Chapter 17 #2
My breath catches.
He looks older. Stronger. Grounded in a way that’s new. Still lean, but not fragile. He looks like a man who’s done the hard work of becoming himself. And hell, he’s still beautiful.
I lean back and let my eyes close for a second. Something deep and dull aches in my chest. Nostalgia twisted with regret. I can still smell lake water and sweat from the gym, still hear the slam of a locker door and his laugh echoing off cement walls.
I open my eyes again and click into the Sports page and then the basketball schedule. His name’s there again—assistant coach.
It wasn’t even a surprise the first time I looked.
He always remembered the plays, read the scouting reports. I just showed up and improvised. He made the game matter.
I stare at his picture for a long time. The lines at the corners of his eyes are new. But the eyes themselves—still sharp. Still thoughtful. Still full of the things he never quite said out loud.
And I miss him.
Damn it, I didn’t expect that part to hit this hard.
I close the tab.
I don’t need reminders of everything I left behind. Even if I had reasons. Even if I’ve spent the last fifteen years convincing myself it was the only way he could move forward.
With someone else. Somewhere else.
He deserved that.
I just never expected he’d go back home, though, to Gomillion.
That thought knocks into me like a cheap shot to the ribs.
Cameron mentioned it once, years ago. I’d just opened the gym. My business was still barely standing upright.
“Yeah, Theo’s back in Gomillion. Teaching now. Can you believe that?”
Teaching, yes. But heading back to our hometown? No. I couldn’t believe that.
He used to talk about leaving constantly. City lights. A school where he could really make a difference. His dream was never small. And the unspoken part—the part we both knew—was that he’d be wherever I was. Wherever my contract took me. That was always the plan.
I rub my eyes and let my hand drop to my leg. I adjust the athletic sleeve over my prosthesis. It’s sleek and dark, the carbon fiber catching the soft light from my desk lamp.
There’s no shame in this anymore. Not in the leg. Not in the way I’ve built my life from the wreckage. I’m proud of what I’ve done. Of who I’ve become.
But vulnerability? That still sticks to me like sweat on skin.
No one back home’s seen me in person since the accident—other than Cameron. They’ve heard, of course. The whole town probably heard. But hearing about a below-the-knee amputation is different from seeing one.
My phone screen lights up with “Dad” just as I put my Mac into Sleep mode. I hesitate only a second before answering. “Hey, Pops,” I say, pushing back in my chair and stretching my leg out. The prosthesis clinks gently against the tile. “What’s up?”
“Hey, son.” His voice is warm and easy, like always. “Just doing my fatherly duty of checking in before you jet off to your past life.”
I chuckle. “Still got today to ignore it all, but thanks for the reminder.”
“You packed yet?”
I glance toward the gym bag by the filing cabinet, half zipped, still empty. “Of course not.”
He sighs dramatically. “You’re your mother’s child.”
I grin and lean forward, rubbing at the back of my neck. “She’d say I’m yours.”
“She’d be right.”
There’s a pause. It’s not awkward, just familiar. Dad’s not big on filling silence unless it needs it.
“You, uh, taking anyone?” he finally asks, casually enough that I know it’s not casual at all. “To the reunion, I mean.”
I snort. “Yeah, I’m bringing the ghost of my emotional stability. Should make for great small talk.”
Dad laughs, then sobers a bit. “Caden….”
“I know, I know.” I rake a hand through my hair. “But no, I’m not taking anyone. You know that. It’s been years.”
“You dated that woman for a while.”
“Almost a year,” I say, sighing. “She said I was emotionally unavailable, if you remember. She wasn’t wrong.”
“And the guys?”
I give a half laugh, bitter around the edges. “You know about all of the disasters of my nonexistent love life.” Well, obviously not the dirty details, but still. A few casual dates. Hookups, mostly. Nothing worth putting on a name tag.
Dad’s quiet again. When he speaks, his voice is lower, gentler. “You ever think that maybe it’s time?”
“For what?” I ask, even though I know exactly what he means.
“To stop living like a shadow.”
The words hit harder than I expect. “I’m not—” I start, then stop. A breath shudders out of me. “I’ve built a good life. A full one.”
