God, I knew this conversation was gonna be bad, but I truly didn’t know it would be this bad.

The thing is, though, at this very moment, my life is great. I do have everything. And while I’m sure Camden will continue throwing its curveballs, fighting with Sierra right now is basically just kicking a dog when it’s down. What’s the point? She isn’t sorry. I’m not forgiving. And this isn’t worth the mental energy for either of us.

It’s time to wrap this up, but I’m not going to let her make me the bad guy as we do it.

“I don’t want to gloat, See. I’ve never felt worse in my entire life than when I came here, by myself, having begged Mom and Dad to spend money they didn’t have, minus a boyfriend, a best friend, and a sister. Whatever you think I had when I started here, I’m telling you now, you were wrong.”

I take a deep breath, half convinced she’ll hang up while I do, but I can still hear her breathing on the other end of the line, and I forge forward. “I’ve made choices since then, some bad, but most really, really good, including the one to come here and start again out of your shadow. And now, not only am I happy, but I see the things that broke me for the minor setbacks they actually were. Whatever else happens between us, I hope you’re able to say the same someday.”

There’s no response, only more quiet breath, and I realize I don’t want one. “Good night, Sierra. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then I hang up and head to the stairs to collect my hug.

The next day, it takes both Salem and Sabrina to help me carry my stuff out to where my parents are picking me up, mostly because I’m taking advantage of the round-trip rides to bring home as much laundry as possible. Add to that my laptop, the books I’m bringing home to study from, and my clothes for the long weekend, and it’s definitely a group effort.

And okay, yes, maybe I need the extra fortification after yesterday’s miserable phone call.

“This is completely ridiculous, you know that,” Sabrina says flatly, readjusting the bag of sheets slung over her shoulder. “Does Rumson not have laundry?”

“Spoken like someone who doesn’t have to share her machines with twenty-two filthy, sweaty, horny boys.”

“You mean twenty-one filthy, sweaty boys and one who’s completely dashing and pristine at all times,” Salem amends.

Sabrina and I roll our eyes. “I notice you didn’t strike ‘horny’ for yourself,” she points out dryly.

“Well.” He gives a slow, languid shrug, and she puts on a dramatic retching show.

“You guys are gross.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” I protest.