Bite & Release

by CORY CYR

  “If you need anything or you just want to talk, call me, please.”

  As I opened the front door for her, I looked at her grimly. “I need to figure out what I’m going to do if Garrison comes after me. I left a message for the lawyer telling her I need an order of protection, but he’s crazy and I doubt even that would stop him.”

  “You need to stay with Quinn and me. I don’t feel right about leaving you by yourself, and Andrew should know.”

  I slammed the door shut before she could walk out. “I’m not running away from my home. I have a security system and good locks. By tomorrow, the protection order will be in place. If he’s stupid enough to show up, then he’ll go to fucking jail. I’m tired of him chasing me, and I can’t keep running. And you can’t tell Shea. He already hates me, and if he finds out I married a man just like his father,” I shuddered and hunched my shoulders, “then he’ll always hate me.”

  As Trina opened the front door again, she turned towards me with a weak smile. “Just so you know, he hates me too.”

  Chapter THIRTY-SEVEN

  After Trina left, I went to bed. I stared into the fire as I became aware that, so far, Shea and I had horrible holiday memories. I’d only ever had two serious relationships, and although I had thought I loved Garrison at the time, it was obvious I had never known true love until Shea.

  I had married Garrison more out of the need for security. I had enough money to live comfortably when I arrived in New York, but four years later, the constant rejections and zero call backs were too much for me. I never asked my dad for money, even though I knew he would have gladly sent it, because I had too much pride to ask. Garrison came into my life right when I was at my lowest point. I was riveted by his lifestyle and the attention he showed me. At only thirty-one, he had amassed quite a bit of wealth and reputation. It took him four years to convince me to marry him, and another two to show me his true colors. If I had been smarter, I would have divorced him then, but I was convinced I could change him and we could make it work. I had already failed at so many things, and I didn’t want my marriage to be added to that list.

  When I got together with Shea, for the first time I felt truly happy, even though I wasn’t living my dream of being an actress. Three acts of fate had occurred to get me to come home. I never thought in a million years that I would find what I was looking for in the place I tried so hard to forget. One kiss from Shea had forever changed me, and now I was pretty sure it was over. I couldn’t even contemplate how to fix this. Sure, I could tell him I was too scared to tell him because I thought I’d lose him. Everything had been made worse because he knew that Trina had known, and when he found out how long she knew about my marriage he would really flip out. There was no happy ending here.

  I couldn’t sleep—all I could do was watch the fire. The monstrous bed he had picked out really made me feel the sting of being alone. I slid over to Shea’s side of the bed, scrunching up his pillow under my head. I deeply inhaled the pillow because it smelled like him. I’d never felt as alone as I did right at this moment, and I ended up tossing and turning all night—no chance of real sleep ever coming to shield me from my pain.

  When I finally got up, the embers in the fireplace had cooled and the house was cold. I quickly turned on the heat and tossed some wood into the downstairs fireplace. It was hard to believe that just last night Shea and I had been celebrating Valentine’s Day and he had asked me to marry him.

  He had really proposed. I had never expected that . . . I had thought about it, but having him actually ask me, and produce a ring, rocked me to my soul. I guess we were both taken by surprise. My stomach felt hollow and I knew it wasn’t from hunger—my other half was missing. I had meant it when I gave him the chain with a key; he owned not only my heart but also my soul.

  I picked up my cell and began punching in the numbers to Evie’s house, but at the last second, I hit End Call. I didn’t want to take a chance that he wouldn’t want to talk to me or, worse yet, that Carrie would answer. Thinking of them possibly being together left me feeling gutted. I quickly wiped the tears in my eyes as I went to make coffee.

  A little after ten, Ms. Hall, my divorce attorney, called to confirm that my order of protection was in place. I had informed her that it was almost a hundred percent probability that Garrison knew where I was. She assured me that if I did see him, it would take only one phone call and the police would come. They had been fully alerted to our history and the fact that he may come after me. I was told that if I suspected anything, I should notify the police and they would send a car to patrol my area.

  My phone chimed, making me aware of a text message. I wanted to cry, yet again, when I saw that it wasn’t from Shea.

  Trina: Just checking in. Any word from Andrew?

  Me: No you?

  Trina: Yeah I called him and got two words: ‘fuck off’

  Me: At least he’s talking to you

  Trina: Have you called him?

