Chapter 6
SIX
CADEN
A heavy lump clogs my throat. I knew it was going to be hard, but saying goodbye to Theo is something I’ve been quietly dreading all summer. I just didn’t realize how much it would feel like pressing pause on the best part of my life.
Outside, I can hear the soft thud of a car door closing. Probably my dad rearranging bags for the third time. Mom’s been fussing over snacks and maps since six thirty. We’re supposed to hit the road by eight sharp. It’s now seven thirty.
My room’s pretty empty now—closet mostly bare, desk stripped, posters rolled and rubber-banded in a box in the back seat. There’s a duffel near the door with the stuff I didn’t want crushed under a printer or a crate of clothes. And then there’s me, flat on my bed, wrapped around Theo.
It’s quiet in here, but not the peaceful kind. It’s that thick, weighted silence—like the world is holding its breath.
Theo’s tucked into my side, one leg hitched over mine, his hand curled in the fabric of my T-shirt like he’s afraid I’ll float off without the anchor.
His cheek’s pressed against my chest, and I can feel his lashes flutter every few seconds.
He’s not crying. Neither of us are. But it’s all there, just under the surface.
He shifts slightly. “You’ve got thirty minutes.”
I nod, then tip my chin down until my lips brush the top of his soft curls—those stubborn, gentle ones that still won’t grow into the afro he wants. “I know.”
“They’re gonna start calling for you any minute.”
“I know.”
He exhales through his nose. “Still not going.”
“I wouldn’t ask you to.”
Because we already talked about it. No big dramatic goodbye in the driveway.
No awkward hug in front of my parents. And definitely not in the dorm.
I’m sharing a room with some guy named Bryce who already sent a three-paragraph intro email about his collection of vintage video game controllers. Not the place.
Honestly, if Theo came, I wouldn’t know how to stay.
So here we are. On my old mattress. On the edge of everything.
He tilts his head back to look at me, and his eyes—God, those eyes—are glassy but steady. “You’re excited.”
“I am.”
“I hate that I’m kind of mad about that.”
I smile, even though it cracks something in me. “I get it.”
“Because I want you to go. I want you to do everything—like, all of it. The classes and basketball and new friends and parties with weird dorm food and loud music.”
“Sounds incredible.”
“But I also want to hit pause right here,” he says, curling tighter into me. “And just… keep you.”
I bury my hand in the back of his fluffy strands. “If your mom had gotten frisky just five and a half months earlier, we’d be going together.”
He snorts. “Or if yours had waited.”
“Greedy woman,” I mutter.
“Sloppy timing,” he agrees, then quiets. “Do you think we’d be different if we were the same age?”
I hesitate. “I think we’d be dangerous.”
He laughs at that. It’s soft and sharp all at once. “We’re already dangerous.”
“True,” I say, brushing his jaw with my thumb. “But then I’d get to do this every day.”
His expression wobbles a little. “You think it’s going to be hard? There?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Freshman with a scholarship? They’re going to expect everything and then some. I have to show up early, prove I’m not just hype. I’ve already got training sessions scheduled before classes even start. And then there’s Bryce.”
“Bryce the enthusiastic gamer.”
“With two lava lamps,” I say flatly. “He mentioned them twice.”
Theo laughs again, but it fades. “Do you think you’ll have time? For me?”
My chest tightens. “Always.”
“But like… really?”
I lean down and press my lips to his forehead. “Yeah. It’ll look different. Might feel different sometimes. But this isn’t something I want to lose.”
He swallows. “Even if it gets hard?”
“Especially if it gets hard.”
We fall quiet again, into the kind of silence that feels like both a hug and a punch.
My fingers trace along Theo’s spine, memorizing the shape of him.
I don’t want to forget any of this. The way he smells faintly like pool chlorine and citrus body spray.
The tiny scar above his eyebrow from when he tried to flip off the diving board in eighth grade.
The way he exhales when I touch him like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
I want to say it. It’s right there, lodged behind my teeth, swelling behind my ribs.
I love you.
Not just in the shy, puppy-love way. Not in the flirty texts or the slow kisses. But real and raw. The kind that curls into your bones and takes root.
