Stolen Course (Wrecked and Ruined #2)(51)

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 it!

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 f*cking 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 *.

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 f*cking 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 motherf*cker.

“I’m usually the one who breaks shit.”

My eyes fly to the door to see Brett standing in the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout, trying to catch my breath from the exertion of destroying the table and the surprise of someone standing in my house.

“You should lock your door.” He turns to walk toward the kitchen.

“Right. I’ll be sure to jump right on that. Now, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I brought you some scotch, but it seems you already found the emergency stash.” He grabs a beer out of the fridge and turns back to me. “So what’s going on?”

“I thought you didn’t want to be involved?” I say, leaning up against the doorway to keep myself from swaying.

“I don’t. But Jesse was threatening to withhold sex if I didn’t come over here and talk to you. I’d really like to get her naked, so if you could hurry up and spill it so I can get home, that would be great.” He tips the beer up to his lips.

“She left.”

“Knew that two weeks ago.” He walks past me to the den.

“She found out I was still actively investigating the accident,” I rush out, grabbing his beer from his hand and draining it.

“Jesus Christ, you’re still doing that?”

“Never stopped.” I look down to find a place to put the empty bottle but only find splintered wood covering the floor. I drop the bottle into the pile of scraps where a coffee table used to sit and head back to the kitchen to grab the bottle Brett brought over.

“The table?” he yells.

“Reminded me of her.”

“Gotcha.”

“So yeah. That’s it. You can go tell Jesse we talked. I’m fine. Go home and get some.” I try to force him to leave, but Brett only leans back, crossing his legs knee to ankle.

“Do I need to plan to work doubles for when you call out and rush to Savannah and try to caveman-style drag her back?”

“I don’t think so. She told me tonight that she’s moving on. It f*cking sucks, but I think she’s right.”

“You think she’s right or you don’t know how to fix this?”

“Could you f*cking leave now?” I ask, avoiding the question.

“Nope. Put something on the TV. If I go home now, Jesse will never believe we talked. She’ll just send my ass right back over here—or worse, come herself.”

“Oh God, I can’t handle the Jesse inquisition tonight.”