by Briana Cole
“Took a little longer than I anticipated,” she went on. “But, hey. I’m a very patient person. I knew it was only a matter of time.”
“Wait.” Dorian shook his head trying to clear his jumbled thoughts. “So, you got me mixed up with the police so you could get money?”
“Dorian, I took you up on your hall pass so I could get money,” Reagan clarified. “These past few months were all part of the plan. Your stubborn ass just took too damn long.”
“But the suicide attempt, the whole affair, everything?”
Reagan nodded and rose. “Hard to believe, I know,” she said, her voice laced with pity. “But no, sweetie. I’ve never had feelings for you. I just needed some money. I told you before, I have to move around a lot. Well . . . to make a long story short, I fucked some high-profile guy out of a lot of money and I need to pay it back. Plus, live a little comfortably, because I’m honestly tired of the hopping around. So, I need to be broke off. That’s where you come in.” Reagan nodded her head across the street and Dorian turned to see the Bank of America. Of course. She had been strategic with her planning this little meet-up. “I’m going to keep it simple. A little money and I’ll disappear. All charges dropped.”
“How much?” When she quoted the figure, Dorian was sure if she had drop-kicked him in his throat, it would have been less shocking. He stood for a moment before he heard laughter. It took him another moment to realize it was his own.
“You owe some guy all that money?”
“I didn’t say that,” Reagan said. “I’ve always been a greedy bitch. I put in a lot of work with you these past few months. I need restitution. Pain and suffering and shit.”
“You crazy as hell,” he murmured. “I should’ve known that shit after your ass attempted suicide.”
Reagan rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Didn’t nobody attempt no damn suicide. I cut myself way too far from the artery. Plus, if I wanted to die, why did I call my father? Why didn’t I just do it?”
Dorian remembered Barbara insisting Reagan had just done it for attention. How right she was. “What about the pregnancy?” he asked, his eyes darting down to her belly. It was well hidden under the coat she wore.
“I needed money to hold the guy over,” Reagan admitted. “You were taking too long and he was getting impatient.”
This was entirely too much. He needed some hard liquor to maybe make this shit easier to digest.
“Now,” Reagan pulled her phone out of her pocket to glance at the screen, “since you’ve got all your questions answered, I need you to go get my damn money. The bank closes at six, so you now have one hour.”
“Reagan, don’t do this,” Dorian didn’t give a damn if he was begging. She was about to deplete every one of his saving accounts. “How do you think I even have that kind of money?”
“Boy, don’t play me for stupid.” Reagan turned up her lips in a doubtful scowl. “I know exactly how much you have in your bank accounts, combined from your dad and your mom’s life insurance. Where do you think I came up with that figure?”
Dorian could only stare in shock.
“Fifty-nine minutes,” she snapped. “I suggest you go. I don’t have all fucking day.”
“And if I don’t?”
Reagan shook her head. “You don’t want to go there. Aren’t you staying at the Residence Inn near downtown? Isn’t it a coincidence I am too? I would hate to go back to the police station tonight to make a follow-up report. Apparently, my perpetrator found out where I was staying and attacked me again for running my big-ass mouth.”
Dorian’s stomach flipped at the threat. “No way in hell anybody would believe that shit,” he said, trying to convince himself.
“Maybe not now,” Reagan said. “But that’s nothing a few more self-inflicted bruises couldn’t fix.”
Now he knew this girl was all the way on another level of crazy. But standing there watching Reagan with her face healing from where she had broken her own damn jaw, or had someone do it for her, all just to frame him and milk him out of money, he knew she would do it again.
His hands were tied. He was dragging his feet across the concrete as he made his way to the bank. The whole time, he was racking his brain for a way of out this mess. Some way he could escape with her dropping the charges that wouldn’t require him going broke. The only thing he kept coming back to was killing her.
It was almost closing time, so the bank was nearly empty. A few people stood at the teller counter and one stood hunched over the table completing a form. Dorian grabbed a withdrawal form from the tray and the pen attached to the table by a thin silver chain. It took him three times to actually fill out the form correctly, because his mind kept running over possible scenarios.
In the end, Dorian was no closer to a solution than before and he relented, carrying the slip to the line. He had never considered himself a rich man. Not by any means. He had scrimped, saved, and earned every penny of the stacks of money scattered in three different savings accounts. He had plans to travel with the money, just he and Shantae, flying and cruising from coast to coast, country to country. Now it was going to be used to pay off this bum bitch’s hustling mistakes and probably new shoes, purses, and extensions. Was that the cost of his freedom? It pissed him off he was in this situation, but it pissed him off even more that he’d put himself there. And now there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Of course, he had to see the branch manager, due to the large sum he wanted to pull out. Sitting in the office, verifying and reverifying his identity, being asked a million questions about why he no longer wanted to do business with them. Dorian answered them all in brief, simple responses. He just needed this to be over. Each torturous minute that ticked by as the manager stepped away only to return with more forms and questions left him in sheer agony. Finally, they brought him his money in duffel bags, handing them over with as much regret as he had taking them.
