Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
THEO
By the time I finally lock up my classroom for the day, my shoulders ache, and I’m half convinced my planning skills have staged a walkout.
School officially ended two days ago, but I’ve been coming in to tie up loose ends—sorting lesson plans, organizing a couple things for next year so I can get ahead.
Somehow it’s more exhausting than a regular day with students.
Instead of grading freshman essays on The Outsiders or steering seniors through college application panic, it’s me versus a mountain of binders and a copier that jams if you look at it wrong.
When I step out into the parking lot, the sun’s dipping low over Gomillion, throwing a syrupy, golden haze over everything.
It smells like crepe myrtle and someone grilling three streets over.
A warm breeze rustles the faded American flag in front of city hall, and it flutters like a lazy wave hello.
The school’s smack in the center of town, which honestly has a classic small-town South Carolina vibe, the kind of charm developers try to fake in cities but never quite get right.
We’ve got one blinking red light, a diner with peach cobbler so good, it ought to be illegal, and storefronts that haven’t changed since I was a kid.
Even the font on the hardware store sign is the same.
The bunting’s already up outside the small gym. Red and gold ribbons flutter under the banner that reads Welcome Back, Millions! Class of 2005 Reunion Weekend. Someone even added a big foam millipede cutout near the steps. It’s ridiculous, nostalgic, and weirdly touching.
I smile, but it’s tight.
I’ve spent the past week helping fine-tune the last-minute details of this thing—meetings during lunch, phone calls after work, spreadsheets and sign-up sheets that keep multiplying like rabbits. But now, the real part’s starting.
The people are coming.
He is coming.
I’m just about to cut across the road to pick up bread from the store when a voice calls out from behind me.
“Hey, Theo.”
I turn and spot Emmett Pearce leaning against his gray Toyota Tacoma, looking like he’s on his way somewhere but in no particular rush. His smirk is as familiar as the dusty welcome mat outside the bakery.
“Emmett,” I say with a chuckle. “Didn’t I just see you arguing with Martha over shipping rates last week?”
He lifts a hand in a lazy wave. “Probably. You know how I feel about paying twelve bucks to mail a registered letter two towns over.”
We exchange a quick clap on the back, nothing out of the ordinary. Emmett was a year ahead of me in school, and like a few of us, he never really left Gomillion. We run into each other often enough—at the store, on Main, grabbing coffee at Mo’s. It’s all just part of the rhythm of small-town life.
“You heading home?” I ask, adjusting the tote bag slung over my shoulder.
“Yeah, I just swung out to pick up a few things for a couple of picky guests. B&B’s filling up fast. Full-on reunion rush.” He shifts his keys in his palm. “Guess who’s on my check-in list?”
I pause. My stomach tightens in anticipation even though I already know.
“Caden.”
I try not to flinch, but I feel it. My pulse kicks up, and something in my lungs forgets how to inflate. “Oh,” I manage. “Right. Figured he’d be staying somewhere nearby.”
Emmett eyes me for a beat—too casually not to mean something. “He’s due any minute. I figured I’d give you the heads-up, just in case.”
I nod like it’s no big deal, like I don’t suddenly feel like the sidewalk’s tilted sideways. “Appreciate it.”
“Sure. I didn’t know if you’d want to… I don’t know, avoid or ambush.”
I snort. Like almost everyone else, he doesn’t know the truth about Cade’s and my romantic relationship. “I’m not ambushing anyone.”
He grins. “I didn’t think so. But I’ve seen you at the grocery store, Theo. You ambush the last box of oat granola like your life depends on it.”
“You know I’m not right without fiber,” I say dryly.
He laughs and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it. See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
And with a final wave, he heads off down Main Street, and I stand here for a beat too long, letting the weight of Caden’s name settle on my chest like dust on a picture frame not touched in years.
Caden. In town. This evening.
For a minute, I consider walking to the B&B. Just… being there when he arrives. Like ripping off a Band-Aid with questionable impulse control.
But that idea really does feel like an ambush.
Like something I used to do when I was seventeen and had zero chill.
I have no idea what he wants, if he even wants to see me.
It’s been fifteen years. Fifteen years of silence so loud, it echoed in my bones.
Fifteen years of living with his ghost even though he wasn’t dead.
