Page 37 of Forecheck
“You mean like I expect my friends to give me my privacy and respect my boundaries, and instead they keep barging their way into my home uninvited?”
Amelia, for her part, looked chastened, but Kimber’s jaw clenched, spine going ramrod straight as she rose from the bed.
“Yougave us the key, Berk.”
“Foremergencies,” I reminded her. “Not so you could show up here whenever you please. You have your own place.This”—I spread my arms wide and spun in a circle—“is mine.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying…” I took a deep breath. There would be no coming back from my next words, at least not easily. “Give me back my key and get out.”
“Berk!” Amelia protested, surprise and hurt warring for purchase on her face.
“I’m sorry, Ames, but you’re just as guilty as she is.”
“What about Lexie?”
“Lexie doesn’t show up whenever she wants. She doesn’t let herself in in the middle of the day while I’m in class. She definitely doesn’t barge in and embarrass me when I let a new guy in for a first date!”
“I thought you wanted us here.”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “What I want, the whole reason I got my own place, is to be alone when I come home after a long day.”
Kimber let out a derisive laugh. “You’re fucking insane.”
“I’m not insane. I just want some peace and quiet. And I don’t appreciate the way you’ve been talking to me lately. If I want to be a control freak, I’ll be a control freak. That’s not going to push Brent away. If he’s the one, he’ll love me for me. End of story.”
Kimber gaped, finally at a loss for words.
“Give me my key, and get out,” I repeated.
With angry, jerky movements, Amelia removed the key from her keyring and threw on the floor at my feet. Then, she and Kimber stomped out.
I didn’t give myself time to consider what I’d just done as I finished packing and began my journey to Traverse City. I was certain there’d be hell to pay later, but I couldn’t find it within myself to care. I’d spent too long catering to Kimber and Amelia’s whims, to Kimber’s backhanded and rude comments. I wasdone.
Before I could call Lexie to clue her in on what had happened, she called me. I’d just loaded my bags into my car when my phone rang.
“What did you do?”
“Stood up for myself.”
Lexie chuckled. “They called me from the car, absolutely raging about how you’d gone off the rails and I needed to talk some sense into you.”
“And?”
“And I’m calling to tell you…it’s about fucking time, sis.”
The tension in my shoulders eased, and I barked out a laugh. “I couldn’t agree more.”
“Whatever happens, don’t you dare experience one second of guilt. If they can’t understand what they’ve done wrong, fuck ‘em.”
“Am I just supposed to…completely cut them out of my life?” I asked as I slid behind the wheel of my Jeep and started the engine, letting the call connect to the car via Bluetooth.
“If they don’t apologize, yes.” I sighed, and Lexie continued. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but it’s the way it has to be.”
Our conversation ended shortly after that, and as much as I tried to come up with a solution to what Lexie guessed would happen, I couldn’t see a way out. This was one of those instances where, though it pained me, I had to stand my ground.
Traverse City was a coastal city, situated on the shores of Lake Michigan in the northwestern part of Michigan’s lower peninsula. It was a classic tourist town and also served as the gateway to Michigan’s version of wine country. The Leelanau and Old Mission Peninsulas played host to the best wineries in the state.
