by CORY CYR
I blinked a few times, trying to absorb what Shea had just said. I had pushed back the knowledge that I would be broke in two weeks. Well, not broke, but financially stunted. I had already sold my dad’s car and had used most of the proceeds to pay the attorney’s retainer while the rest covered the tattoo and other miscellaneous expenses. I knew I would have to sell the house; it was the only way to cover living expenses and survive until my divorce was final. According to the lawyer, barring any problems, it would be finalized by May, and then I could actually get a real job and not fear Garrison anymore.
“I sold the car,” I blurted out. Shea just stared at me with his mouth open.
“You sold your dad’s car? You sold the ’vette?” He asked in disbelief.
“I couldn’t drive it anyway, and I needed the money.”
Shea leaned back, crossing his arms. “You didn’t have to sell the car—I would have given you money.” His mouth fixed in a frown.
“Shea, I wasn’t going to ask you for money,” I said carefully, taking in a deep breath then slowly exhaling. “I needed to pay bills, among other things, so I sold it. It’s gone . . . it’s done.” I knew I sounded frustrated. As he scooted closer to me, I took another sip of coffee. I was extremely uncomfortable having this conversation with him, even though I knew he would have eventually found out I sold the car. Shea stood up with his hands on his waist.
“Enough of the bullshit,” he stated, as he gave me a hardened smile. Shit . . . was he about to tell me he knew? “We need to make some decisions.” I looked up at him, not really knowing what he was talking about.
“I’m going to sell the house,” I squeaked out. Shea bent his head down, getting right in my face.
“That. Is. Never. Going. To. Happen.” He sounded determined. I slid out from under his gaze and stood up.
“You do know you’re not the boss of me, right?” I retorted. What the fuck, I sounded like a ten year-old. Shea gently grabbed my arm.
“You think that makes a difference, because you’re older?” He laughed and shook his head. “I’m the man and it’s my obligation to take care of you.”
“I don’t want to be an obligation,” I replied, sitting back on the sofa. I put my head in my hands because all of a sudden I felt a hormonal cry coming on. He pried my hands away from my face and squatted down so we were face to face.
“I may have used the wrong term, and that’s not what I meant. Ryan, you’re not an obligation, not a responsibility, not a chore . . . you’re my reason, my purpose. You’re like oxygen; I need you to live, to breathe. I want to be everything to you, let me take care of you because I love you, and when you truly love someone, you provide for them,” he declared, his voice strong with his conviction.
I wished we could just leave this place and escape to somewhere where no one knew us, and where Garrison could never find me. “If you won’t take my money then let’s live together—here. It doesn’t make any sense for me to keep the apartment anyway, not when I’m here most of the time. You don’t have a mortgage, so in lieu of me not paying rent, I’ll take care of all of the utilities.” Shea paused and grabbed my hands in his. “If you’re really going to stay here in Fairbanks, I want this to be our home.”
As I looked at Shea, I felt his eyes pleading his case. It was true—we actually did spend more time here than at his apartment, so financially, it made sense. But I needed to tell him about Garrison before he made the commitment to move in. I couldn’t let him give up everything with this secret hanging over us.
“I need to tell you something,” I whispered. My hands trembled. It was hard even to look at him.
“No, baby, I can see it in your face and you’re shaking. Whatever it is, whatever you are hiding from me, I can wait until you’re ready. I need you to want to talk to me willingly, not because you feel forced. I trust you and I believe in us,” he said as he gathered me in his arms, “whatever it is, I can wait until you’re ready.” I internally sighed with relief, and I felt as though I’d gotten a reprieve. Just a little while longer, and then I would find the right time to tell him.
Trina and Quinn showed up around five o’clock with plates of steaming food. I wondered how they were able to smuggle all that food out without Evie knowing.
“Dinner was interesting,” Quinn said in a flat voice. He followed Trina into the kitchen, setting the plates down on the counter.
“Now what?” Shea questioned, with a clear look of agitation on his face.