I shift slightly to look at him. His eyes meet mine—so open, so there—and I part my lips. “Theo, I—”
He pulls back suddenly, not far, but enough. His fingers tighten on my shirt.
“Don’t,” he says quickly, voice tight. “Not like this.”
“What?”
He shakes his head, and his smile is trembling. “Not when you’re about to leave. Not when I can’t say it back the way I want to. I don’t want it to be a goodbye thing. It shouldn’t start with an ending.”
I close my eyes, my heart thudding hard. “Okay.”
“I mean it,” he says, softer now. “I feel it. I just… not right now.”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
We hold each other for a while longer, our legs tangled, our breaths synced like muscle memory.
There’s a soft knock at the door. “Caden?” my mom calls. “We’re ready when you are, sweetheart.”
My heart drops. “I’ll be out in a sec,” I call back.
Theo rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling like it might give him strength. I sit up slowly, rubbing at my eyes.
“Do I look like I’ve been crying?” I ask, my voice rough.
“You look hot, if that helps.”
“It does, actually.”
We both laugh, but it’s tight around the edges.
I grab my hoodie off the chair and tug it on, stuffing my Nokia and wallet into the front pocket. Theo sits up, knees drawn against his chest. He doesn’t say anything for a second, then reaches out, grabbing my hand.
“You promise?” he asks quietly. “About my birthday?”
“End of September,” I say. “We’ll make it happen.”
“You better. I’m not turning eighteen without you.”
I lean down and gently kiss him again, like we’re exchanging maps that will lead us back to each other. “I’ll see you soon,” I whisper.
He nods, but his eyes are shimmering.
I open the door. The light spills in like it’s another world entirely. And when I step into it, I carry him with me.
Mom’s downstairs when I come out, sipping coffee from the thermos she’s been nursing all morning. She looks up the second she hears me, her eyes flicking over my face like she’s doing a silent check-in. She doesn’t ask if I’ve been crying, but she doesn’t need to.
“Car’s packed?” she asks, voice gentle.
I nod. “Just gotta do the goodbye part.”
She puts the cup down and opens her arms. I go to her, and she hugs me tight, her cheek resting against my shoulder. “I’m so proud of you, Caden.”
My throat squeezes, but I manage to get words out. “Thanks, Mom.”
She pulls back and smiles up at me, but her eyes are glassy. “You’re ready. You’ve been ready since you were ten and tried to organize your own basketball tryouts.”
“That was a deeply flawed plan,” I mutter.
Her smile grows, and for a second, we’re just standing in the kitchen, not on the verge of this huge, life-changing thing.
She cups my cheek like she used to when I was little. “Are you okay?”
I glance toward the stairs, toward my bedroom. “Not totally. But I will be.”
She nods, understanding what I’m saying—and what I’m not. “He’s special.”
“I know.”
She pulls me in for one last squeeze, whispering, “He’s gonna be okay, too, baby. You both will.”
I let her hold me for a few seconds longer, then step back. “He’ll let himself out. I, um… I left him something.”
She arches an eyebrow.
“In his room. Just something small.”
She smiles but doesn’t press. “Well, we’ll be waiting in the car.”
Dad’s already outside by the trunk, fiddling with the GPS that’s stuck to the windshield like a barnacle. When I come out, he straightens, rubbing his hands on the front of his jeans.
“Got snacks, jumper cables, and your favorite water bottle,” he says, like he’s ticking items off a list.
“I’m not driving across a desert, Dad.”
“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be prepared.”
I grin. “Thanks.”
He puts a hand on my shoulder. “You know, when I was your age—”
“Here we go,” I mutter under my breath.
“—I didn’t even have a car. I moved into a dorm with two bags and a secondhand alarm clock that broke on day one.”
I smirk. “Is this supposed to inspire me or lower the bar?”
He chuckles. “Just reminding you that you’re already ahead of the game. And that you’ve got this. You’re smart, you’re focused, and you’ve got a damn scholarship, which is more than I ever had.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
He gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. “We’re proud of you. No matter what.”
There’s a pause. Then I take a breath and glance between them. “Actually… would it be okay if I drove by myself?”
