Stolen Course by Aly Martinez
“Ugh. You are killing me,” he says, releasing me and rolling to his back.
I stand up and grab my shoes, before heading back to sit beside him on the bed.
“Would it make you feel better if I just run over there and grab my stuff and come back here?”
“Hell yeah it would. Give me a second. I’ll get dressed and drive you over there,” he says, pushing to his feet.
“No, I’m okay. How about you cook me some dinner while I’m gone? I’m starving.”
“Oh, I could use some dinner too.” He rubs a finger across the seam of my jeans between my legs. The heat in his eyes has me wishing I could abandon this mission altogether.
“I’ll be back. Give me an hour and you can have whatever you want.” I press a deep kiss to his lips, pulling away just before his tongue has a chance to find its way into my mouth.
Caleb lets out a groan but lets me go. “One hour, Emmy!” he yells as I head to his front door.
“I love you!” I yell back, shutting the door behind me before he has a chance to respond.
I get in my car and immediately pull out my phone.
Me: Where is Manda’s grave?
Jesse: Oak Terrace Cemetery. Why?
Me: Thank you.
Jesse: Caleb is going to kill me now, isn’t he?
Me: Probably. Just don’t tell him I asked.
Jesse: Oh this does not sound good, Emma.
Me: Trust me. I’m doing the right thing.
THE WORLD rushes around me as I watch Emma walk out my door. I know she’s coming back, but if I have learned anything in my life, it’s that there are always the what-ifs. You can’t live by them, but you can’t forget about them either. But with Emma, I have to consider it all.
When I’m with her, I’m a different man. She sets me free. I never even realized I was trapped until she forced her way into my life. I’ve spent years trying to fly for Manda, but with a smile and an intoxicating laugh, Emma somehow managed to release me.
I’m not a jealous guy—usually. You live, you love, and you don’t stray. If you do, you failed at the first two. But with Emma, it’s a horse of a different color. I hate her best friend just because I think he wants to see her naked. I can’t even see past the green to trust her. All rational thinking flies out the window when it comes to her. I’ve never wanted anything so much. But I’m a fucking hypocrite. I have a body full of tattoos dedicated to my past, including her name across my heart. I don’t think I could be with Emma if the tables were turned. But when she lies in bed with me, I don’t feel like I’m fucked up. She erases it all. And for that alone, she has stolen not only my heart, but my entire soul.
I CAN’T even begin to explain how excited I am right now. I just picked up the pictures I printed of me and Caleb. They turned out amazing. I couldn’t even bring myself to touch them up in Photoshop. We don’t look perfect, but that is more fitting than anything for us. While they were all great, I fell in love with one particular picture. It’s a selfie I snapped while we were lying in bed. The smile on Caleb’s face and my wide open-mouth laugh have all the makings of a picture that would usually make its way to my recycling bin. But this picture caused my heart to skip a beat. It perfectly encompasses our relationship, and the glimmer in Caleb’s eye as he watches me laugh sends warm chills over my body every time I look at it. I had two copies printed—one for Caleb’s place and one for mine.
He’s at the boxing gym tonight, so I’m going to surprise him by hanging it in his room. I found an empty natural-wood frame—one he no doubt made—in his bedroom. I hope it’s okay that I use it. He has these scattered all over his house. If I bought a new one, it would completely clash with the rest of his decor.
I know he keeps his tools somewhere. Just last week, he had them out when he and Eli were hanging his new TV. I’m pretty sure he left them inside. His workshop is locked, so I begin to dig through the closet. On the top shelf is a big cardboard box. I drag a chair over from the kitchen to pull it down. Surely he will have a hammer and maybe a nail in this heavy-ass box.