“Well, basically, Mom took two bites of food and then went to bed. We had Christmas dinner without her.” Trina revealed. “Andrew, it was bizarre, and she was crying,” she said in a hushed voice. Frustrated, Shea ran his hand across his jaw line. He just looked at his sister and shrugged.
“Don’t know what to tell you, sis, other than she’s getting worse. I mean, what the fuck was last night?” he wondered as he pulled the foil back from one of the covered plates, stopping to look up at Trina. “I thought she liked Ryan. What was with the ‘you can’t be with her’ crap? She acted like it was a cardinal sin, and . . . shit . . . she doesn’t even go to church!”
Trina just shook her head. Quinn looked like he was ready to leave, probably because I was sure he wasn’t used to all the drama. I grabbed the cake holder and unsnapped the lid. Taking hold of a knife, I sliced two generous pieces and put them on a plate.
“Here, take some of Shea’s birthday cake,” I said, covering the plate in foil.
“That’s right, baby bro, I almost forgot last night was your birthday,” Trina said, snickering. “Just kidding—I’d never forget that.” She handed Shea an envelope. He ripped it open, laughing as he read the card, and looked at the gift card. He handed me both cards. The gift card was for a restaurant.
“You two will love that place, and it’s the best restaurant in Fairbanks,” Trina said.
“Yeah, and very pricey, I hear . . . thanks, sis,” Shea said as he hugged his sister.
“It’s too late for you guys to make reservations for New Year’s Eve, but maybe Valentine’s Day?” Trina suggested as she swiped her finger across the frosting on Shea’s birthday cake.
“God, that’s good! Did you make the cake?” she asked me, licking the frosting from her finger.
I nodded. “Of course—me and Betty Crocker,” I said, laughing.
Trina and Quinn took their plate of cake and we said our goodbyes. It had been a trying two days, and both Shea and I were exhausted. We ate our Christmas dinner in front of the TV and then went to bed.
Shea didn’t have to work until Tuesday, but he had school tomorrow night. As I got ready for bed, I made a mental note to start unloading stuff around the house. Some could go to the local thrift stores and some I would just trash. I needed to make room for his belongings. I hadn’t actually confirmed us moving in together, but in the long run, this might just work out. In less than two weeks, I would be out of a job and money would be scarce. Between Shea working and going to school, I could utilize the days he was working to do anything required concerning my divorce. I had no doubt that he would want to move in as soon as possible.
Everything was happening just so incredibly fast.
Chapter TWENTY-EIGHT
Just as I figured, Shea was up early, making enough noise to wake up the dead.
“Go back to sleep, baby. I’m going to my place and start packing,” he said quietly, pressing a kiss to my lips. I groaned and turned to the other side, knowing that I would only have a few hours of daylight today. I could hear him chuckle as he closed the bedroom door.
I woke up a several hours later. Luckily, Shea had turned up the heat before he left, and he also left a small pile of dry wood next to the fireplace. Just seeing the wood made my heart swell. I was crazy about this man. After two cups of coffee, I grabbed a box of trash bags and went to start on my dad’s room. It had been over four months now, and it was time to empty it out.
As soon as I got into my dad’s room, I immediately began to unl
oad the closet. I filled the bags with all of the contents, minus the boxes of pictures and keepsakes. I set those aside to go into the garage. As I stripped the bed, I looked around at the photographs of my dad and me. I had forgotten to pack those in the boxes, so I gathered them up and set them in the living room. I wanted to get this room done, at least, before I tackled my dad’s home office. Five hours later, I had tied up my eleventh hefty bag. I couldn’t believe how much stuff my dad had accumulated over the years. I dragged the bags out to the living room just as Shea came home loaded with boxes.
“Need some help?” I asked, laughing as I took one box from him.
