Risking the Crown

by Violet Paige

  He’d take his medication for a month or two and then think he was better and stop without telling anyone. That’s when he started doing erratic things. Hanging out with his ex-girlfriend again. Blowing through my mom’s money.

  I couldn’t stay and watch it happen over and over. I had been sucked into my brother’s problems our entire life. He needed more than weekly counseling and a doctor who doled out prescriptions every time one ran out.

  But my mom refused to do anything more proactive. My dad didn’t give a shit anymore. And I was emotionally exhausted watching his illness tear my family in half.

  I heard the bells chime from the clock tower. I had to get inside.

  “Mom, I’ll call him later. When I get a break at lunch I’ll check online and see if he’s posted anything. Okay?”

  “That’s it?” I could hear the hurt in her voice.

  I sighed. “I’m walking into a client meeting. It’s my first one. I can’t drop everything and try to help you find him. He’s okay. He always is.” But in the back of my head I knew there was no way to be sure. It’s what I told myself. It’s what I told Mom every time Garrett did this.

  “And what if he’s not?” she pleaded.

  “Then, there isn’t anything I can do.” I spoke quietly. I hated saying it, but it was true. What could I do to force my brother to take his meds? How could I make him keep his therapy appointments? How did I convince him that he had to face his illness?

  “Fine.” Her voice was clipped. The crying had stopped. “I’ll talk to you at lunch.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I hope you hear something. He’ll be back soon. Try not to worry.”

  I hung up the phone and took a deep breath. I walked inside, pausing at the doors to change shoes. My office was at the end of the hall. I had a few steps to collect myself and try not to think about what kind of trouble my brother had gotten into this time.

  I pushed open the wooden door. There was a woman sitting in the waiting room.

  “Hi.” I smiled at her.

  The clerk waved at me. “Your first appointment is here.”

  “Oh. All right. I need just a minute.” I shared an office with another resident. She hadn’t arrived.

  Yesterday during the orientation I received her name, but we hadn’t met.

  I walked through the waiting area and into my office. I settled behind one of the desks and turned on the laptop the university had given me. The fan churned inside and I felt the warm air blow over my fingers.

  I needed these few stolen seconds to remind myself why I was here. In the waiting room was a woman who needed my help. A woman who couldn’t afford legal help, but needed it. I was here to do something meaningful and rich with my life. I could help people. I couldn’t help Garrett, or my mom to see what he did to everyone, but there were people here who needed me. People who would listen. People who would respect my advice. Who sought it.

  I could do something here my family had stolen from me. Garrett had ruined too many things. My parents were divorced. They still argued. They couldn’t be in the same room together. There was no peace or calm.

  This was my chance to find something centered on my own. I needed this to work in a way they couldn’t understand. They thrived in chaos. It was drowning me.

  I used to panic like my mother. I’d comb the streets. I’d call all his friends. I wouldn’t sleep. Sometimes I didn’t eat. If he was gone more than a day, I didn’t go to work. I was the only one who accepted the offer for family counseling sessions.

  Her name was Beth. My counselor was the same age I was. She said I didn’t have to call her Dr. Lane. I knew she didn’t have much experience, but I was desperate for a way to breathe. For a way out of the dark spiral that sucked me in to Garrett’s choices.

  I didn’t need sage wisdom, or years of advanced degrees. All I needed was someone to listen. Someone to steer my ship out of the storm. Beth encouraged me to pursue American and Greer’s offer.

  During our last session I sat across from her while she scribbled something on a clipboard.

  Beth looked at me. “Is there anything you want to discuss before you leave?”

  It was more open-ended than her usual questions. “No.”

  She smiled. “Are you sure? You seemed to hesitate.”

  “I-I don’t know if I’ll ever stop feeling guilty,” I admitted.

  “Guilty? Because you’re moving and have accepted a job?”

  I shook my head. “No. Because I’m leaving them.”

  She let her pen drop to the paper and leaned forward. “You have the right to be happy, Emily. You deserve to be fulfilled in your life.” She paused. “And you can always come home to visit. You can call and text.” She eyed me. “But not too much.”

  I sighed. That was the catch. How did I set boundaries? How did I find balance when no one else but me wanted it?

  “And when that doesn’t work?” I asked.

  “I think it will. I think you’ll be surprised how a little distance will free you.”

  Beth had been partly right. I tried to use all of the relaxation techniques she taught me. I closed my eyes, expecting to see a picture of the beach, or a sunny green field, but instead I saw the sexy lust-filled smirk on Vaughn’s face.

  My eyes popped open. That was not a meditative thought. I scolded myself. What the hell? I returned to my breathing, but my focus was gone. Vaughn had invaded my quiet space.

  “Meg, send her in,” I called through the door to the clerk. I needed more than a distraction from my family drama.

  I dove into the one thing that always made my mind focus—the law.

  As promised I used my lunch break to check in with Garret. My call went to his voicemail. He hadn’t bothered to set up a message.

  “Hey, it’s your sister. Mom is worried about you. Call her, please.”