I blow out a breath and pivot on my heel, heading toward Timbers & Tallboys instead. If there was ever a day that called for a drink, it’s this one.
The bar sits close by, tucked between the pharmacy and a thrift store that smells aggressively of mothballs. The neon sign flickers as I approach, buzzing faintly like it’s on the verge of giving up.
Inside, it’s exactly the same as it’s been since we were teens sneaking in with fake IDs—and getting caught every time. Low ceilings, pine paneling, darts that are always slightly crooked, and the best damn wings south of Charleston.
Moses is behind the bar, polishing a glass like it personally insulted his mother. It’s not a face I’ve seen in a while. He looks up, his face creasing into a wry grin. “Well, if it isn’t Professor Ball Game himself.”
I slide onto a stool. “Hey, Moses. Good to see you, man.” I reach out and we shake hands.
“Back at you. You look like a man who needs something stronger than sweet tea.”
“Preach.”
He sets down the glass and pours me a local IPA without asking. Impressive really since the last time I came in here when Moses was in town was probably four months ago. “You organizing all that reunion mess?”
“Some of it.”
“God help you.”
We clink glasses, and I take a long sip. Cold. Hoppy. Blessedly distracting.
Moses leans in, elbows on the counter. “You nervous about him?”
I pause. “Who?”
He just lifts a brow.
I huff out a laugh. “Word travels.”
“Gomillion’s the kind of town where you can’t fart without someone’s aunt posting about it on Facebook.”
I shake my head, but the laugh that slips out is real. It catches me off guard—like a pressure valve cracking open.
“I don’t know what to expect,” I admit, voice quieter now. “I haven’t seen him since….”
“I know,” Moses says gently, his tone shifting.
“And yeah, I’m nervous. I’d be an idiot not to be.”
Moses gives a slow nod, one of those bartender expressions that somehow makes you feel both seen and unjudged. “Understandable.”
He tops off my glass and leans on the bar. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend to know the whole story—only what people whisper when they think no one’s listening. But I know what it’s like to carry something for a long time and not say it out loud.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says, wiping the counter absently. “So whatever it is between you two—whatever it used to be, whatever it is now—don’t waste the moment. Talk to him. Don’t dance around it.”
I exhale through my nose. “That’s your professional opinion, huh?”
“You want closure, ask for it. You want answers, go get ’em. You want to bolt, at least wait until you’ve finished your beer.”
I snort. “You really missed your calling as a therapist.”
“Nah,” he says, grinning. “Shit pays less, and they don’t let you wear flannel.”
I finish my drink. Just one. Enough to settle the static inside my ribs.
Outside, the early-evening light spills golden over Main Street, casting long, gentle shadows that stretch lazily across the pavement.
The air’s warm but not heavy, threaded with the scent of honeysuckle and cut grass—quintessential May.
Somewhere down the block, a lawnmower buzzes, underscored by the hum of cicadas starting to tune up for the evening.
I pause before getting into my car, one hand on the door, the other still in my pocket.
Main Street looks the same as it always has—brick-front shops, the barber pole spinning slowly like it’s got all the time in the world.
I stare down the road like it might give me some kind of answer.
Like maybe the asphalt remembers more than I do.
Caden’s here. Or about to be.
And every nerve in my body is starting to wake up.
He’s probably already checked into the B&B. Maybe he’s unpacking. Maybe he’s pacing, just like me. We’ve gone more than a decade without seeing each other, but somehow the thought of him being less than ten blocks away has my heart doing cartwheels and tying itself in knots at the same time.
I consider swinging by.
But showing up unannounced? If he didn’t want to see me….
I take a long breath. Whatever happens tomorrow, the silence we’ve been living in is over.
One way or another.
The car’s interior is warm from the spring sun, and my hand lingers on the wheel longer than it should. I sit for a second before pressing the ignition, the engine growling to life with a soft rumble. Just as the dash lights up, my phone rings through the Bluetooth system.
Mom.
I sigh and tap Answer on the steering wheel. “Hey, Ma.”
“You sound distracted,” she says, not missing a beat.
“Been a long day.”
“Reunion chaos?”
“Something like that.” I pause. “Caden’s in town.”
The silence on the other end stretches. It’s not awkward, but it’s layered.