“Nope, I think I can handle the other six I have in the car.” He put his boxes down on the floor. “I spoke to the landlord and he was pretty cool. I told him I’d be out by the fifteenth; I just wrote him a check for the entire month since I didn’t give him a thirty-day notice. So I guess we’re going to be roommates,” he called out over his shoulder as he walked back outside. I bundled myself up and followed him to his car.
“You don’t have to help—I can do this, you know.” He chuckled lightheartedly as he handed me a box.
“Yes, I can see that, and by the way, roommates?” I joked, nudging him in the ass with the edge of the box. Shea loaded three more boxes in his arms and strolled back into the house. He set his boxes down then took mine from my arms.
“Well, until you marry me, I guess we are roommates.”
I choked back a gasp when he said this, my cheeks blushing to the roots of my hair. That made twice in five days that he had brought up marriage.
“M-married?” I stuttered. “Shea . . .”
He looked up at me from the floor with a grin. “Too soon?” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed. I shoved him with my foot and he pretended to fall over.
“So how much more you got, roomie?” I asked.
“At least another four or five loads of stuff and Pandora. I’ll probably just sell my furniture, except for the things in my weight room. Yeah . . . now that I think about it, I probably should have rented a U-haul, but fuck it, I think I can do this myself in a week’s time,” Shea mused, smiling, as he handed me more boxes clearly marked for its contents.
“I was thinking we could make the rooms downstairs into guest rooms, and keep the other as a home office . . . maybe a workout room for you?” I debated, as he took one of the boxes into the kitchen.
“Sounds good to me, and we could also think about combining two of those rooms if you want. This house is pretty big so there’s a lot we could do. Whatever you want, baby, I’m in.” Shea turned his head towards mine and smiled as he began to unpack the box marked “kitchen.”
*****
The next several days were nothing but cleaning, unpacking, bagging and organizing. Shea had more stuff than I thought. He had another four-day weekend because of the New Year’s holiday, but by the time the weekend came, we were both too exhausted to think about going out to celebrate. We decided to have our first New Year’s Eve in our home. He hadn’t officially moved in yet, but we definitely brought the New Year in with a bang. I was pretty sure we christened every room in the house, including the garage.
When Monday came, I was kind of blue. I was now officially un-employed. It’s not as if I’d never been jobless, but somehow this felt different. I still had five thousand left from selling the car, but I had to use it sparingly.
Shea was almost moved in. He didn’t want to wait until the fifteenth because he wanted us to start our lives together. I couldn’t believe how quickly my life had changed; in barely five months, I had escaped New York—no pun intended—buried my dad, filed for divorce, and fallen in love. Trina was slightly shell-shocked when she found out we were going to live together. She understood the reason why, but I think she worried because I hadn’t told Shea about Garrison yet. Evie was a mess, and Trina said that every time she tried to approach the subject of Shea and me as a couple, her mom freaked out. Honestly, Trina didn’t know what her mom was going to do when she found out we were living together. Even though Shea pretended not to care what his mom thought, I knew it bothered him. He had almost lost his life protecting her, and they had always been very close. I could tell he was deeply wounded by her behavior.
A week later, Shea had gone to work and I had taken a shredder into my dad’s office to go through old paperwork. I decided to take a coffee break after two hours of constant shredding. As I walked to the kitchen to get coffee, I heard a car come up the drive. I peeked out the window and saw a Lincoln town car parked in my driveway. The hairs on the back of my neck began to prickle as I felt the blood drain from my face. Sudden fear gripped me because this had to be Garrison . . . he had found me.
I slid down the wall under the window, peeking out. A heavyset man with a briefcase got out of the car and started towards my door. This wasn’t Garrison, but maybe it was someone he sent to find me. My heart was pounding and I shook where I sat. I felt a rushing in my ears when I heard a knock. I waited, and then I heard another knock. My mind was frantic and my skin crawled with panic.
“Miss Chase?” I heard a deep voice ask as he knocked on the door.
It took me a few seconds to figure out that someone Garrison had sent would not refer to me as Miss Chase . . . not if that person knew I was married. I pulled myself up and brushed my hair out of my face. My heart was still pounding as I cracked open the door.
