Bite & Release

by CORY CYR

  “Your mom is still down the street, right?” I asked Trina, as I grabbed my stuff out of the car. The houses and the yards were so large that there were only five houses on my street. Trina’s mom’s house was the closest to my dad’s house, yet it still required driving to get to it. When Trina and I had been in high school, she had loved to run. She always used the opportunity to get in a mile of running when she came over; otherwise, most of us used golf carts to get to each other’s homes.

  “You bet, which reminds me . . . after the grave site service tomorrow, my mom plans to have the wake at her house.” Trina sighed and shook her head, leaning against the car. “Well, my mom’s version of a wake, if that’s okay?”

  “Really, she didn’t have to do that, I could have probably gotten something together here afterwards,” I replied.

  Trina bent her head, still leaning against the car. “I don’t think your house is any shape for company right now.” Trina folded her arms. “I guess when your dad got sick, he let a lot of things go. Besides, I knew you wouldn’t have time to get anything together,” she muttered, a pinched expression taking over her features.

  Now I knew why the yard looked unkempt. I wondered what the inside looked like.

  “My mom wanted to do this—she really liked your dad. He was always great to me and really sweet to my brother, and I guess he helped her out quite a bit when my father finally kicked,” Trina explained.

  Her voice held bitterness, and I couldn’t blame her. Trina’s father had been a really mean drunk. He beat the hell out of Trina’s mom, but I still didn’t know about Trina and her brother. I honestly felt that it wasn’t my business. Besides, he was dead and gone now.

  “How’s Shea?” I asked. Not that I actually wanted to know about the little monster, just wanted to make any conversation to get away from the dad is dead topic.

  “My baby brother, Andrew?” Trina chuckled. “Oh my God, after you bailed, no one was ever allowed to call him ‘Shea,’ only Andrew.” She rolled her eyes. “You do know you broke my baby brother’s heart? I mean, smashed it to pieces.” Trina was grinning like the Cheshire cat.

  “Fuck,” I replied, semi-amused. “He was eight years-old, so fuck off. I’m sure he’s over me by now. How is the devil’s spawn?”

  “Believe it or not, the little shit graduated high school at sixteen and decided he wanted to be a vet tech. Can you believe that? Anyway, he’s been taking night courses at a veterinary college and he’s been apprenticing with Dr. Hansen at Protected Paws for the last year.” Trina grabbed my bags off the ground and started towards the front door of the house.

  “Kind of shocking, considering what a little terror he was. He’s actually helping animals? I thought for sure he’d end up a serial killer, torturing God knows what,” I snickered as I rolled my eyes. Shea had been a handful, to be honest, and his acting out had most likely been a by-product of his drunk, abusive father.

  “He was eight, remember? Kind of hard to tell how anyone will turn out at that age. Look at you—you were twenty-one when you left, and look how well you turned out.” Trina laughed and smirked at me.

  “Ouch. Wow . . . Bitch much?” I said, sticking my middle finger in the air and grabbing my suitcases with my other hand from Trina.

  “I’m kind of proud of my little brother. His childhood was less than model, considering the hell our father put all of us through, and regardless, both of us turned out okay,” she declared, as her eyes glimmered with admiration.

  “I don’t know about Shea . . . Andrew, but as for you, I’ll save my opinion for later after I meet this fiancé of yours.” My eyes flashed with humor.

  “You’ll love him, but hopefully not as much as I do,” Trina remarked as she arched her brow, “Quinn and I live a few blocks away. Andrew lives across town. If you need anything, go over to my mom’s . . . she knows you’re home,” Trina called out as she got back into her Honda.

  I cringed and shouted at her as she began to pull out of the driveway. “Will you stop reminding me I’m home, here in fucking Alaska? I know I’m back, but I’m still trying to pretend that it’s a dream—and not a fucking nightmare!”

  Chapter THREE

  I had expected the condition of the house to be extremely run down after what Trina had said. The inside was dusty and the air was stale, but it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I opened the blinds and the windows, letting air and light into the living room. A dark gray carpet covered the room, complementing the light gray walls. A large, three-piece sectional sofa in a soft blue filled one wall. There was a dark stained wood coffee table with matching end tables that coordinated with the sectional.