  I hung up and regretted not saying something about how I was worried too. That it mattered to me where he was. I started scrolling through all the social media sites I knew he used. When things were going well for him he liked to post pictures. He’d check in at a park, or upload a shot of a sunset. I didn’t see anything recent on his accounts. I tried not to let that worry me. It had happened before.

  I called my mother to let her know I didn’t have anything to report.

  The phone rang a few times before she answered. “Hey, honey.” She sounded calmer than before, casual.

  “Have you heard anything?” I asked. I was going to suggest she check with his friend Chris. He might have better luck locating him.

  “Oh, yes. He’s here. I just fixed him a sandwich.” I could hear the smile in her voice.

  “You what?” I felt the irritation crawl over my skin. “Garret’s there? Eating a sandwich?”

  “Mmmhmm. You were right. He was out for a walk. Nothing to worry about.”

  “Mom, you should have texted me or left me a voicemail,” I lectured. I felt the heat in my neck.

  She sighed. “I didn’t think about it I guess. And he needs lunch. He was hungry after all that exercise.”

  I gritted my teeth. “He’s not hungry. He’s bi-polar. He needs help, not food.”

  My mom hated the word. She hated the diagnosis. Dad wouldn’t even mention it. He pretended it wasn’t true.

  “Emily,” she whispered, probably so my brother wouldn’t hear her scold me.

  “I’m glad he’s ok. I have to get back to clinic.” I couldn’t stomach it.

  “Okay, hon. Thanks for checking with us.”

  I didn’t have the patience to ask for any more details or bother talking to my brother. He was twenty-eight. At some point our mother had to stop treating him like a small child. He had to take responsibility for his life. I hadn’t been able to convince anyone of that yet.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  I hung up and shoved my phone in my bag. What was wrong with them? Why couldn’t they deal with it on their own? Why bring me into something that was a nothing?

  I decided to skip
the rest of my lunch hour. I had lost my appetite. I turned for the clinic building and smiled at Meg when I walked toward her desk.

  The waiting room was full.

  “I’m back.” I nodded at her.

  From my brief introduction with the clerk I knew she was studying human rights law and was trying to get as many hours at the clinic as she could this semester.

  She had round glasses and a bob haircut that I wished I could pull off.

  “You cut your lunch short,” she observed.

  “Too many people here need me,” I answered. “Who’s next?”

  “I’ll send someone in.”

  “Good.” I walked into my shared office.

  The space was cramped. My officemate was still at lunch so it was a good time to try to see as many people as I could. Next week it would be even harder to work in here when we were assigned students to mentor.

  Her name was Addie Brownley, and she seemed nice enough. We didn’t have much time to trade backgrounds or war stories. As soon as she walked in she had a client and I was wrapping up with mine. I hoped she was someone I would enjoy working with.

  I opened my laptop. I had to forget about Garrett. I had to forget about the insane conversation I’d just had with my mother.

  I needed to focus on how I could help the women who were here with legitimate challenges in their lives.

  People came here seeking help. They were trying to make changes in their lives, or fight for justice. They were willing to do something about it. To take a stand. To challenge what was wrong.

  They needed me. And they were willing to listen to what I had to say. They took my advice. They heard what I said.

  The three women I had seen this morning had come here because there was nowhere else for them to go. One was being sexually harassed at work. Another was fighting for custody of her children, and the third client was fighting a wrongful eviction.

  I could make a difference here—something I hadn’t been able to do at home.

  I looked up from my computer when my first afternoon appointment walked in. She dabbed a tissue at the corner of her eyes before balling it into her fist.

  “Hi, I’m Emily Charles. Please take a seat.”

  She shuffled into the chair. It squeaked as the legs slid along the hardwood floor.

  “Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” I offered.

  She looked around the cramped office. “I don’t know if I should have come.”

  I had a gut reaction to her presence. To know what it felt like to think asking for help was a mistake. To question having vulnerability.

  I tried to reassure her with a smile. “Maybe you could talk me through your situation a little bit. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

  Her eyes misted again and I looked around for a tissue to offer her.

  “I-I’ve never done anything like this.”

  “It’s hard sometimes to ask for help.” I paused. “I don’t know what to tell you since I don’t know why you’re here, but I can’t help if you don’t at least share your story.”

  “My story?”

  “Yes.” I nodded. “Everyone has a story that brings them through those doors. I’ll do my best to help you. To fight for you. But you have to take that next step. Otherwise, I need to help one of those other women sitting out there.” I looked over her shoulder to the waiting area.

  “I understand,” she whispered.

  I thought she was going to stand to leave, but instead she cleared her throat and

  started her story from the beginning.

  My second night after work the stairs to the rooftop apartment didn’t seem so treacherous. I credited the Keds.

  I turned the key in the lock and let myself in. It was quiet inside. It seemed unlikely Greer would be home early two nights in a row.

  I grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge, a glass, and walked onto the patio. It was nice out here. Greer had hung a few strands of lights overhead. I bent to plug them in, and noticed a radio splattered with paint in the back corner. It was under a small overhang. I turned it on and smiled when I heard the song.