She knows everything. Not just that Caden and I were best friends, but that we were each other’s firsts.
First love, first everything. She knows how we mapped out our lives around each other.
She knows I was behind the wheel that night.
That I was the one who walked away while he nearly didn’t.
And she knows how completely I fell apart when he told me not to come back.
“You thinking about seeing him?” she asks softly. There’s no judgment in her tone. It’s more like she’s just gently peeling back the lid on a box we both know is full of sharp fragments.
“I don’t know,” I say, turning onto Silvester Street. “Part of me thinks it might be easier to just… rip the Band-Aid off.” I echo my earlier thoughts, hoping she’ll tell me what I need to do.
“To protect your heart or to punish yourself?” she asks. It’s gentle, but it cuts clean.
I flinch. “Ma….”
She exhales. “I know, baby. I know this is hard. But after everything that happened and how long you’ve carried this, don’t you think it’s okay to wait? See what he wants first?”
“I could just swing by the B&B, say hi. Pretend it’s not a big deal.”
“But it is a big deal,” she says. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Not after all this time.”
I swallow. “It’s just… fifteen years, Ma. I haven’t seen him since that hospital room. Since he told me to go and not come back.”
“I remember,” she says, her voice tight with memory. “You came home and didn’t speak for three days. You looked like someone had pulled the sun out of the sky.”
I blink hard, the road blurring for a second.
“Theo, listen to me. If he’s here, it means something. He knew you’d be at the reunion. He’s not showing up by accident.”
“You think?” My voice cracks more than I want it to.
“I know,” she says. “And I know you. You’ve lived fifteen years like you were waiting for a door to open that never did. Maybe this is it. But not tonight. Let tomorrow be what it’s going to be.”
I nod, even though she can’t see it. “You’re right.”
“I’m always right,” she teases gently. Then her tone softens. “But seriously, baby… don’t let this shake you so hard, you forget how far you’ve come. You’ve built a life. A good one. You deserve to live in it fully.”
I smile, a tired curl of my mouth. “You’re not supposed to be this wise, you know.”
“I’ve had thirty-seven years to practice. And I got front row seats to your heartbreak. I’ve earned a little wisdom.”
We talk for a few more minutes—about nothing important. Her baking. My dad refusing to take vitamins. A new stray cat she’s named Socks despite it being jet-black and thoroughly sockless.
But as I pull onto my street, her voice fades into the background. Because a car I don’t recognize is parked in front of my house.
I glance at the plate. It’s a rental.
My breath stutters.
I say goodbye, hit End Call, and then pull into my driveway, the sound of gravel crunching under my tires loud in the stillness.
I barely get the truck into Park before the other car door opens.
And time halts.
Caden steps out at the same time I do.
And the past barrels into the present so hard, I nearly forget how to breathe.
The years collapse.
He looks older… a given. But thirty-eight suits him in a way that feels unfair.
Like time gave him angles and grace, definition and quiet strength.
His shirt is unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to show the forearms I used to fall asleep within.
Dark jeans, a slight five-o’clock shadow, casual and devastatingly composed.
He’s still beautiful.
But this is the man version of the boy I loved. The one I planned my whole damn future with. The one I thought I’d follow anywhere, until “anywhere” became a hospital room with too much white and too many machines, and him saying, “Don’t come back.”
That was fifteen years ago.
Fifteen years since the accident.
Fifteen years since I stood by his bed, hands shaking, thinking love was enough to fix what had broken.
He told me to leave.
And I did.
And I’ve hated myself for it every day since.
But now—here he is.
Standing on the street we spent years playing together on, looking at me like I’m still someone he recognizes.
The world blurs a little at the edges just from how hard my heart starts to beat.
He doesn’t speak. Neither do I. We just stare across the gravel and air and fifteen years of silence.
I take a step forward, unsure if I’ll keep going, unsure if he’ll run.
But he doesn’t move. He just watches me, expression unreadable, but his eyes—his eyes still look like they did when we were teenagers and dreaming about apartments with too much light and cities that didn’t know our names.
My mouth goes dry.
And then, finally, softly, he says my name. “Theo.”
It lands somewhere between a prayer and a regret. I feel it all the way in my bones.
“Hey,” I whisper.
And just like that, everything changes. It’s not fixed, not forgiven. But started.
Again.