  The only piece of furniture I even recognized was my dad’s rocking chair, which was snugly tucked into one corner. Next to the chair sat the table he used for reading the newspaper and the mail. The large stone fireplace didn’t look like it had been used in a very long time. It looked too clean. The entire house had central heat, so I was fairly certain my dad had built the living room fireplace for my mom. I remembered many Christmases when I was young, sitting by that fireplace. Back then, I thought it was cool, but now I was praying it still worked for the upcoming cold months.

  I threw my bags down and went to sneak a peek in the kitchen. I cracked the refrigerator door open, expecting the worst. God bless Trina’s mom . . . the inside of the refrigerator was sparkling clean and empty except for two bottles of water, a bottle of wine, and a box of baking soda. I leaned against the fridge, taking in the kitchen. I had always loved this kitchen, even though this was where my dad and I had always argued; it would start here and end up with me slamming my bedroom door in his face. It looked the same, like a photograph frozen in time, as if nothing had changed.

  I walked back into the living room, grabbed my suitcases off the floor and headed upstairs to my old room. My father had originally built the second floor loft for him and my mom, but when I turned thirteen, he let me have the entire loft and he took the downstairs, which had two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a room for his office. I had always loved my loft bedroom and its bathroom. I wondered if it still had the claw foot tub.

  “Holy shit,” I said under my breath as I peered into my room. It was exactly as I had left it. The room was gigantic—they didn’t even make fancy apartments in New York this big. My sleigh bed still sat in the corner of the room, against the wall under the bay windows. The fireplace hadn’t been touched in thirteen years and, of course, it was filthy. But the rest . . . I could still see posters of bands I used to love, taped carefully on the walls so my dad wouldn’t yell at me about leaving marks, photographs of old boyfriends I had, and the clothes I left behind, strewn everywhere, that I would never, ever, wear again.

  Then again, all fashion came back, so maybe twenty years from now, these clothes would be the height of style again. Snorting at that thought, my internal voice was begging to kill me now.

  I quickly poked my head into the bathroom. Ah, there it sat . . . my wonderfully inviting claw foot tub, along with a walk-in shower. Mrs. Michaels must have cleaned my bathroom as well because it looked pretty tidy.

  I went downstairs and found some clean sheets in the hall linen closet. Running back upstairs, I stripped the bed and put on fresh sheets, if nothing else, because I needed somewhere to sleep. I was so tired. I was going to have to go through each room, and it was going to be a slow and painful work in progress. After I made my bed, I went to my dad’s room. I pushed his door open, finding the room antiseptically clean and in meticulous order. I sat on the bed and looked around, seeing dozens of photos of myself and quite a few of me and my dad together, in happier times. He even had framed the two magazine advertisements I had done, one for soap and one for lipstick. Evidently, my dad had been proud of me, but he had kept his feelings a secret. Tears began to well in my eyes as I stared around the room and relived moments of the past.

  “Oh, Daddy,” I whispered, wondering why he never called to tell me he was sick. It might have made a differ
ence and I would have come home. Of course, I should have called him, but being a failure destroyed my pride, and knowing he’d been right about everything had kept me from doing it. Now it was too late and my dad was dead, along with my pitiful career and sham marriage. It was almost a godsend that my dad was dead, because if he knew how badly I messed up my life, then that alone would have killed him. Better a heart attack to cause his death than me. I had fucked up in a big way, and having to come back here would serve as my purgatory.

  Chapter FOUR

  “You ready?” Trina yelled, as she came barreling in the front door, fiancé in tow. I came downstairs, clasping an earring to the back of my earlobe. I was actually wearing a long sleeved black dress I found in the back of my closet. It was at least fifteen years old and way too short—at least too short for a funeral. Unfortunately, I hadn’t had time to shop or take anything from my really nice wardrobe when I snuck out of New York, so at this point I was glad I even had a funeral dress. When the opportunity to leave New York came, I had only enough time to grab a few items, clean out my private bank account, and buy a pay-as-you-go phone before I ran. I had no intention of making it easy for Garrison to find me. He knew how much I hated Alaska, so maybe he’d never look here.

