Stolen Course(88)

“I’ve lived with that guilt for years. I’ve tried to kill myself more times than anyone even knows. I’ve been burdened with the blame of this entire incident for entirely too long. I’ve lived it, owned it, and most recently moved on from it. I will be damned if I will sit by and watch you be publicly stoned for this. I’ve been there and done that. It fucking sucks. Just let it go. Please. You don’t want to open this back up.”

“I’m sorry.” Casey again chokes on a sob.

“You still taking pills?” Sarah asks rationally, and I might even say levelheadedly.

“No! I swear. I had a problem for years before that night, and exactly one week after the accident, I checked myself into rehab in Ohio. It’s been a long road of bouncing back and forth between sobriety, but I’ve been sober for three years and four months now. I’m done with that shit.”

“Good. Then you’ve done your time. I’ve already been crucified. I won’t let the same thing happen to you.”

“Stop being nice!” Casey shrieks. “I kept this shit from you for almost six years. Hit me. Hate me. Berate me. Do something. But don’t fucking be nice! I killed her. I fucking killed Manda! Hate. Me!”

I feel him long before I see him. An arctic breeze flows through the air just before his voice slides across the room.

“You did what?” Caleb asks, suddenly standing in the door way with a fire brewing in his eyes.





WHAT THE fuck is going on? I came up to the door and heard a woman screaming. Luckily it was unlocked or I would have torn the damn thing off the hinges to get to Emma. When I walk in, before I can fully assess the situation, Casey says words that cause my heart to still.

“I fucking killed Manda. Hate. Me!”

My eyes fly around the room trying to put the pieces together to somehow form a coherent thought. I can’t see Casey’s face, but I have no doubt it probably matches the tear-stained cheeks of Sarah and Emma.

“You did what?” I ask, and it’s like a kindergartner with a globe gave the world one big spin. The room morphs into chaos. Sarah rushes over and stands in front of Casey, blocking her from me as if I were a madman who just broke into the house.

“No!” she shouts, pushing Casey completely behind her—shielding her with her body.

Emma comes running up and starts talking quietly into my face, but I swear I can’t focus on her. My mind is reeling, but I can’t quite connect the dots.

“Make him leave!” Sarah screams at Emma.

For just a split second, all the women go silent. Or maybe my ears just seek out the words I’ve longed to hear among the voices.

Casey whispers, “I was driving. It’s all my fault.”

“What the fuck is she talking about?” I ask Emma, not dragging my eyes from Sarah, who is still protecting Casey. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I finally roar into the room.

“We need to talk, babe,” Emma says, pushing me toward the door, but I hold my ground.

“Someone start talking, and for fuck’s sake, make some God damn sense.”

“I remember the accident,” Sarah rushes out frantically. “You were right. I was drunk. It was all my fault. Casey was just trying to protect me.”

“Sarah!” the girls shout at the same time.

“I did it. Now please leave,” Sarah says nervously.

“You’re lying.”

“Come on, Caleb. Let’s get out of here.” Emma once again tries to drag me away.

But I only take a step closer. I want to get a look a Casey and see if I can get a read on the situation. Why the hell would she say that she killed her? Casey wasn’t even there the night of the wreck.

I push down my anger, knowing that it will get me nowhere. I ignore Emma’s pleading and Sarah’s demands and begin talking to the only woman in the room who can give me the answers right now.

“What’s going on, Case?” I ask quietly.

“No, don’t talk to her. Get out!” Sarah acts like a mama bear herding her cub, but finally Casey turns and looks me right in the eye.

The pain on her face knocks me back a step. I haven’t seen something this bad since the night I carried Sarah out of Jesse’s apartment. It’s the look people get when they know there is no going back.

“Just talk. Tell me what’s really going on,” I say gently, but the inferno is burning inside me.

“I was driving that night. I was high and I killed Manda.” I can barely make out her words over her chokes.

“No, you didn’t,” I breathe, rejecting her confession.

My eyes slide to Emma, who is crying and nervously sliding her hair into a ponytail. I figured she would be all in my face, but I think even she knows that I need the space.