“Can . . . I help you?” I stammered, opening the door just a few inches.
“Are you Ryan Chase?”
“Possibly,” I replied. I had no idea why I just said that. The man obviously knew who I was.
“Can I speak to you a moment . . . maybe come in?”
I opened the door a little further. “Who are you?”
The man took out a business card and handed it to me. I snatched the card quickly. His name was Lance Jacoby and he was a lawyer. Nervousness started to overwhelm me again. Maybe this was about Garrison. I twirled the car through my fingers trying to decide what I should do. If I asked him to leave, Garrison would know where I was.
“Listen, Miss Chase, its freezing out here. Any chance I could come in? I promise I won’t take up much of your time,” Mr. Jacoby said. I nodded apprehensively, opening the door wide enough for him to come in. I held his business card in my hand as he squeezed passed me.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Jacoby?” I asked, still leaving the door opened slightly, in case I needed to bolt.
“It’s more like what I’m here to do for you. The estate your father left—”
I cut him off by shutting the door. “Wait, what estate? What is this?” I demanded, extremely confused. Mr. Jacoby set his briefcase down, opened it and handed me an envelope.
“Your father left a substantial estate, for you and your sibling.”
I wasn’t sure I had heard him correctly. I was still trying to get past “your father had an estate.”
“You’ve made a mistake . . . you’ve got the wrong Chase. I don’t have any siblings—only child,” I explained, pointing to myself. Mr. Jacoby’s expression looked surprised. He quickly viewed some paperwork in the briefcase.
Rubbing his chin, he said, “I’m not privy to all the circumstances because it’s not my area of expertise, you see, and Mr. Wallace actually handled all the pertinent information. I just handle the actual delivery and transport of documents.” Mr. Jacoby swallowed hard. “I was given precise instructions to contact you, should you live in the home for at least four months.”
“Who told you to do this?”
“Your father, and he wanted to make sure you both were provided for,” he assured as he handed me a large envelope. I opened it with curiosity and scanned the documents inside. When I got to page two, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.
Both . . . he wanted to make sure we both were provided for? I suddenly felt lightheaded. My face was burning up as I staggered to the sofa. I felt like I was suffocating, my lungs refusing oxygen.
“Ar
e you alright, Miss Chase?” His voice sounded far away. Panic started rising deep in my chest as my mouth went dry as I put my head into my hands. Something was wrong here. I was an only child, and my dad would have mentioned another kid. My dad . . . there’s no way . . . my dad. I felt sick, queasy and infuriated. Tears began to well in my eyes because, somehow, I just knew. It was the truth and my entire life seemed to flash before my eyes and end right at this moment.
“Get out!” I shrieked. My voice was so shrill it scared me. I heard him snap his briefcase closed and shuffle out the door. I rolled off the sofa and fell to my knees, still grasping the envelope. My entire body began to shake.
“You fucking bastard! I hate you! I will always hate you!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, sobbing as I rocked back and forth. No, no, no . . . it’s not true. It can’t be—I won’t allow it. Allow it . . . that’s what Evie had said Christmas Eve.
My body heaved, unable to contain my stomach’s contents. I wretched uncontrollably and covered the carpet with coffee-smelling vomit. I was crying so hard now it bordered on hysteria. My life was over, my world had ended. I dragged myself up and began tearing photos off the walls, throwing knickknacks everywhere. I was in destruction mode. My father had destroyed me by finally getting what he’d always wanted.
A son.
Chapter TWENTY-NINE
I dragged myself upstairs to my bedroom and packed a bag. It was more like a reflex, considering I felt completely numb. I called a cab and had it take me to a motel. I had to think. Then I realized that I didn’t want to think because my thoughts hurt too badly. What I really wanted to do was lose myself in the oblivion provided by a bottle of pills and go to sleep forever. My life was over; there really wasn’t a reason to go on because I couldn’t fathom my life without Shea.