  From what she’d told me, this apartment never officially went on the market. Greer found out from one of her analyst friends that it was available. That was how things worked in D.C. There was an unspoken real estate market where houses and apartments were traded among friends and co-workers.

  I sat under the twinkle of the lights and watched the sun set over Adams Morgan while I sipped my chilled glass of wine. I kicked one ankle over the other and relaxed into the chaise lounge.

  I was two sips in when my phone started to ring. I winced thinking it could be my mother again with another false emergency, or worse, my brother calling to rant about what happened today.

  I didn’t recognize the number and then I realized who it was. Vaughn. I had never added his name to my contacts.

  “Hello?”

  “Is this the pretty girl I met last night?” The deep timbre in his voice made me smile.

  “Depends on how many girls you met, I guess.”

  “Oh yeah, this is the one. The smartass.” He chuckled.

  I leaned into my chair. “Hey, there.”

  “It’s not Friday, and I know a lot of idiots wait for that three-day calling rule, but you’ll learn quickly I don’t play by those rules.”

  I sat forward in my chair. He had my full attention.

  “I’m coming to pick you up,” he reported.

  “You are?” I almost choked on my wine.

  “Text me your address and I’ll be there in half an hour.”

  “Where are we going?” I hadn’t agreed, but he hadn’t asked either.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  I twisted my lips together. I liked this kind of game. “What kind of surprise?”

  “You’ll see.” He paused. “And wear something short. I like your legs.”

  My eyes widened. Had he been checking out my legs last night? I knew I should say something about how objectified that made me feel, but it didn’t. I was turned on.

  “And if I can’t find something short? You know I haven’t unpacked everything,” I taunted.

  He chuckled. “I think you’ll find something. Send me the address. I’ve changed my mind—I’ll be there in twenty.”

  He hung up and my screen went black.

  Holy shit. I gulped the rest of the wine either as a way to convince myself to keep moving forward or so later I could tell myself I was going along with this because I was tipsy. Either way it was pumping through my veins and I hustled to my room to find a short skirt to show off my legs for a man I barely knew.

  I cursed myself for not unpacking sooner. I shoved one box out of the way and then another until I found one that had my going out clothes. Nightlife in New Bern wasn’t exactly exciting, but I did go out for drinks sometimes and in the past year I’d had a few dates. The problem was most of them never lead to a second or third date. It was one more reason moving to bigger city made sense.

  I pulled a black dress out of the box and quickly dashed to the bathroom to reapply my makeup.

  Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door.

  I ran through the living room and the narrow kitchen, pulling the door open.

  Vaughn filled the frame. His eyes sparked and immediately dropped to my thighs.

  “Sexy.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  I stepped back to let him in, feeling confident he liked the dress. It was the shortest black one I had.

  “And where am I going in this short dress?” I asked.

  He walked into the living room and looked around. “I told you it was a surprise.”

  He looked just as edible as he had last night. Part of me was reassured he wasn’t a dream or a vision I had concocted. He was wearing dark charcoal pants that showed how athletic his shape was. He had a crisp white buttoned shirt. And he was wearing the same intoxicating cologne.

  “This is a cool place.” He walked towar
d the deck. “You said you have a roommate?”

  I stood next to him. I had left the lights on and they twinkled from the posts.

  “Yes. We were college roommates. Five years later we’re living together again. I think it will be fun.”

  He nodded. His eyes were focused on something in the distance. He slid the door open and stepped onto the roof.

  “Is she home?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “No. She works late most of the time.”

  He saw the bottle of wine and the empty glass.

  “Is she going to be home anytime soon?”

  I hadn’t seen Greer since the bar last night. I hadn’t called her all day either. “I don’t know.” I stepped outside to join him. “I better unplug these if we’re going to leave.” I walked around to reach for the lights.

  As I bent over to jerk the plug from the wall Vaughn came up behind me.

  “Leave them.”

  I stood slowly, feeling how close he was to my back.

  “But I thought you wanted…”

  He spun me around to face him. I searched the darkness of his eyes, recognizing the look of hunger as his mouth brushed against my lips.

  “I said leave them,” he growled before taking my mouth under his with a rough kiss.

  Instinctively I wrapped my hands around his neck, tugging him closer to me, deepening the kiss with sudden urgency.

  This wasn’t like last night. This wasn’t the romance of a first kiss. This was the thirst for wanting it again—wanting more. There was no one watching. No driver waiting. Only Vaughn and me on a twinkle-lit rooftop.

  I gasped when I felt the roughness of his palm cup my ass. He gripped it firmly and squeezed, but the kiss never stopped. He sucked and tugged at my lips, letting his tongue dart next to mine before sinking his teeth along my bottom lip. I moaned.

  My eyes opened and he stared at me intently.

  He took a heavy breath. My chest heaved and I noticed his hand was still holding my ass. I didn’t dare move or wiggle out of his hold. I liked how possessive it felt. I liked how this man knew exactly what he wanted.

  My body eased into his and I tipped forward, drawing his lips to mine. I wanted more. His tongue lashed back and forth while my arms circled the toned muscles of his back. The ridges flexed and contracted under my touch.