Night had fallen when he exited the bank, his accounts completely wiped clean. Reagan had moved her car outside the door, and as soon as she saw him, she popped her trunk. Her eyes seemed to dance in delight as she got out to watch him load the money in the back.
“I thank you, Dorian,” she said once he was done.
He didn’t say anything, only slammed the trunk door hard enough to rock the entire car.
Reagan didn’t bat an eye at his temper. “Well, it’s been real, sweetie. I’m on my way to the station now to drop those charges, so Officer Williamson will be off your ass, I promise.”
The anger had completely fizzled, and Dorian just felt empty. Even emptier than his bank accounts. He felt completely used and exhausted from the manipulation. Stress had tightened his chest to the point it was almost unbearable to breathe. But it was over. At least he prayed it was over. With Reagan, he could never be sure.
She seemed sincere as she stood there and promised to drop the charges. But then, she had seemed sincere for months. If she stood true to her word, the charges would be dropped, and he could try and rebuild his marriage with Shantae. He would have to explain every single thing. At this point, it wasn’t even about the money anymore. Yeah, that shit hurt to his core. But more importantly, he just wanted his life, his freedom, and his Shantae. Time would help him get over the rest of the bullshit.
“So, that’s it, huh?” Dorian said as Reagan prepared to hop back in the driver’s seat.
She turned and shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much. This is where we part ways. Like I promised, you won’t ever hear from me again.”
“Are you happy?” Dorian wanted to know. He stood there, shivering in his coat and sweats, and he felt completely robbed and broken, in more ways than one.
Reagan looked at him. He caught it, one brief flicker of sorrow in her eyes before she quickly masked it with an eye roll. She slid in the seat and slammed the door shut. Then, as if she were considering something, she rolled down her window.
“I wasn’t the only one, Dorian,” she muttered, her eyes di
rect on his. “Just so you know. Don’t think this is over, sweetie.”
Dorian’s eyebrows drew together, and he felt like he was going to collapse right there on the sidewalk. “There is more? Reagan, you promised me this was all it was going to take to make this go away.”
“Go home, Dorian,” she said. “Get some rest. You look like hell.” Rolling up her window, she drove off, the little white car breaking a corner and disappearing into the night.
Dorian’s phone rang and he pulled it out of his pocket, absently glancing at the number rolling across the screen. “Hello?” he answered.
“Hey, man,” Kenny said. “How is everything?”
Dorian sighed. He was damn near stunned silent at the events that had taken place, leading up to him handing over damn near every penny of his money to Reagan. No words could describe the shit feeling that was rolling around in his gut. There was no way it could get worse. “Long story,” he murmured. “Just a lot of shit going on. I feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone.”
“Yeah? Is this about the fight? Reagan?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dorian muttered, trying to keep his temper down. “Hey, man, I’m sorry about the fight. I was wrong to do you like that.”
Kenny chuckled. “Hey, it’s cool. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you and that bitch, but mark my words, she ain’t nothing but trouble. Stay away from her.”
Dorian remained silent. If only he had known that months ago. “Listen, you came by my house earlier,” Dorian said, not bothering with subtlety. “I was there but I got to the door kind of late. Who were you looking for?”
Kenny hesitated and blew out a heavy breath. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, man,” he said. “There has been some talk around the building. I don’t know how true it is, but I hear they’re trying to take your medical license.”
Dorian just stood there in disbelief, his brain unable to form the proper words for a response. That had to be a lie.
“I came by to tell you,” Kenny went on. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up anyway, so you would know.”
“They’re not doing that,” Dorian said. It was a mistake. Had to be. “Under what grounds?”
“Sexual misconduct,” Kenny said. “Man, was Reagan really one of your patients?”
Immediately, Dorian’s mind flashed back:
“What can I do for you, Ms. . . . What did you say your name was again?”
“Peach. I’m here for my consultation,” she said. “I have an appointment, Dr. Graham. Or should I call you Dr. Feelgood?”
He had sexed her right there on his exam table, not thinking anything of the visit other than she was getting her usual fix. He had been so blinded that never did he think she just needed to get on his papers for yet another piece of her plan to completely destroy him.
Rage had Dorian throwing his cell phone on the pavement with enough force to send it shattering into pieces of plastic, glass, and metal.
Dorian glanced down the empty street. Reagan was long gone, but like a hurricane, she had come barreling through, leaving destruction in her path, leaving him holding the shattered pieces. His only hope now was that when he got home, he and his wife could work through this. “We got us” was more than just their mutual understanding. Now it was his lifeline.
It was right then his mom’s words came back to haunt him and remind him he was more like his father than he realized. “You got your father’s blood. But greed was his downfall. Had to have his cake and eat it too.” And just like his father, he had been destroyed.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Reagan stretched out on her lounger, the sun tinting her skin to a beautiful bronze. Her face was hidden behind huge-framed sunglasses, but behind the tinted lenses, her eyes zeroed in on her son building a sandcastle only a few inches from the water. Every so often, the waves would crawl close enough to splash his little legs, and he would squeal in delight as he ran up the beach only to return to his spot to have the little game repeated. She chuckled. He had never been to the beach. Neither of them had.
