Chapter 4

On my final day, Carter noticed several boxes missing from the apartment.

He stood in the bedroom doorway, watching me take down picture frames.

"Where did your equipment go?"

"Shipped it back home."

Carter blinked, momentarily stunned.

Then, a visible sense of relief washed over his face.

"Going back for a few days is good for you."

"Once you cool off, I'll drive up to pick you up."

My hands paused. "What if I'm not coming back?"

He chuckled. "You will."

Carter took the frame from my hands and helped unfasten the clips on the back.

"The weather is damp up north. I'll book you a nice hotel."

He bent down to help fold my clothes. "Haven't your parents been asking about you? It's the perfect time to stay with them for a couple of days."

I stared at him. "Do you even remember the last time I went home?"

Carter’s hands froze.

He had no answer.

The doorbell rang.

Summer stood outside with a rolling suitcase, her eyes red and puffy.

Carter took her luggage without hesitation.

"She's staying here for a few days."

I looked up. "Here?"

"She's terrified of staying alone right now," Carter explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You're heading north anyway. The spare room is just sitting empty."

I clutched the sweater in my hands, my knuckles turning white.

"I haven't left yet."

Summer immediately tugged at Carter’s sleeve. "Never mind, Carter. I can stay at a hotel. I don't want to make Sienna uncomfortable."

Her meekness only made Carter more protective. "You don't always have to shortchange yourself."

He turned to me. "Sienna, she's only staying temporarily."

I smiled coldly. "Funny, considering she's already unlocked that front door 999 times."

Summer’s face drained of color.

Carter’s voice dropped low and warningly.

"Drop the door lock thing."

"You know how much it hurts her to hear that."

I stared at him. "And what about me? Doesn't it hurt me? When the two of you were crawling into bed behind my back, did either of you give a damn about how I felt?"

Carter dragged me into the kitchen, his voice a frantic whisper.

"I told you, it's a misunderstanding! She's mentally fragile right now!"

"Just let her stay for a few days."

"You can't deny a friend a place to crash just because you're heading home to clear your head."

In that moment, a crushing weight settled onto my chest.

I had spent seven years turning this apartment into a home.

And in the end, he was moving Summer right in.

I took our framed photo off the wall and held it out to Summer.

"Hang yours up instead. We're over, Carter."

Summer didn't take it.

Carter snatched the frame, his expression ugly.

"Do you really have to talk like that?"

I looked at him. "I'm being remarkably polite."

That afternoon, Clara handed me an old canvas pouch.

Inside was a worn Polaroid.

In the photo, Carter stood outside my grandmother's old studio, holding up a handmade wooden sign:

"Sienna's First Creative Studio."

Back then, he was dead broke. He had nailed the boards together with his own hands.

Running my thumb over the edges of the photo, a sharp sting hit the back of my eyes.

Carter helped load the last heavy box into the trunk of the car.

At the train station, he reached over to adjust my seatbelt.

"Stop acting out. Quit throwing the breakup word around, alright? Just clear your head."

"Text me when you get there."

Right on cue, Summer’s call came through.

Sobbing, she claimed she couldn't find an important contract and panicked about whether the company was ruined.

Carter’s face went pale.

He looked at me. "Go ahead inside."

"Once I handle this, I'll drive up north to find you."

I took the camera bag from his grip. "Don't bother."

Carter frowned. "Sienna, stop playing games."

"Summer is having a hard time."

Looking at him, every ounce of desire to argue evaporated.

"Don't worry, Carter."

"From now on, I'll never make things difficult for you again."

I turned around and walked through the terminal gates.

Once aboard, I muted Carter’s notifications.

I deleted Summer’s chat thread.

Then, I powered off my phone.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Carter’s phone vibrated in his pocket.

It was a text from Clara:

"Mr. Hayes, Miss Vance shipped all her things out this afternoon. She left her keys on the entryway console."

Staring at those words, the blood slowly drained from his face.