Stolen Course (Wrecked and Ruined #2)

“Hey, love.” I walk up to Manda’s grave and settle into my usual position next to her headstone.

I take the small black velvet box out of my jacket pocket and rest it on the ground next to me. My fingers glide over the indention of her name. I hate this fucking headstone, and not just because it has the date signifying the end of her life. I hate it because it says ‘Manda Baker.’ No matter how many times I see it, it always burns.

Manda and I had a very tumultuous relationship. She was feisty as hell, always giving me shit about something. For the first year of our relationship, I swear we broke up biweekly. She’d storm out of my house and go back to her place. We wouldn’t speak for a full day, but one of us always gave in. We couldn’t stay away from each other. I showed up at her apartment more times than I care to admit with an apology, a.k.a. sushi and wine. When it was her turn to apologize, she always brought burgers and beer. The food was usually always cold and the alcohol always warm because the minute the door opened we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.

This on-again-off-again process worked for about two years. Then one night on my way to pick up the customary sushi, after a two-day breakup, I finally broke. I was done with the bullshit games. I wanted to settle down and start a real life together. I was sick of the back-and-forth. We both knew we were in this for the long haul, even if we did fight like cats and dogs. Manda was my life, and I was more than ready for it to begin.

That night, I took a detour, and instead of sushi and wine, I showed up with a diamond ring.





“WILL YOU marry me?” I ask, kneeling on her front steps just as she pulls open the front door.

“Um, no,” she says shortly, staring down at me in disbelief.

“What do you mean, no? I’m not joking. This is serious, Manda. Marry me!” I give up on asking and start telling her.

“Yeah, still no,” she says as she turns around and walks into her apartment, leaving the door open behind her.

“I just proposed to you!” I shout.

“And I said no. You didn’t even bring any wine.” She frowns then gives me a smile and wink.

“Are you fucking with me here? I brought you an engagement ring and you’re pissed I didn’t bring wine? Manda, I am very, very fucking serious about this. So please, if you are joking, stop.”

“I’m not joking!” she yells at me.

“Manda, I love you. I’m sick of this on-again-off-again game that we play. I don’t want to do this with you for the rest of my life. I want more—I want you.”

“Caleb, we can’t get married,” she sadly whispers, suddenly becoming serious.

“Why not? I have a ring. I have you. I don’t need anything else.”

“We fight all the time! What kind of marriage is that going to be?”

“We fight. So what?” I let out a loud frustrated groan. What I hoped would be some fucking magical moment has turned into the shittiest proposal known to man. I’m standing here, yelling at her to marry me. I take a deep breath and try to calm myself down. “Look, I’m sorry. I have no idea what we were even fighting about the other night, but I’m sorry.” I roughly run my hands through my hair.

“I’m not mad about that anymore.”

“Then come here, beautiful.”

She shakes her head, but I can see her resolve start to slip. I storm across the room and pull her into my arms.

“What if we get a divorce?” she asks, and it makes me stumble.

“Is that what you’re scared of—a divorce?”

“No, I’m scared that if we get married things will change. Then we will get a divorce, and then I’ll lose you forever. At least the way things are now, I know you’ll always come back.”

“Manda, I want to spend the rest of my life with you. We can make crazy little redheaded baby girls who are sure to land me in jail for killing their high school boyfriends. I want to grow old and wrinkly with you.”

“I’ll never get wrinkly,” she interjects, but I just keep talking.

“I know we fight, but it’s always about stupid shit. We are two stubborn people. We’re always going to argue. But this, right here, is what I don’t want anymore. I don’t want you to disappear for a few days every time we disagree about something. I want you to get pissed and march your hot little ass back to our bedroom and pout for however long you would like.”

She starts laughing and pinches my stomach.

“Manda…” I pull away and place a kiss to her lips. “I’ll apologize with sushi and wine every night for the rest of my life if that is what it takes. I just want to be with you, fighting and all.”

“You want to move in together, too?”

“I’ve heard most married couples live together, but I could be wrong. I’ve never really done this before,” I say playfully.

“No, jerk. I mean like…you want to live together now?”

“Say the word and I’ll start packing your bags tonight.” I squeeze her tighter, and she quickly melts into my body.