For the past six years, Reagan felt like she had done nothing but move from couch to couch, man to man, hustling to make ends meet and ducking and dodging men she had made broken promises to. Her poor child had never had a real home, and so often, she was tempted to send him to her parents in the hopes they would have some stability. But she knew it was only a matter of time before she had coordinated the ultimate payoff. And damn, did it pay off.
After paying off her debts, Reagan was still sitting lovely. Now she and TJ were laying out in the Dominican Republic, and she couldn’t be happier. She had always wanted to travel. Not that “on the run” shit she had been doing so some crazy dude didn’t put a bullet in her head, but real travel. For pleasure. Her son deserved it. She deserved it.
Reagan undid the strings on the top of her crocheted bikini and turned on her side. She had just about dozed off when a voice had her peeking out from her glasses.
“Girl, why didn’t you wait for me?” Shantae huffed as she laid out her towel on the lounger next to her sister. Her beach hat flopped in the light breeze and a matching set of sunglasses hid her face as she feigned a pout. “I told you I was coming. Damn, you’re so impatient.”
Reagan giggled and flipped on her back. “I told you to hurry up. TJ was anxious to get to the water. You wanted to lay up in the hotel all morning.”
“I’m enjoying my freedom,” Shantae said and even the glasses couldn’t hide the exaggerated wink.
Reagan could only shake her head. She had to admit, at first, she was surprised when Shantae approached her about the idea while she was in jail. Thanks to their pre-nup, Shantae couldn’t divorce him without walking away with nothing. There wasn’t even a cheating clause included in the damn document. So, between the two sisters, they had come up with the perfect scam.
Everything had been well thought out. The affair, the attempted suicide, the cops, how Reagan was always in the right place at the right time to play on Dorian; hell, even how she knew how much money he had to begin with—Shantae had planned it all. She had been the puppet master, and Reagan had played her role. It had worked like a charm and they had split the money.
Shantae had sent Dorian his divorce papers the week before she boarded the plane to Punta Cana. Sure, she loved him. Always would. But after the continuous cheating when they were dating, then the pre-nup the night before their wedding, somewhere along the line, their relationship had changed. She had been the one to mention the hall pass, curious if he would even be interested. And she’d had some reservations about using her sister at first. But when he had indulged in the full-blown affair, it only served as a reminder that she needed to get the money she was technically entitled to and leave. After all these years, Dorian still wasn’t shit.
“I’m thinking I want to go to Alaska next,” Shantae said as she lay back, content. “I hear it’s beautiful.”
Reagan nodded. “Cool with me. We got us, right?”
Shantae had to giggle at the slogan she had with her sister. It had been theirs long before Dorian was in the picture. He had just adopted it as theirs, but it never meant the same when the feelings weren’t mutual.
“Yeah, we got us,” Shantae agreed and let her eyes close.
When Reagan was sure Shantae had dozed off, she threw her feet over the side of the lounge chair and used her toes to fish in the sand for her flip-flops. She headed up the walk toward the hotel, nearly out of breath by the time she reached the lobby. She murmured a greeting to a few of the hotel attendants as she made her way to the bathroom. The baby was sitting on her bladder, so speed was of the essence. She squatted over the toilet to relieve the pressure and had to sigh as she felt her muscles relaxing.
Reagan knew it was only a matter of time before Shantae asked questions, which was why she knew they were going to have to go their separate ways soon. She was only showing a little, but her sister would go off if she found out she was pregn
ant by Dorian.
That was completely unplanned, but Reagan had seen it as yet another opportunity. She had indeed asked for abortion money to pay down some of her debt, but she knew she wasn’t going to get rid of his baby. It had started out as a plan, but Reagan had messed around and caught feelings somewhere along the way. She knew she could never be with Dorian, especially now after their little scam. But she could relish the fact she would always have a piece of him—not to mention steady child-support income for the next eighteen years.
A READING GROUP GUIDE
THE MARRIAGE PASS
Briana Cole
ABOUT THIS GUIDE
The information and questions are included
to enhance your group’s reading of
Briana Cole’s The Marriage Pass
Statistics
It is estimated that 4% to 5% of people living in the U.S. are currently participating in what is known as consensual or ethical non-monogamy, a practice in which partners maintain more than one sexual or romantic relationship with each other’s knowledge and consent. For comparison, that means non-monogamy is about as prevalent as the number of Americans who identify as LGBTQ, which is estimated to be about 4.5% of the American population.
Using two separate samples based on the U.S. Census, Haupert and colleagues found that fully one-fifth of the population in the United States (21.9 percent in the first sample and 21.2 percent in the second sample) has engaged in consensual non-monogamy at some point in their lives.
Types of Consensual Non-Monogamous (CNM)
Relationships
• Polygamy – a form of marriage consisting of more than two persons. The most common form of multiple partner marriage is Polygyny – a marriage of one husband and multiple wives, who are each sexually exclusive with the husband—most common form of multiple partner marriage