  Me: I started to but chickened out

  Trina: He loves you just give him time

  Me: Yeah

  Trina: Just so you know I’ll be texting you a lot. If you see the X to be call 911 ASAP

  Me: ok

  I ended the text message, tossing my phone onto the sofa. Obviously, Shea was still furious which was to be expected. As I drank my coffee, I peered outside at the white harshness of winter. As soon as the snow let up, I needed to start looking for a car.

  Once I had a car, I could find a job. Now that my secret was out, I didn’t need to wait until the divorce was final. I got my laptop and decided to look at the want ads for employment. After twenty minutes, I closed the lid to my laptop. It was too hard to concentrate on a life plan when the main piece was missing. I had already planned my new life—a life with Shea. How was I supposed to adapt to a life without him? I had already thought I’d lost him when I was told he was my brother, but this was different, because I did this—it was my entire fault.

  I flung my empty coffee cup across the room, and it crashed and broke against the kitchen wall. Goddamn, Shea! I had tried so hard to confess many times, including after we had both suffered through the testing and trauma of believing we were siblings, but he wouldn’t let me—he didn’t want to know. When he had told me he didn’t want to know, it had felt like it was the first time in months that I could actually breathe and not be worried about him finding out.

  I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I started to cry hysterically. The pain of losing him was too great. I didn’t have the will to be strong. I wanted a do-over, the chance to tell him from the very beginning, the chance to make it right.

  I was so sleep deprived from the night before that I ended up crying myself to sleep. When I woke up on the sofa, it was nearly three o’clock. I still felt exhausted. I checked my phone to see if Shea had called or texted. I knew he hadn’t but I had still hoped. I padded upstairs to the bathroom, deciding to take a bath. As I began filling the tub, I remembered not that long ago the bath Shea and I had taken, shivering with delicious memories. Steam filled the room as I stepped into the bath, sliding down until only my head was barely above the water. As I bathed, my quiet sobs echoed off the walls. Somehow, I had to pull myself together. Yes, I hoped—no, prayed—that he would come back and we could work this out. But I had to be prepared for the real possibility that I wouldn’t be forgiven. I couldn’t just sit in this house and cease to exist.

  I had survived going to New York by myself, not fulfilling my dream, being married to an abusive jerk, and losing my father. Somehow, I would get through this. I didn’t have a choice—I had too.

  Chapter THIRTY-EIGHT

  All the days seemed to bleed together in the next three weeks. I gradually got into a routine. Slept, drank coffee, cried, slept and occasionally I’d throw in a bath and maybe some food. During the first week of March, some of the snow was starting to melt and the temperature actually soared above twenty-five degrees. That, in itself, lifted my spirits—somewha
t. It still was below freezing, but somehow the day seemed brighter.

  It was the perfect opportunity to go car shopping. I had printed off several pages of cars for sale. Trina picked me up and we headed to the first car dealer. Seven tests drives and four dealers later, I finally settled on a Toyota FJ Cruiser. It was two years old, had low mileage, lots of extras, and would be perfect for the rough Alaskan weather. Twenty eight thousand dollars later, I was driving my car home with Trina following behind. I had never owned a car, so this actually felt like an accomplishment. Of course, that feeling was short lived because Shea wasn’t at the house to share it with.

  I pulled my car into the garage, getting out and waiting for Trina who was right behind me. She put her Corvette in park then joined me in the garage.

  “So, how’s it feel to own your first car?” she said, laughing as we watched the automatic garage door close.

  I started towards the door to the hallway with her on my heels.

  “Thirty-four years old and my actual first car, geesh,” I mumbled as we turned the corner into the living room.

  Trina began unbuttoning her coat. “Better late than never. I like it, it suits you.”

  “Yeah, I like it too. At least it’s practical.” I walked into the kitchen, planning to turn on the coffee maker. “Now I need to find a job. Fuck!” I said loudly as I twisted my ponytail around my hand. “Jesus, I had hoped my bucket list would have some really cool shit on it . . . instead it has ‘buy your first car’ and ‘get a real job.’” I had no doubt I sounded frustrated as I stared at the coffee maker. Impatience finally won and I poured two cups of lukewarm coffee into cups and set them in the microwave. Once they were hot and steaming, I took them out and strolled back into the living room, handing one to Trina as I sat down next to her.

