Chapter 5
FIVE
THEO
There’s something about the sound of summer that makes everything feel both slower and faster at once—kids hollering in the distance, the low drone of cicadas in the trees, the rhythmic splshhh of someone cannonballing into the pool.
It’s like time is lounging beside us in the heat, too lazy to move, even though I can feel it slipping past me like water through my fingers.
We’re at Kurtis’s place. He’s one of the few white kids I hang with outside school or the basketball team.
It’s not that people don’t mix in Gomillion—they do.
Just… not often. Sports and class projects are one thing.
Sitting on each other’s decks in the summer, that’s different.
But Kurtis never made it weird. He’d just toss me a Coke and act like I’d always been here.
His parents are the kind who stock the fridge with SunnyD and never ask too many questions, and they’ve got a pool, which makes them practically royalty in July.
There’s a boom box by the diving board blasting Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams,” and someone’s tossed a bunch of those oversized neon pool noodles into the deep end like they’re confetti.
I’m perched on a lounge chair under a striped umbrella, pretending to be invested in a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos while sneak-watching Caden from behind my sunglasses.
There’s a paperback open on my lap, too, but I’ve been on the same page for twenty minutes. Every time I try to read a line, my eyes wander back across the pool. The book’s basically camouflage at this point—a flimsy excuse for why I’m sitting off to the side instead of diving in.
He’s across the pool, sitting on the edge with his feet in the water, laughing at something Shane said.
His T-shirt’s damp and clinging to him in all the worst (best) ways, and his basketball shorts temptingly ride up his thighs to make it impossible to focus on anything else.
His skin glows, all sun-warmed and deep brown, and his tight curls are a little damp and a lot perfect.
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.”
He grins. “You say the sweetest things.”
“I mean it,” I say, more seriously this time. “You’ve been working your ass off. They’d be stupid not to notice.”
He nudges my knee again, gentler this time. “Thanks.”
I glance down at my drink. “We’re still keeping it quiet, right?
” My chest tightens. Gomillion’s not the place to come out at seventeen—not if you want peace.
But I get why it’s different for Caden. Why it’ll keep being different, maybe for a long time.
He’s got scouts, coaches, a whole future riding on how the world sees him.
I love him enough to be okay with that. Still, part of me hopes college will be different. Bigger. Safer. Maybe even open.
At least for me and my secret boyfriend.
He nods. “Yeah. For now. Couple of close friends, maybe. But I don’t want this—us—to get tied up in anything else. Not with scouts watching. Not with a thousand eyes in the locker room.”
I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “I get it.”
And I do. I really, really do.
“I’ve been thinking about telling Cam,” he adds quietly. “He’s solid. I trust him.”
“I think he’d be cool,” I say. “He’s not one of the gossip types.”
Caden hums in agreement. “Yeah. And he’s chill around, y’know, stuff. He doesn’t feed into Soren’s ‘pause’ jokes.”
I wince. “God, Soren’s such a prick.”
Caden snorts. “You think we can do this?”
“What, the long-distance thing?”
He nods.
I glance at him. At the strong lines of his cheekbones, the rich, coppery glow of his skin in the sun, the way his lashes catch the light. I think about how I know every dip and drawl of his voice—even when he whispers.
“Yeah,” I say. “I think we can.”
He leans in slightly, his shoulder pressed to mine. Not much, but enough. And for now, that’s all we can afford.
The next round of water volleyball starts with a war cry from Dale, who jumps into the pool holding a beach ball over his head like it’s a sacred relic. “Let’s go, losers!” he bellows.
“We literally beat you last time,” Cameron mutters, grabbing one of the pool noodles and using it as a lance to jab at Dale’s knees.
Caden’s already sliding into the shallow end with that stupid grin of his—the one that makes my brain short-circuit and forget how to human. “You in, T?” he calls over, splashing water in my direction.
I shove my sunglasses into my stubborn curls—the ones that still spiral instead of fanning out like I want—and toss my towel aside. “You’re going down, North.”
“I’m already in the pool,” he deadpans. “Technically, I’ve been down.”
“Wow,” someone mutters. “Was that flirting or dad humor?”
“Can’t it be both?” I say, wading in.
Caden’s eyes flick to mine just for a beat—quick, quiet, enough to make my heart hiccup—and then he’s tossing the ball to Cameron and arranging people into teams.
The teams sort out fast. Me, Shane, Jess, and Kurtis on one side. Caden, Cam, Dale, and Kiara on the other. The pool’s wide enough to split lengthwise with a rope and two empty floaties rigged like goalposts.
“House rules!” Kurtis calls out. “If the ball hits a noodle, it’s a redo. If you hit someone in the face, you owe them a soda. If you catch someone cheating, you’re legally allowed to dunk them.”
“Wait, what if I get hit in the face?” Dale asks, rubbing his temple from the last round.
“Then we all owe you an apology and a better aim,” Kiara says sweetly.
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 he does know. 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’ve tried.”
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 be before. 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. I want him 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.
We’re so close now I can feel the heat coming off his skin. I slide my free hand up his chest, fingers skimming the damp cotton of his T-shirt.
He leans down, just a little, and I meet him halfway.
The kiss is slow, deep, and unhurried—like we’re making up for lost time even though we know we’ll never have enough. His hands settle on my waist, mine on his shoulders, and everything else fades.
When we finally pull back, I keep my forehead pressed to his. “I’m gonna miss this.”
His grip tightens just a little. “Me too.”
“I hate how fast it’s going.”
“I know.”
We stay this way, quiet in the dark, the sounds of summer a low background hum. A dog barks somewhere down the street. Crickets sing. My pulse refuses to slow.
I shift, pulling him a little closer. My mouth brushes just under his jaw. “You know… we’ve got a few more weeks.”
“Yeah.” His voice is rougher now. “But we’re not doing that here.”
I smirk against his skin. “Didn’t say we would.”
“You’re thinking about it.”
“I’m always thinking about it.”
He groans. “Theo.”
I look up. “Come on. It’s not like I haven’t earned it.”
“You’ve earned a medal for self-control.”
I grin. “You know my birthday’s at the end of September, right?” Eighteen and I can’t fucking wait.
“I’m aware.”
“I’ve… been thinking,” I say carefully. “Maybe I could visit. For the weekend. To celebrate. I’m already figuring out a way to make it happen.”
His eyes widen slightly. “You’d come all the way to Kentucky?”
“I would if you wanted me to.”
He nods, eyes dark. “I do.”
Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten all over again. “Good,” I whisper. “Because I plan to celebrate properly.”
He kisses me again—quick, hard, like he needs it.
Then he pulls back with a shaky breath. “We should head home before someone decides to come out this way.”
“Let them,” I say, but I know he’s right.
We walk back slowly, hands brushing, eyes heavy. And even though it hurts knowing the countdown is real, I also know one thing for sure: We’ll make it work. We have to.