I lift off the top of the box only to find that it’s filled with paperwork. Just as I’m about to put it back, I see a picture that all but stops my heart. I slide out the tattered image of Sarah’s car wrapped around a tree. The immediate sickness I feel in my stomach knocks me to my ass. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t stop myself from dragging the box to the floor beside me. Piece by piece, I empty its contents. I carefully arrange picture after picture of that horrible night in a circle around me. From close-ups of the seatbelts inside the car to the skid marks that start just before the grass, this disturbing box has it all. But it’s not the pictures that bother me most. It’s the pages upon pages of witness statements with Caleb’s notes scrawled out to the side. Some dated as recently as two weeks ago.
If my heart stopped when I found this box, it shatters when I realize what this is. Caleb doesn’t just hate Sarah. He is actively trying to prove that she caused the wreck. Printed reports about her blood alcohol content stapled to the doctor’s statements about when the test was performed make it obvious what he thinks happened.
“Oh my God.” I cover my mouth as anger rolls though my body.
I continue to sift through the files and eventually find three full notebooks of Caleb’s handwritten notes. His words are, not surprisingly, filled with hate, but they hurt no less. It isn’t until I come across a page detailing his plans to prove that she was drunk and his ultimate goal for her to end up in prison that I become physically ill. Choking down my dinner, I rush to his kitchen to grab a garbage bag.
Fuck him. He thinks he’s protecting Manda and doing right by her. Well, it’s my job to protect Sarah, and apparently I’m sleeping with the enemy. I rush back into the hallway and frantically start shoving everything into a trash bag.
“What are doing?” Caleb asks when he walks through the door. At first, he looks confused, but the moment he recognizes the box, an icy glaze slips over his eyes.
“You are still investigating the accident!” It’s not a question. I look at him for only a minute before I continue my cleanup effort.
“So?”
“So? Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, becoming even more pissed off at how nonchalant he is acting. This is a big fucking deal, and he has the audacity to give the “so” bullshit.
“Don’t act like this is news to you, Emmy. We agreed not to talk about her, yet here you are, going through my shit.” He remains frozen at the door with his gym bag still slung over his shoulder.
“I knew you hated her…but Jesus, Caleb. This”—I throw a picture of the car at him—“is a whole new level of fucked up. Do you expect me to lie in bed at night while you pore over old dead ends to help you prove that Sarah screwed up? You’re delusional!” I go back to shoving papers in the bag.
“That’s mine,” he says, grabbing my wrist to halt me.
“That’s funny, Caleb. I thought I was yours.” I look into his eyes, and for a second, his mask slips. “Get your fucking hands off me. I’m throwing this shit out with the trash where it belongs.”
“No, you’re not.” Caleb leans down and starts repacking the box.
“You’re trying to prove that Sarah was responsible. Why? What good will come from this?” I beg for an answer.
“For Manda,” he says simply, pulling the trash bag from my hands.
My heart breaks at his answer, but it’s not breaking for him this time. It’s breaking because I realize that this is the moment where all our cards will finally be on the table. I have an overwhelming fear that Caleb will choose his hate for Sarah over his love for me. I take a deep breath and choose my next words very carefully.
AFTER SUCKING in a breath, Emma stops yelling and calmly begins to talk. “So you think Manda’s best friend sitting in jail will bring her back? You think that is what she would have wanted? Damn it, you are stubborn. Caleb, you have to forgive her. Don’t you think Sarah has paid enough for what may or may not
I wish I had her calm. I wish those weren’t the words she’d picked. I wish she weren’t related to Sarah at all, but I learned years ago that there is no magical genie to grant my wishes.
“No, she hasn’t paid enough!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “She should be dead, not Manda!”
Before I have a chance to utter another word, Emma rears back and slaps me.
“That’s my fucking sister.” She leans into my face, screaming, tears rolling down her face. “You’re an asshole! I get it! You hate her, but I love her! Would you rather I feel the pain from that night? Because that is essentially what you are saying.”
“It’s not the same, Emma! She’s your sister. I lost my wife!” I yell right back into her face.
Emma’s next words cut so deep that I’m not sure there is any way to repair the damage. “She wasn’t your wife!” she spits out, her chest heaving.