  “How’s Shea?” I asked as I took a sip of my coffee. Trina never brought him up unless I asked. I’m sure it was done with best intentions but I needed to know he was doing okay.

  “He still won’t talk to me—but he talks to Quinn. I guess he’s decided to live permanently in our mom’s house. She seems happy where she’s at and he needs a place.” I watched as Trina cringed, she was obvious very uncomfortable, “He just thought it would be better than trying to put it on the market and—”

  I stopped her. “Trina, it’s alright. I mean, he has to live somewhere.” Even if it’s right up the street.

  Not that I wanted an honest answer, but I had to know. “Are Shea and . . . Carrie . . . together?” I asked, nearly choking on my words. Did I really want to know if Shea was fucking Carrie?

  She shook her head adamantly, as the words tumbled out of her mouth. “No way, I think she’s just pretending to be a consoling friend. She comes over, brings him occasional baked goods, and calls him a lot on the phone. Of course the only reason I’m aware of any of this is because Andrew confides in Quinn,” Trina said, rolling her eyes. “Personally, I think she’s trying to manipulate my brother. Whatever . . . he’ll eventually realize what she’s really after and when he does she’ll be booted out on her ass—once again.” Trina swallowed as she set her coffee cup down. “What you two had . . . you don’t get over that in a few weeks.”

  I leaned into the sofa, closing my eyes, wishing that all of this were just a nightmare. I missed him so much that it made the hours of the day drag on and on.

  Trina got up and took something out of her coat pocket. “Here, this is from Quinn,” she said as she handed me a business card. “I know you have plenty of money now, but at some point it’ll run out and you’ll need a job plus you need something to do with your time, you can’t just sit in the house forever. I think it’s the perfect position for you. I mean, it’s not acting, but it’s kind of in the same area, in a roundabout way.”

  The business card read Christoff E & P. The Art of Etiquette and Poise, Helping you create a Better you! Beneath was the address and phone number. On the back of the card, it said “Friday 1:00 p.m.” As I rotated the card around my fingers, I stared at Trina.

  “Etiquette . . . really,” I commented dryly. Trina had to kidding.

  “Um . . . actually, you’d be the receptionist. Now, before you get all insulted, just hear me out.” I arched one of my eyebrows, motioning for her to continue. “Renee Christoff is a client of Quinn’s at the bank. She’s really nice and very interested in meeting you.”

  I waved my hand in front of Trina’s face. “Exactly why would she be interested in me?”

  “Well . . . Quinn showed her one of your old print ads.” I just glared at Trina and shrugged.

  “Anyway, they need someone up front who looks, well, modelesque and sophisticated.”

  I snickered. “Trina, I’m short and I’m almost thirty five. I don’t think I look very modelesque, and fuck, do I sound like I have ‘etiquette’?” I choked on a laugh as I looked down at my old jeans and my even rattier sweater. Frankly, I had let myself go. When Shea left me, I’m pretty sure he took any etiquette I may have had with him.

  “Well, think of this as a charm school with benefits,” she laughed back at me. “You’re gorgeous and you’ll need a job eventually. You need to do something, because you certainly can’t just stay in this house and wallow. I’m not saying you have to keep the job forever, but for right now, at least it would get you out of the house. But for God’s sake, watch your mouth—if they hear that trash talk, you’ll be booted out before you have a chance to learn something.”

  “Very fucking funny, I think I’m a little too old to be taught charm and poise, but I’m quite sure I can handle a receptionist job . . . I mean, I did that at Protected Paws.”

  Trina was right. I did need to get out of the house, and Quinn did set this up. I should at least go to the interview and check it out. I mean it’s wasn’t written in stone that I had to take this job. I pocketed the business card as Trina and I said our goodbyes.

  I had the rest of today and tomorrow to go through my closet and decide if I had any clothes that screamed charm and poise. Honestly, if my friends in New York heard about this they would shit, and even my dad, wherever he was, was probably thinking what the fuck? I decided to wear the one professional outfit I owned, a pair of dark brown tweed tailored pants, which had a matching short jacket. I chose a navy blue blouse with tiny pearl accents to go with it. The pants were a little long so I could wear my boots, which added the extra height. I would wear minimal make-up and wear my hair in a French twist. Even though I had gone to hundreds of auditions, just the thought of going to an actual job interview was making me queasy. But I needed to do this. Staying home was too much, and between the memories of my dad and Shea, I felt like a prisoner of my own emotions.

