger, bending around frozen vineyards and quiet lakes that shimmer through the trees. I should be soaking it in, memorizing every peaceful stretch, every snow-dusted roofline and rusting mailbox.

Instead, I’m busy trying not to fall asleep again. I jerk upright in the passenger seat, blinking hard. “Shit. I did it again.”

Theo doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “Third time, actually.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

He shrugs, smirking. “You looked too peaceful drooling on yourself.”

I wipe my chin automatically, scowling. “I wasn’t drooling.”

“Oh, my bad. I meant snoring.”

“You’re the worst,” I mutter, but my voice has zero heat. Because really, this—this right here—is everything.

Theo’s hands are tight on the wheel, fingers bare because he swore it wasn’t cold enough for gloves. He’s got a stubborn streak about things like that, and I gave up trying to change his mind years ago. The heater’s blasting at our feet, the only sound besides the low hum of tires on pavement and whatever lo-fi playlist he’s got running through the speakers.

“Pull over soon,” I say, stretching my arms above my head. “You’re looking tired.”

“I’m fine,” he answers, but it’s followed by a yawn that nearly unhinges his jaw.

I raise a brow. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ll stop if my vision starts swimming.”

“Jesus. Comforting.”

Theo chuckles and glances my way. “We’ve only got, like, forty miles left. I want to get there before the snow starts back up.”

I nod, shifting in my seat to better face him. “Still can’t believe you drove three hundred and sixty miles for the game.”