I can’t even begin to contain my rage. “You’re a bitch! She would have been, but your nut job of a sister killed her first!” This whole conversation has become more than just an argument, and it’s quickly spiraling past the point of no return.
“Sure, it’s all Sarah’s fault. Who the fuck leaves two drunk women alone at a bar anyway?”
I actually stumble backwards from the verbal blow. Emma’s eyes immediately go wide and she throws her hands over her mouth, but the damage has been done. She begins to apologize, but I’m officially done listening. I storm past her into my bedroom. I don’t care if it’s rational or not, but to insinuate that the car accident was my fault is the lowest blow someone could ever hit me with. And for the woman I love to throw that bullshit in my face is more than I can handle.
I grab her bag off the dresser and start shoving in her clothes as fast as I can, desperately trying to erase her from my house the same way I’m trying to erase her words from my mind.
Seconds later, I walk through the den and head straight to the front door. I yank it open and hurl all of her belonging into the front yard.
“Get out,” I calmly say in her direction.
“No.” She wipes the tears off her face
“Emma, get the fuck out of my house. I should have seen it all along. You’re no better than Sarah. We are done.”
“Caleb, please just stop for a second and listen.”
“Get the fuck out of my house. Leave!” I yell as loud as possible. The intensity in my voice has her heading for the door. And just because I need to hurt her the same way she hurt me, I say words I’ll never be able to take back. “Emma, while you are pointing the magical finger of blame, you might want to take a look in the mirror. Your sister tried to kill herself four times before you decided to get off your ass and actually try to help. Who knows? Maybe it would have only been one attempt if you had done something instead of pawning her off on Brett. Yeah, it’s obvious how much you love her.” Just as the pain of my words cross her tear-stained face, I slam the door.
I only make it a few steps before the realization of what just happened hits me. I just lost Emma. The only woman who has managed to make me feel since Manda, and now she’s gone too. I reach a hand out to balance on the wall, needing something to support me. My eyes cross the room and see a picture propped up against the wall. I have no idea where she got it from, but Emma must have found one of the frames I used to make for Manda. Inside is a picture of us smiling and laughing, and it breaks me.
I have no control as my legs carry me across the room. I grab the picture and shatter it against the wall—the very same way both of those woman did to me. First Manda, now Emma. I was only half of a man to begin with, so losing Emma should completely destroy me. But there is no way I can put my pride aside and chase her down now that I know that she blames me for the wreck. I’ve blamed myself for leaving that night for years, and Emma’s words just confirmed my guilt.
“PICK UP, pick up, pick up,” I chant into the phone as I pull out of Caleb’s driveway. As soon as I started the car, I burst into full on tears and dialed Hunter. He didn’t answer though. I know he and Alex are probably out at the bar, so I dialed Alex next.
He answers on the third ring. “Hey, hun.”
“Where’s Hunter?” I choke through my tears.
“Shit. Are you okay?”
“No. Where is he?” I hear him pull the phone away from his ear and call for Hunter.
“What’s up, sugar?” Hunter says sweetly.
“It just exploded. Really fucking huge explosion.”
“Fuck.”
“I’m coming home. Is that okay?”
“Of course. I’ll change my sheets and everything.” He tries to make a joke, but it only makes me cry harder.
“I blamed him for the wreck.”
“Oh fuck, Emma! That’s pretty harsh.”
“Then he blamed me for not being there for Sarah after her first attempt.”
“God damn. This must have been some fight. Just come home. We’ll figure it out.”
“I’m on the way to the airport now.”
“You want me to buy you a ticket? We’re just next door at Murphy’s. I can run home and do it now.”
“Could you please? I’ll be at the airport in twenty-five minutes. Oh God, Hunter. This is so fucked up.”
“Just get your ass on the plane. I’ll see you in a little bit.”
“I love you, Hunt.”
“Love you too, Em.”