They both blink.
“I just—I need a little time to clear my head,” I add quickly. “I’ll follow you, but… I want to go alone. Is that okay?”
Mom, who’d planned to be my passenger, tilts her head, clearly warring between maternal instinct and understanding. Then she nods. “Of course.”
Dad shrugs. “We’ll be the car in front doing the speed limit.”
“And I’ve got Theo’s playlist,” I add. “I’ll be fine.”
Mom presses a kiss to my forehead. “Flash your lights if you need to stop for gas.”
“Will do.”
Across the yard, the front door of the Brookses’ house opens. Lori steps out first, apron still tied at her waist like she left something on the stove. James follows, slow and solid, and Amelia slips between them, barefoot on the porch.
“Lord, I can’t believe today’s the day,” Lori says, coming straight for me with her arms wide.
She hugs me tight, rocking me once like she used to when I was small.
“Feels like I just watched you and Theo chasing fireflies out here last summer.” Her voice catches, but she pulls back smiling.
“You call your mama, but you better call me too. Don’t make me have to track you down. ”
James clasps my hand in both of his, then pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “We’re proud of you, Cade. Always have been. You put your mind to something, you do it. Now go prove us right.” His voice is deep, even, the kind that settles in your chest.
Amelia hangs back until I glance her way.
Then she comes down the steps, half grinning.
“Guess this makes me the one stuck keeping Theo out of trouble.” She bumps my shoulder.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook, though.
When you come back, I want my Mario Kart rematch.
And don’t be surprised if I’ve leveled up while you’re gone. ”
I laugh, but it snags in my throat. Because she’s right—I am leaving them with Theo. And after everything that just happened upstairs, that thought twists in me harder than anything else.
I say goodbye and round the car, keys in hand, but just before I slide into the driver’s seat, something makes me pause.
I look back. Back at the house. Our house.
The one Mom and Dad worked their asses off to buy when I was four.
I remember sitting on the floor in what would become my bedroom, drawing on a pizza box while movers tried to wedge a couch through the door.
That memory hits me like a freight train now.
The chipped paint on the porch. The creaky screen door.
The patch of grass where Theo and I used to practice skate tricks until we both fell into a rosebush and declared the sport evil.
I blink hard, then look up at the second-story window—my room.
And there he is.
Theo.
He’s lit by the morning sun, hair haloed and messy, hoodie zipped up halfway like he’s trying to hold himself together with the strings. His hand is resting on the sill, and he’s looking down at me like he doesn’t want to blink in case I disappear.
Our eyes lock. And then he smiles.
It’s small, soft. Not showy. Not brave.
Just real.
My breath hitches. And somehow, that smile is enough to push me forward.
I duck into the driver’s seat, shut the door, and click the belt into place. The car smells like summer—old air freshener and pool towels—and the faintest trace of Theo’s cologne from when he helped me load up last night.
I slide the CD into the stereo. The player whirs, clicks. Then music blares through the speakers: “Hot in Herre” by Nelly. I burst out laughing, loud and sudden and completely ridiculous.
Of course he started the playlist with this.
Three years ago, we got dared at a sleepover to learn the dance to it. Theo went all in. He tied a bandana around his head, grabbed a hairbrush as a mic, and spent the whole night yelling, “Take off your clothes!” until his mom made him shut it down.
It was the stupidest, funniest, most us moment—and I’d nearly forgotten it.
Until now.
I laugh so hard I tear up, wiping my eyes as I pull out of the driveway and onto the street.
The song changes a minute later to something mellow—“Just Friends” by Musiq Soulchild—and my laughter fades, but the warmth stays. The beat’s smooth, easy, like a breeze through an open window. The lump in my throat’s still there, but now it’s wrapped in something gentler.
Gratitude.
I’m leaving my home, and I’m leaving him. But I’m also heading toward something big.
And we’ve got plans. He’ll come for his birthday. I’ll find a way to visit when I can. We’ve carved out this space between us—something soft and strong—and I believe in it. In us.
The music plays on. The sun climbs higher. And the road unfurls in front of me like a promise.
I keep driving. Hope, curled like a secret, rides shotgun the whole way.