But I’m not done. “For learning how to restore houses for me? For treating my father with the utmost respect? For running to my rescue five years ago? For being my first lo—” I swallow the word. “Real friend growing up? What on earth are you apologizing for?”

He looks pained. “What about when I took your virginity and then left you? Can I be sorry about that?”

My breath catches in my throat and he grimaces. “Fuck. Sorry,” he says again. “That was…” He exhales sharply. “That came out harsher than I meant.”

I have to ask. “Are you sorry that we had sex?”

“What?” He looks so surprised I almost laugh. “No! Not at all.” He shakes his head. “But I am sorry for deserting you after. You were my first friend, too,” he continues with a knowing look and my face heats. “I hated leaving. But I had to.”

“You had to go to college, Cam. It’s okay. We talked about this. I understand. I’m not upset.”

“It’s not just that,” he insists. “I mean, yes, I had to go to college. My dad had been on my case. He hated everything about L.A. and my acting. He ragged on me for years, resented my mom living with me, resented my paychecks getting the family through rough patches. All of it was repellant to him. He insisted I go to college like my brother, and he was right. It was a solid decision. But it was rushed, and I was angry at being forced to choose. It was as though I didn’t have a say in my own life, even though, ultimately, I did. I left everything in L.A. behind, and I didn’t really miss any of it. Except you. I should have told you what I was going through. I should have tried to make things work between us.”

“You should have said goodbye,” I whisper.

“That.” He’s resolute.

“I thought maybe I cared more than you did. I didn’t understand how we went from crazy for each other to nothing in the span of a few weeks.”

“I know. I was immature and stupid and”—he winces, rubbing at the back of his neck—“wildly jealous.”

I can’t imagine Cameron being jealous of anything, ever. He’s always been the epitome of confidence. “Of what?”

He’s sheepish. “Of who, you mean. I watched the news. Read the tabloids. I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help but notice how quickly you hooked up with Lyle after me.”

My face burns under his scrutiny. He’s the opposite of accusatory, but I still feel guilty. After a moment, I say, “I don’t have a defense to that except to say, I was a kid who was sad and lonely, and Lyle paid attention to me.”