NOTHING PREPARED me for the way I would I feel when I lost Emma—not even losing Manda. To know she’s just down the block going about her life—a life that no longer involves me—makes my chest ache. I keep telling myself this is just a fight and together we will move past it, but I don’t think there is any getting past this. We aren’t just on different pages with the whole Sarah thing—we are in two totally different libraries. I’ve spent days walking around lost in my thoughts, replaying that argument, her words that slayed me, and my words to punish her. It was a vicious circle of hate, pain, and guilt.
I pull into my driveway, hopeful that she will be there waiting for me. It’s been two weeks, and I would give anything to feel her right now. I fell for Emma. I told her I was ready to stand again, but I was wrong. I was nowhere near ready for this. I’m not just on my knees these days. I’m flat on my ass. It’s been two weeks without her, and the image of her face as I slammed the door that night still shreds me. But we both said words that can never be taken back or explained away.
Sitting on my front porch is a small package. It’s not unusual for my mailman to leave them there. It’s probably a drill bit or something I ordered online. I scoop it up and walk inside, dropping it with my keys on the kitchen table. I grab a beer from the fridge and prepare myself for another night alone in the workshop.
Just as I pass the package, I catch a glimpse of the sender’s name—Emma Erickson. My heart jumps to my throat, and I quickly rip it open. A small, familiar black box falls out along with a handwritten letter.
Caleb,
I couldn’t let you give this up. If you want to leave this with Manda, do it for yourself—not me. I couldn’t have that on my conscience. We both knew from the start where this would end. But I’m not sorry we tried.
Love always,
Emmy
I stare at the paper for a minute, blinking and trying to figure out how the hell Emma ended up with Manda’s ring. I think back to the night I put it there and remember Emma’s sudden departure to go home and get her camera. Fucking hell. She was planning our breakup weeks ago. We weren’t even having problems when she went and got this. Maybe she knew where this was going to end from the start, but I apparently thought it was heading somewhere completely different.
She couldn’t live with what on her conscience? The fact that I was willing to give up everything for her? I take a sip of my beer, knowing that that’s not true. I would have given up everything...except for my vendetta against Sarah. Which just so happens to be the only thing she ever asked for. God damn
I immediately grab my phone even though I’m not completely sure why.
Me: I’m coming over. We need to talk.
Emma: I moved back to Savannah. That’s a long drive.
Me: You what?
Emma: I’m moving on. You should do the same.
What the fucking hell kind of response was that? I know it pisses me right the hell off though. I grab my keys, ready to call her bluff. I stop for only a second to get an honest answer.
Me: Did Emma move back to Savannah?
Brett: Yep.
Damn! I hurl my keys across the room. I feel like a mental patient right now. I keep flipping from being pissed that it seems she was planning for this all along to just wanting her back and willing to do anything to make that happen. But no, Emma said her goodbye on a stupid piece of paper. She had the balls to lie to me and go steal something so personal from Manda’s grave but not enough to return it in person? Fuck that! My spinning wheel of emotions finally lands on asshole.
Me: I hope that works out for you. And for the record, I AM sorry we tried.
I stare at my phone for a minute, daring her to respond. But as the minutes pass, I realize that no response will come. That was it. That was the end.
I find an old bottle of scotch in my cabinet and throw back shot after shot until the burn in my throat completely disappears. I long for the numbness I have tried so desperately to get rid of over the last few years. And as the scotch begins to do its job, that familiar feeling slides over me.
I stumble to my den and not-so-gracefully flop down on the couch. I start to prop my feet on the coffee table but pause, hovering just inches above it. I love that fucking table, and not because it’s perfect. It’s not even my best work. It’s flawed. The polish would not go on smoothly no matter how hard I tried. But no, I don’t love that table for its perfections. I love it because I finished it the same night I called Emma for the very first time. I’m such a sentimental bastard. Well, Emma and I are torn to shit. It only seems fitting for this God damn table to match. I jump to my feet, flipping it over, and begin to, one by one, rip the legs off the motherfucker.