“I know,” he says softly. “You’ve worked damn hard for everything you’ve got. But a full life doesn’t mean there’s no space for more.”
His voice is steady and knowing. He doesn’t say Theo’s name, but he doesn’t have to. That shadow he’s talking about? It has a counterpart. And that counterpart has a name. A laugh. A set of eyes I’ve never been able to forget.
And no matter how many miles or years have passed, he’s always been there—in the back of my mind, lodged stubbornly in my chest.
I’m quiet. I trace the seam of my prosthetic sleeve. The carbon fiber is cool under my touch.
“Are you worried about seeing him?” Dad asks so softly, it almost doesn’t register.
I swallow, throat suddenly dry. “Yeah,” I admit. “I guess I am.”
“He’s still in Gomillion, right? Still teaching?”
I nod, forgetting for a second that he can’t see me. “Saw his photo on the site.” I don’t tell him I’ve been staring at it for weeks.
There’s a pause. I can hear the clink of Dad’s mug against a countertop. “He still look like trouble?”
I huff out a breath, something between a scoff and a laugh. “He never looked like trouble,” I say softly. “He looked like… all the reasons I ever wanted to be good.” I sigh. “He still looks like home.”
That silence stretches again. This one hurts.
“I ruined everything, Dad.”
“No,” he says firmly. “It was a goddamn accident, Cade. It could’ve been any one of us in that car.”
“I suggested we take a break,” I whisper, “but I didn’t push. I knew he was tired. He’d driven six hours after a full day of classes to be at that game, and I let him think he could push through.”
“You were twenty-two,” Dad says.
“But I blamed him. For a long time.”
“You were grieving. You were angry. You lost so much.”
“I lost everything,” I say, voice rough. “And so did he. And I walked away. Pushed him away. I let Mom answer the door. I let that be the last memory.”
“Son,” he says, and there’s something shaky in it now. “I get it. I do. But Theo wasn’t the only one who lost something that night. We all did. Just… your mom and I managed to get you back. It took a while, but you’re the same Caden we’ve always known and loved. We’re so damn proud of you.”
Guilt and gratitude tangle in my gut. “I know. Thank you, and I’m sorry.” Those first two years had been hell for all of us.
“Don’t be sorry to me,” he says. “Just… if you see him, talk to him.”
I let the words sit for a moment, my chest tight. “I don’t even know if he’ll be there.”
“You said you saw his name on the committee list.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “But that doesn’t mean he’ll show.”
“Well,” Dad says, “you’re still going. That counts for something.”
I nod again, uselessly.
“We really are proud of you, son,” he repeats, softer this time, like he needs me to feel it. “You’ve built something incredible out of the ashes.”
I blink against the sudden sting in my eyes. “Thanks, Dad.”
“And hey,” he adds, “if you bring me back one of those yearbooks, I won’t have to pretend to remember what your prom date looked like.”
I snort. “That was a disaster.”
“I recall. She ditched you, right?”
I snort, remembering how I’d been so relieved when she had—especially because that night changed who I was to my core. It was the night I kissed Theo. “Yeah, yeah,” I say.
“Still got the photos in the attic,” he teases. “Your mother loves that one where you’re blinking and look terrified.”
“I was terrified.”
We both laugh.
“I’ll see you when you get back,” he says. “Want us to drive you to the airport?”
“Nah, I’ll grab a car. But maybe dinner when I get home?”
“Sounds good.”
We hang up, and I sit for a long moment in the quiet that follows. The hum of the gym’s HVAC returns, low and steady. Outside, the city moves on without me.
I look back toward my Mac. “Theo.” I let myself whisper it once, just to hear it aloud. His name settles in the air like dust in a beam of light—soft, weightless, and somehow impossible to ignore.
My chest tightens. I press the heels of my hands against my eyes and breathe in deeply, hoping to ground myself in the present, but all I feel is the stretch of time folding in on itself.
The boy I loved. The man I lost.
Tomorrow, I go back.
Back to the town I haven’t set foot in since everything changed.
Back to the place where I learned how to jump—and where I learned how far you can fall.
And maybe… maybe back to the one person I never stopped missing.
I reach for my phone, set it to charge before I head out to see my final client, and murmur into my quiet office, “Please be there.”
Because ready or not, I’m going home.