  *****

  I pulled up to the Christoff Agency ten minutes before my interview. I quickly checked my make-up before I exited my car. I shrugged off my heavy coat and folded it across my arm with my purse as I entered the lobby.

  It looked like any other office building from the outside. The inside front lobby was amazing. Warm colors of pale pink and bright yellow accented the walls. An overstuffed vintage pink sofa with matching chairs sat across from the receptionist area. The walls were heavily embellished with colorful art and framed quotes of inspiration. Potted plants as well as vases of flowers decorated the floors of black marble as well as the end tables next to the sofa. It appeared to be a fun and inviting place for kids. A young woman was positioned at a large black desk and answering the phones. She ended her call and smiled.

  “Welcome to Christoff Agency, how can I help you?”

  “I have an appointment at one with Renee Christoff,” I said, fiddling with my hair, which I always did out of nervousness.

  She looked down at her appointment book. “Ah, Miss Chase, Renee will be right out.”

  Just then, I saw an older woman and a very attractive man walking towards me.

  “You must be Ryan Chase. I’m Renee Christoff,” she said, taking my hand. Renee Christoff spoke with a slight French accent, an
d she looked like she was in her late fifties or early sixties. I could tell that she had been quite attractive when she was younger. Even though her face had lines and some wrinkles, she still had an aura of grace and beauty. I could tell her dress was couturier because it appeared to have been made specifically to accentuate every single curve of her body. Her blond hair was neatly coiffed and her make-up was impeccable. The man beside her appeared to be slightly older and dressed in a designer suit, distinguished, and handsome.

  “This is my husband, Andre,” she said as he also took my hand. “Come, we’ll go into my office and talk.” She stopped short and turned to look at her husband. “Andre, go check on Jennifer and Sherry, please. Make sure they have the correct schedule to meet with the new class coming in,” Renee said as she handed him a clipboard filled with papers.

  “Anything else, my dear?” he said, smiling as he lazily grazed his wife’s arm.

  “Dinner at six with the Jamesons—do not forget,” she said, as he returned her look with a kiss on her hand.

  “I never forget,” he uttered, smiling, walking away.

  Renee prompted me to follow her. “Ah, men, they always forget everything, and it seems our main job is to remind them.” She laughed.

  I smiled as I followed her into a very fashionable office.

  “Please sit,” she said invitingly, pulling out a chair and gesturing me to sit. I sat down as she seated herself in the oversized desk chair. “The photo I was shown doesn’t do you justice, Ryan. I think you’ll fit in here very well.”

  “Um, maybe you could tell me about the job. Your business card says you teach etiquette and poise. Can you give me more specifics, because I thought ‘charm schools’ were kind of ‘old school.’”

  Renee chuckled. “Yes, we are different, no doubt . . . especially here in Fairbanks. I’m sure you’re curious as to why we chose Alaska to start this type of a business.” She came around and sat on the edge of her desk. “My husband had family here years ago and I very much enjoyed our many visits, and as peculiar as it may seem I enjoy the colder weather. Andre and I had talked about doing this type of work years ago, but our own careers took center stage, mine with a modeling career and him working in investment trades, which is how we became acquainted with Quinn. When we retired here, it became obvious after a few years that being idle was something that neither of us enjoyed, so we chose to pursue a dream we had talked about for years. I had also lost a much younger sister due to anorexia, among other issues. I have always believed that most young girls, regardless of the era, have esteem issues. They are inundated with magazines, movies, and social media—all telling them they need to look or act a certain way in order to have the wonderful life they dream about. Quite a few of my girls that went to my classes have gone on to be successful print ad models, as well as doing some television commercials. One of them, Francine, is seventeen now and doing plus-size ads for a large clothing store chain. We never promise stardom or financial success. We try to be here to instill self-worth and determination, regardless of their dream, to let them know that anything is possible if they believe in themselves. Many of the girls here just want to be better and they want to improve themselves. We turn away no one and we teach acceptance, not only for the student, but also to pass on that knowledge to someone else who might need it. Regardless of what they want to strive for in their lives, we do whatever we can for them to achieve their goals. We have two licensed psychologists on staff, but mainly we teach classes in etiquette, clothing, make-up application, body image . . . we try to be a solid support system for them. Anything they have concerns or fears about we attempt to address and help them with their issues.” She handed me a brochure.