  Trina’s man was nice looking in a GQ kind of way. Blond hair, dark eyes and nicely dressed. He looked like a banker—a hot banker.

  “Ryan, this is Quinn, my fiancé.” Trina had her arm linked through his, and her hand latched onto his jacket sleeve, as if she was marking her territory. He clearly belonged to her. I didn’t mean to, but a slight cackle slipped out of my mouth because I knew that Trina thought I’d charm the pants off of him, literally. I had never done anything to Trina in the past to warrant her territorial behavior, but women in general seemed to fear me because of the way I looked or the way my ample boobs bounced. Regardless, it was not my style to steal other women’s men, and there was such a thing as a “girlfriend code.” I didn’t want a man anyway—just some hot and nameless sex, and definitely no strings. Eight months without a penis was a record for me. Okay, so the last five years it had just been Garrison’s penis, and even as distasteful and minimal as it was, at least it had resembled having sex.

  I frowned at the aimless turn of my thoughts. My day just got way more depressing by thinking about being back in Alaska, getting a divorce, being sexless and . . . oh yeah . . . my dad’s funeral. Could this day get any worse?

  “Hello, Ryan. I’m sorry we have to meet under such sad circumstances,” Quinn said solemnly. I shook his hand quickly. I sent Trina the look that meant she chose well and that he was a keeper. Trina smiled. They appeared to be very much in love, and it made me want to gag. Loudly.

  “Well, I think it’s time. Shall we go, ladies?” Quinn asked, looking to Trina then to me. I grabbed my small black purse and checked my outfit one last time.

  As we drove into the cemetery, I saw at least thirty people hovered by the grave. I was surprised, since my dad never seemed to be a “people” person. Maybe he became one after I left. Once we parked, Trina took my hand as we walked towards the gravesite. Quinn was on Trina’s other side, holding her elbow.

  “You know, if you want some alone time with your dad . . . ,” Trina said in a soft voice.

  “No,” I managed to croak out as I cut her off. It all became suddenly very real to me. I’m sure many of the people there thought of me as the horrible daughter for not coming back in her dad’s final days. I felt very flushed and nervous. I’m sure Trina could feel my hand shaking. She gripped my hand tighter as she touched her forehead into mine.

  “It’ll be okay, just take a deep breath. I’m here . . . lean on me and Quinn,” she murmured, motioning to Quinn to go on my other side. He held his arm out and I took it, using my eyes to acknowledge my appreciation.

  I kind of phased out as the minister began talking. When he was done, I heard soft crying, saw sad faces, and received lots of disapproving, and outright, stares directed towards me. I stood between Quinn and Trina and watched as people I hardly remembered tossed roses on my dad’s coffin. Directly across from me stood a towering man in a sharply cut suit, with amazing bone structure and sensual thick lips, short dark hair and stubble on his chin. I wished I could have seen his eyes, but he wore dark sunglasses. I didn’t recognize him, yet he felt oddly familiar. He nodded his head towards me, which caused a slight shiver of intrigue to course through my body.

  “Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry about your dad,” Trina’s mom lamented, almost squeezing me into unconsciousness. “Such a good man, and so kind . . . I’m going to miss him so much.” Her eyes looked puffy and red as if she had been crying for a long while and her breath smelled a little like vodka. I wished she had shared.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Michaels, for everything you did for him,” I replied, trying to put a little distance between us so I could breathe.

  “Sweetie, call me Evie, not Mrs. Michaels. I haven’t been a Mrs. in a very long time.”

  I smiled weakly. I really just wanted to get the fuck out of here.

  “Now Ryan, everyone is coming over to my home for the wake. Please come, I want you there,” Evie exclaimed as she patted my hand. Judging from the warm reception during the service, I was pretty sure that there would only be a few people who wanted me at the wake. I nodded, shooting a glance at Trina that screamed get me out of here, please! I paused briefly, picking up a white rose and tossing it on the coffin.

