The day after Chelsea returns from Destin, she crashes into the room, her raven hair wet from the midnight rain, eyes wild.

“You okay?” I save the assignment I was working on before she walked in, and switch off my laptop without clearing my Internet search history. It’s become a habit of mine, one that persists even when I’m not looking at anything scandalous.

“Not sure.” She throws her purse at the foot of her bed and climbs on top of her sheets. She clasps her hands behind her head, eyes gazing up at the ceiling. “Neil and I broke up.”

There’s silence in the room as I digest her news. She normally spends so many nights at Neil’s place that despite her complaints about him, she’d fooled me into thinking they were fine.

I rest my elbow on the desk and balance my chin on my balled hand. “How? What happened?”

“Truth is, the past few days were amazing. And then he dropped a freaking bomb on me tonight.”

I go and sit on her bed, lifting her French-pedicured feet into my lap. “He didn’t cheat on you, did he?”

A peal of laughter escapes Chelsea’s lips. “Neil would never cheat. If having sex before marriage yanks his guilty plug so hard, how would he be able to live with himself if he cheated?” She pauses and sighs. “We broke up because of the whole sex before marriage thing.”

I place what I hope is a comforting hand on her feet. “He broke up with you because he can’t live with the guilt?”

“He proposed to me.” Chelsea sits up in bed and hugs her knees to her body. Her brown eyes are murky pools of rage. “The answer is yes—he can’t handle the guilt. He wants us to get married as soon as possible so we can stop living in sin.”

“You guys have only been together a year.”

“Not long enough. That’s what I told him. But he doesn’t want to hear it. His Catholic guilt is destroying him. And it is getting to me too.” She puffs her cheeks and blows out a frustrated breath. “You know, maybe it’s for the best. I think sin is fun; he doesn’t. Maybe it’s best we go our separate ways.”

“But you love him. I know you complain about him and everything, but I can see it on your face.”

“My face is a damn liar.” Her lips turn up at the corners. “Fine, maybe I do love him. But love is not always enough. I don’t want to be forced into something I’m not ready for.”

“You can try explaining it to him. He might understand.”

“What do you think we did all of last night? I need a drink.” Chelsea slips out of bed, opens the fridge, and takes out a lemon soda. She sits on the windowsill as she cracks the can open.

“Who broke up with whom? I mean, was it him who told you it’s marriage or nothing?”

“I’m the bad guy… girl, whatever. Why stick around when I can’t give him what he wants?”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie.” I go and give her a hug.

“So am I. But life goes on. Plenty more fish in the sea.” She pauses and pulls away. “But I have to admit, for a guy who feels guilty every time he has sex, he’s a monster in bed. I’ll really miss his you-know-what.” She gives a throaty laugh.

I join in the laughter, shaking my head. “You’re something else.”

In truth, I want what Chelsea has… or had. I want someone to be fully committed to me, someone who can’t keep his hands off me. When I think of that guy, the only face I see in my mind’s eye is Judson’s. A shiver snakes down my spine.

Chelsea glances at my overflowing desk. “You work too much. The only thing that would keep me up this late is sex or a good party.”

I smile and follow her gaze. I take in the piles of notes and books stacked on both sides of my laptop, a half-eaten bar of chocolate on the edge of the desk next to an empty cup of coffee. A perfect snapshot of my life as a student. “I guess we’re too different. Maybe we should part ways.”

“No chance. You are stuck with me, my friend.” She takes another sip from her soda. “Have you heard from your mother lately?”

“She’s tried to call a few times. When I pick up we always end up fighting. Now her texts are driving me nuts. I stopped reading them. Next thing she’ll start sending letters in the mail.”

Chelsea’s eyes light up. “Oh! Speaking of mail.” She places the can on the windowsill, goes to her bag, and pulls out a large manila envelope. “I found this in the mailbox. It’s for you. Maybe it is from your mother.”

I grab it quickly. “Thanks. It could be.”

I wait until Chelsea is snoring into her pillow before I open it. Inside the envelope is a small note attached to what looks like a stack of forms, held together by a metal paperclip. My heart is in my throat as I read.

Nothing would make me happier than seeing your pretty face. Fill out the forms and we can finally meet in person. I’ll let you know once the application is approved. For now, I’ll be here, waiting patiently for you.

I put the note aside and study the forms. I had no idea you had to fill out paperwork to visit an inmate.

During the past week, while waiting for him to respond, I tried to convince myself I should change my mind about visiting him. Right now, I’m back to needing to see him. So I fill out the forms. First thing in the morning, I mail them off to the address provided and prepare myself for the longest, most terrifying wait of my life.

If I’m lucky, I’ll get to see him before his trial. Given my strained relationship with my mother, I can imagine I’ll be spending the holidays in Oaklow.