I watch her car drive away into the night, frozen on the pavement. I don't care that it's snowing and it's fucking freezing and I'm going to catch a cold at Christmas. I just know that the best thing that has ever happened to me is gone – for good.

A car horn sounds suddenly, loud and inexplicably out of place in the silent, cold Kennedy Square. I jump and turn to see a familiar dark blue VW pull up next to me, the window sliding down. I blink in confusion because I can't recall who this car belongs to.

But I do when a rather pretty head of dark hair pops out and smiles at me.

"Hi, Freddie."

I've gone back into my previous stationary mode. There's no way, no flipping way that Carly Shay could be here, in Seattle, in her blue car, with that same impossibly beautiful smile on her face that still makes me stop and stare.

"Carly? What the hell are you doing here?" I ask, finally coming out of my funk and frowning at her. Her smile falters a little.

"Well, I quit," she replies simply.

"You quit? College?"

She nods. "I can't do it anymore. I miss you, and Spencer, and Sam, sometimes – hey, are you OK?"

She is right in asking because all of a sudden it finally hits me that Sam is gone.

The tears start to slide down my face, and I'm gasping for air. Oh God, I can't breathe.

I vaguely hear her turn off the engine and open the car door. A hand touches my shoulder, careful and warm.

"Did she leave?" she inquires softly, her other hand wiping some of my tears. At my nod she pulls me back towards the apartment building, locking the car with a click of a button. The pain is building in my chest and I'm still sobbing like a child.

I loved her. I love her.

Sam...

I'm sitting now, on one of those uncomfortable benches next to the door in the lobby, my head in my hands and Carly's soft, gentle arms around me in an embrace I wouldn't have expected from her just after a separation of three years. Her head rests on my shoulder as I cry and cry until there are no more tears but my torso is still shuddering with grief.

I shift a little, removing my hands and wiping them on my jeans. Carly loosens her grip; she feels for my hand and squeezes it once before letting it go.

"Why aren't you mad at me?" We both ask at the same time, looking at each other. We don't smile because it's a good question.

Why isn't she mad at me?

"I left. And I insulted your girlfriend," Carly murmurs.

"I didn't respond to any of your emails," I reply. "If it was you on the end of the phone I hung up."

Carly shrugs. "I could understand that you were mad. It was frustrating at times, but I had Spencer to talk to. And he sort of told me about, um, you and Sam. I didn't guess it. I lied to you, in that email," she whispers.

"I don't mind. We've lied to each other, in the past," I say, picking at the frayed material on the bench. Carly's mouth turns up on one side in a wry smile.

A silence covers us until it's too loud and blocks my ears and it makes my heart hurt because I start to see Sam's face behind my eyelids. I can feel my body trembling again, more violently than before.

Carly pulls me up and mutters something about staying the night. She begins to tug me in the direction of the elevator; the distraction helps and I calm down a little.

When we reach the 8th floor she plucks my keys from my pocket and unlocks the door. The familiarity of her movement is strange and I almost feel like I could wake up from this awful dream and Sam would be sleeping next to me, her head on my chest and her breathing slow and comforting.

We wander in, me shutting the door and flicking the light switch. We sit down at the table, our bodies heavy and tired. Suddenly her head shoots up and she curses softly.

"What?"

"I left my bags in the car. Will you be OK here for a sec while I get them?" Her hand finds my shoulder and squeezes when I nod uneasily.

As I hear the door open and close I sort of shuffle over to the couch and slump on it, my face pressed into a cushion. Before I have any control the fabric is wet and for some reason the couch is shaking – until I realise that I'm crying again. Before this I'd had no idea that Sam could break me like this – yeah, we fought, but it was over stupid stuff that didn't matter and we always made up.

This time was different.

She said she was tired.

I tried so hard with her – I love her. I can't bear to be without her.

What did I do? I'm so confused and my head hurts and I feel like I've been punched in the stomach. I looked after her, I made her laugh, I told her I loved her, I held her when she cried, I did everything she asked within reason, and I always forgave her.

God, somebody help me, please.

Carly comes back after about fifteen minutes, dragging her old purple suitcase and her grubby white backpack slung over her shoulder. She notices me on the couch and drops her stuff.

"Oh, Freddie, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry," she mumbles, rearranging me so that I'm leaning on her shoulder and her arms are wrapped around my middle and she just lets me cry into her hoody.

Somewhere in the next hazy minutes I recall, randomly, that we used to hug like this. She used to fly at me and clutch me round the middle and squeeze, and I'd put my arms around her shoulders and rest them on her back and it was really easy, and once we slept like that.

"I'm sorry, I keep crying on you," I say, sitting up and pulling a hand across my eyes. She shakes her head.

"Hey, what are best friends for?" She smiles, pretty and bright, and I wonder if I've found something to hold on to.

She insists on taking the couch, even though I try and convince her to sleep in my bed. Eventually we decide that I'll take the floor next to the couch, and in that way if I get upset she's right there.

I feel like an invalid.

I hate it.

It's almost 1am when I finally fall asleep, and even then Sam's face burns holes in my vision and in my dream I'm calling out to her but she keeps running away.

I wake up with tears on my face and I'm too tired to wipe them away. Carly is making coffee in the kitchen and I can smell scrambled eggs and bacon. I sit up blearily, combing my hair with my fingers and scratching an itch. She waves at me from the kitchen and holds up the cup she's drinking from. I shake my head.

Blinking the gunk out of my eyes, I wince as the movement hurts my head. I groan quietly and make to stand up, yawning.

"I'm going to take a shower," I tell her, glancing in her direction only once to see her nod and turn back to the oven.

The shower wakes me up a little but even when I'm clean and dressed, I cannot taste the food Carly sets in front of me. I take our plates to the dishwasher in silence, feeling her eyes on my back.

I stack everything away to be washed and just as I'm lifting up the door of the dishwasher I sense her behind me.

"I called Sam last night."

I spin around quickly, staring at her.

"You did what?"

"I called her. To ask her what the hell her problem is," Carly replies stiffly.

"Why would you...Carly, I can handle this," I plead feebly. Carly shakes her head.

"Freddie, you were saying her name in your sleep. You cried basically all of last night." Carly pulls me in for a brief hug. "I couldn't bear to see you like that. So I took your phone and I called her."

I swallow. "What did she say?"

"She sounded...I don't know...tired. And she said she couldn't be with you anymore because of something that happened a long time ago," she explains tentatively. "And then we had a huge fight because I told her how depressed you were and she said you had to deal with it and she said to..."

She breaks off and bites her lip.

"She said to what?" I ask, my voice croaky. Her eyes close and she turns away.

"She said to tell you that she wasn't coming back."

My knees give out and my hands come away from her waist. I briefly wonder how long they've been there until my back hits the counter and I'm sobbing into my hands again.

Her arms are around me in two seconds. I clutch at her t-shirt and she hushes me softly, rocking me like a baby.

"I love her," I try and say through my tears. "Carly, Carly, I miss her."

She's nodding, and pressing her face into my neck, and my cheeks are so wet. Then she's kissing away all my tears, and I think she must have found one on my mouth because suddenly I'm kissing her desperately, needing her love like I need oxygen to breathe.

We're on the floor and my shirt is gone and her skin is so warm and somewhere in this hapless, impromptu rendezvous I think I hear her say she loves me.