Different Roads

Chapter 3: Pizza & Mountain Dew

Kade’s dad had spent the entire week asking the boys to mow the lawn.

And by asking, I mean loudly reminding them every single day like a man slowly losing his faith in humanity.

“Somebody needs to mow this lawn.”

Nothing.

“The dog poop isn’t gonna pick itself up.”

Still nothing.

By day four, he’d started muttering to himself every time he walked past the windows.

“Three grown men in this house and somehow I still got a jungle outside.”

Naturally, the second his dad finally left for work, Kade decided today was suddenly the perfect day to become responsible.

Which honestly meant he waited until the lawn looked one thunderstorm away from qualifying as a wildlife habitat.

Around noon, my phone buzzed.

baby can you bring lunch?

That was it.

No punctuation.

No explanation.

Just confidence.

So I grabbed a pizza, two Mountain Dews, and drove over.

When I pulled into the driveway, Kade was outside shirtless, mowing the lawn in eighty-degree weather, looking sweaty, exhausted, and unfairly attractive for someone who had absolutely ignored chores all week.

The second he saw my car, he shut the mower off.

“You brought Mountain Dew?” he asked like I’d personally saved his life.

“You said lunch, not nutrition.”

He laughed, walked over, kissed me quickly, and stole two slices of pizza before I’d even fully opened the box.

Honestly, Kade approached food the same way raccoons approached unattended garbage.

Pure instinct.

No shame.

Fast hands.

We ended up sitting in the grass beside the driveway, eating pizza while the mower sat abandoned nearby, like both of us had collectively decided yard work had emotionally been through enough.

“You know your dad’s gonna know you stopped mowing immediately, right?” I asked.

“He already knows I ignored him for a week. At this point, I’m committed to disappointing him consistently.”

I laughed so hard I almost dropped my pizza.

That was the thing about Kade.

Even ordinary moments somehow turned funny.

Maybe it was the way he told stories with his whole body.

Maybe it was how his laugh always sounded half out of control.

Maybe it was because he never pretended to be cooler than he actually was.

Or maybe I just loved him enough that even sitting in patchy grass eating cheap pizza felt important.

The mower eventually started back up after lunch.

Unfortunately for Kade, the dog-poop situation still remained.

I watched him push the mower one-handed while trying to avoid the landmines scattered across the yard.

“You missed one,” I yelled helpfully.

“LYRA.”

“There’s another one.”

“Stop helping.”

I was laughing too hard to breathe by the time he dramatically killed the mower again.

“If I die out here,” he announced, “tell my father I fought bravely.”

“You’re mowing grass, not storming Normandy.”

“You don’t understand the emotional conditions.”

I laughed harder.

Eventually, he finished enough of the lawn to convince himself he’d accomplished something and headed into the garage to cool off.

The garage had a little workout area shoved into one corner with old weights, a bench, random tools, and enough clutter to violate at least six safety regulations.

Kade grabbed a weight bar while I sat nearby, pretending to scroll through my phone while actually staring at him.

He noticed immediately.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“That’s a lie.”

“I’m literally sitting here peacefully.”

“You’re staring.”

“Well, maybe stop looking attractive while doing chores.”

That stupid grin appeared instantly.

Five minutes later, we were making out on the workout bench like two people with absolutely no long-term planning skills.

At one point, I slipped sideways.

Before I could even react, Kade caught me automatically.

“Jesus,” he laughed. “You really are determined to fall everywhere.”

“I keep life interesting.”

“You nearly died on gym equipment.”

“Adds spice.”

He shook his head, laughing.

Honestly, that became our relationship in one sentence.

I fell.

Kade caught me.

Hiking trails.

His giant dog.

Wet grass.

Garage floors.

Didn’t matter.

He always caught me before I hit the ground.

Later that night, we ended up hidden behind this giant freezer in the garage because apparently almost dying on the weight bench had taught us absolutely nothing.

Unfortunately, halfway through making out, the garage door suddenly opened.

“What’re you guys doing?” Kane asked suspiciously.

Kade answered way too quickly.

“Nothing.”

I had to physically bite my lip to stop myself from laughing.

Kane narrowed his eyes immediately.

“You wanna come upstairs and play Xbox?”

“Uh…”

Kade glanced toward the freezer.

“Give me a second.”

The freezer hid me completely.

Kade, unfortunately, was six-foot-four and visibly shirtless.

Kane stared at him in silence for a full three seconds.

Finally, he sighed dramatically.

“You know what? Never mind. I don’t wanna know.”

The second the door shut, I completely lost it.

“All he saw was you,” I wheezed.

Kade groaned, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh my God.”

“I’m serious. I was hidden.”

“This family is gonna kill me.”

I laughed even harder.

And somehow, moments like that became the memories I loved most.

Not the big things.

Not elaborate dates.

Not expensive gifts.

Just pizza and Mountain Dew.

Summer heat.

Grass stains.

Garage laughter.

Kade catching me before I hit the ground.

Being young enough to believe we had all the time in the world.

Back then, forever didn’t feel like something we had to hope for.

It felt automatic.

And we were too young to know that nothing in life ever really is.