Stolen Course (Wrecked and Ruined #2)(49)

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 f*cking kidding me?” I ask, becoming even more pissed off at how nonchalant he is acting. This is a big f*cking 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 f*cked 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 f*cking 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 have happened that night?”

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 f*cking sister.” She leans into my face, screaming, tears rolling down her face. “You’re an *! 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 f*ck 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.