  “Goodbye, Daddy,” I whispered. I put on my sunglasses and walked in-between Trina and Quinn as we headed towards Quinn’s car. Next stop . . . a wake, a celebration of life. Did my dad have a life worth celebrating? Had he known any happiness? It was obvious people had loved him and cared about him. I wonder if he knew I’d been one of them. I just had never told him.

  Chapter FIVE

  Cars were lined up on both sides of the street as we got to Trina’s mom’s house. Someone had reserved a spot for Quinn’s car in the driveway. I really didn’t want to be here. Not only was it depressing but also stressful. I thought now that my dad was dead, the judgments would have stopped, but, oh hell no, the friends he left behind had taken up his cause. I could tell as I walked into the room because the air felt thick with criticism. If I was going to survive this day and these people, I needed alcohol.

  “T, I need a drink, a stiff one—now. Please,” I murmured to Trina, nudging her with my elbow, pleading with my eyes.

  “I’m sure my mom has some vodka stashed in the freezer. Stay here and I’ll check.”

  “Fuck, don’t leave me alone,” I said in a low voice. Trina had no reaction, but Quinn’s eyebrow shot up and he looked at me like he’d never heard the word “fuck” before.

  “Quinn, stay with her,” Trina said softly, chuckling. “Oh, and honey, ignore the F bombs—it’s what she learned in New York.”

  “Whatever,” I growled, giving her a dirty look. Quinn put his arm through mine as he patted my hand. “Sorry about my mouth, sometimes I forget how prim and proper this fu—this place is.” I said to Quinn, who smiled slightly at my obvious correction.

  “You’re entitled to be upset, and it’s not like I’ve never heard that word,” he mused. “I just have never heard it coming out of such a beautiful mouth.”

  Hey, did he just flirt with me? What the fuck? Pretty mouth, my ass! Trina’s my girl, and this guy was supposed to be her prince. I swear all men are all pigs. I pulled my arm from his and backed away. Quinn looked at me, confusion blanketing his face when I gave him a look that frankly should have turned him to ash. Suddenly it dawned on him and he moved in closer, clearing his throat.

  “What I said before? I think you may have misconstrued what I meant,” Quinn clarified in a very serious tone as his fingers tried to loosen his tie. He looked embarrassed and his lips were pressed together.

  “Oh, I don’t think I did. You better believe me when I tell you, if you fuck over my girl, I will use your balls for fish bait.” I stared him down.

/>   “I love Trina. I love her with all my heart. I’m in love, but I’m not blind. There aren’t too many women in this city who look like you. It was a compliment, not a pick up line. I swear!” Quinn spoke, flustered with the situation he inadvertently put himself in.

  Just then, Trina walked back in with a dark green plastic cup that she handed to me. “It’s straight vodka and ice. What’d I miss?” Trina whispered, looking at both Quinn and me.

  “Oh Jesus, bless you,” I said, taking a huge sip, feeling the warmth travel from my throat to my belly. Yes, a few of these would make me feel so much better. As I took another sip, I saw the same sharply dressed man from the grave site, and he still had his sunglasses on. He stood across the room, leaning up against the far wall, watching me as he was being mauled by a very pretty blond. Surprisingly, he seemed oblivious to her attention.

  The way he kept looking in my direction at me was unnerving. Damn, I wish I could see his eyes. Please, hot guy, take off those sunglasses. Now, here at the wake, I was able to get a more detailed look, and he was definitely sexy, extremely tall and lean, but not bulky like a body builder. I would have definitely wagered that he was hiding a nice body under that suit, and with the short dark hair that slightly curled up at the ends, those dimples and his perfect skin? This guy could absolutely model. What the hell was he doing in Fairbanks, at my dad’s wake? What the hell was I doing? I just came from my dad’s funeral, and I was stalking a hot guy?

  My girlfriends in New York would have already told me to take him somewhere private and climb him like a tree. My raging libido must have awakened from the combination of grief, not being laid in eight months, and tasty vodka . . . that had to be it. Truth be told, I had not actually been thoroughly fucked in five years.