Chapter 8
EIGHT
CADEN
I’ve checked my 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.
But this isn’t a movie. It’s Kentucky, and we’re not out. Not here. Not yet. So instead, I give him a bro hug. A second round. This one tighter and fiercer.
“I missed you,” I say into his shoulder.
“Same,” he breathes. “So much.”
When we finally step back again, I catch his eyes flicking up and down, like he’s checking me over. “You look good,” he says, voice a little too casual.
I grin. “You look tired.”
“Drive was long,” he says, stretching his back. “And I forgot how boring the radio is once you leave the state.”
“You didn’t listen to my playlist?”
“I did! I just… may have looped it three times and then needed a break from 50 Cent.”
I laugh and reach for his duffel, slinging it over one shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get you inside.” I wrap my arm around his shoulder and steer us toward the dorm building.
We walk together across the lot. The sun slants low now, turning the pavement warm and the windows of the buildings gold.
Some guys are tossing a football on the green.
A group of girls sit on the front steps of another dorm, eating from foam take-out boxes and talking loud enough to echo. Campus is alive, but not overwhelming.
“This place is bigger than I imagined,” Theo says, glancing around. “Everything feels… wide.”
I nod. “Yeah. It does that. Took me a week to figure out where the laundry room is.”
He laughs. “You? Mr. Campus Map himself?”
“Hey, I printed one. Just didn’t read it.” We pass the outdoor seating area, a couple of metal benches under a tree that’s already started shedding leaves. I nudge him. “That’s where I eat breakfast most days. Better light.”
“Better light?”
“For my cereal. Gotta set the vibe.”
He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he’s filing it away, picturing me sitting out there in the morning sun.
The dorm entrance is ahead now. Brown-brick with a metal-framed glass door. It’s not fancy, not by a long shot, but it’s been home for six weeks. I reach for the handle, glancing back at him.
“You ready?”
He nods. But his eyes say everything. I squeeze his shoulder one last time and push the door open. He steps inside first, and I follow before leading him to my room.
My bedroom door clicks open, then shuts behind us, and everything shifts.
The sounds of campus dull to a murmur. It’s just us now—Theo and me, finally behind closed doors.
For a second, we just stand here, breathing. Staring. Six weeks is a long time.
He drops his duffel to the floor. I let his backpack slide off my shoulder. Neither of us says a word.
I’m not sure who moves first. It might be him. Might be me.
But the second our arms are around each other again, something in my chest loosens, then tightens all at once. My hands find the back of his neck, his waist, his spine—anywhere I can hold on. His mouth crashes against mine like it’s been aching. Like it’s starving.
And I get it. Because I’m starving too.
We kiss like we’re trying to make up for every second we lost. His lips are soft but urgent. His fingers fist the back of my shirt, and I groan into his mouth when he shifts closer. Every part of him presses into every part of me—heat to heat, need to need.
“God,” I gasp against his jaw. “I missed your mouth.”
“You missed me,” he breathes, hands skimming under my shirt. “All of me.”
“Damn right I did.”
I walk him back toward the bed, barely looking, just going by memory with the sound of his breath in my ear. We tumble onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and a shared laugh that cuts too close to a moan. My twin bed creaks.
He’s beneath me, curls sprawled on my pillow, grinning up like I never left.
I hover over him, chest brushing his. “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” he whispers, tugging me down again.
We kiss slower this time. Still hot. Still hungry. But full of something else too. Like we’re remembering who we are together. Relearning skin, pace, and rhythm.
I shift my weight, groaning softly when our hips align. He’s hard. So am I. But it’s not frantic. Not yet. Because all I can think about is how much I missed him. His mouth, his lips, the way he wraps around me like he belongs there.
He adjusts his legs around my waist and pulls me in, locking his ankles behind me. The movement draws a gasp from both of us as we grind, clothes in the way but friction thick and full.
I break the kiss and glance down at him. I brush his cheek with my hand. His eyes are glassy and warm.
“Happy birthday,” I murmur, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
Theo grins, breath catching. “I turned eighteen.”
“I’m sorry I missed it.”
“I’m not,” he says, voice rough. “Because I’m here now. And we can celebrate.”
My breath hitches as I dip back down, kissing the edge of his grin.
We slowly rock together, aching, the grinding of our hips turning into something that feels dangerously close to too much. His fingers are in my hair, tugging enough to make me bite my lip. My hands roam his ribs, his back, tugging up the hem of his hoodie to get to skin.
“Caden,” he gasps.
“Yeah?”
“You’re—God—you’re gonna make me—”
I push my hips down again, just once, and he arches beneath me, trembling. I can feel the tension in every part of him, the way he’s holding back just like I am.
But we don’t rush.
I kiss his collarbone, his neck, that spot just under his ear that makes him squirm. “You’re so hot like this,” I whisper. “You don’t even know.”
“I do know,” he says breathlessly. “You tell me every time we kiss.”
We laugh softly into each other’s mouths, still grinding, still clothed.
I pull back to see his face. His hair is a mess, cheeks flushed, lips red and wet. He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
And he’s mine.
We’re tangled in each other, breathless, pressed so close, there’s no space left between us. His legs around my waist, his hands in my hair, my mouth moving against his like I’ve been desperate for it—because I have.
Six weeks is a long time when every part of you wants someone. And I want him. God, I want him.