Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  “Where’s everyone else?” I look down at my watch. Fuck, it’s almost noon.

  “They were packed up early. They setup the chopper for extraction and dealt with all the bullshit paperwork we need to leave this godforsaken shithole.”

  “Chopper?”

  “Yeah. We didn’t think you’d be up for riding. So, how you doin’ this morning?”

  “I feel like I’ve slept for months. My body is well-rested, and my mind is wired. I’m really good. Honestly, I’m feeling really awesome.” I woke this morning on the upside of the train wreck, so this is going to be a good day.

  Blowing on his cup of joe, he says, “You were snoring away. Fuck, you were loud.”

  Laughing at him, I sip the black nectar just as Doll let’s out a massive noise. “That wasn’t me,” I say.

  His eyes widen and he laughs. “Fuck. Your sister’s a lumberjack.”

  “Don’t need to remind me. I slept there.”

  As we sit in companionable silence, thinking on nothing, I start to feel guilty for being happy when I shouldn’t be. I’m looking forward to today, and that’s scary.

  “When do you think we should wake her up?”

  Refilling his cup, I extend mine as he answers. “Give her to the bottom of the second cup. She’s going to kill us if she doesn’t get enough beauty rest. Girl probably didn’t sleep the whole way here.”

  Can’t disagree with that. Knowing my little sister, she probably didn’t bother telling Mom she was coming here. Fuck, I bet she used those winnings I saw in the picture and flew straight out without notifying anyone.

  “You going back to the States? Do you have anything pressing?” The most pressing thing to Trellis, normally, is his boat. He probably moored it in a bay and paid some kid to watch it. With a threat of pain or death, there’s probably some teenager holding others off with a stick and an evil glare.

  “Yeah. It’s about time I got back. Tare will want me to run shit for a while so he can travel. You know him.” Yeah, I know them all well. Getting any Anchor to stay put is like pulling teeth.

  “We should get moving soon, though, and I nominate you to wake her.” Trellis laughs and shakes his head as he stands.

  “Why me?” he asks.

  “You can do it and keep your balls. She’ll remove mine.”

  “Wow, you’re an asshole this morning, Crown.”

  “I’m an asshole every morning, Trellis.”

  CIRCE

  Our world had been turned upside down, but mainly for Wyatt and his family.

  We’d only known each other for a little over a month, but since that first night, the two of us have texted, sexted, spoken on the phone, and even had video sex. We hadn’t known each other long, so I was shocked when I got a text from Wyatt’s sister the day after we were together. The text asked “Who are you?” and “What do you want with my brother?” We ended up texting back and forth for a while, then after a few subsequent phone calls, she learned I wasn’t after money or status, and that I genuinely liked her brother.

  I remember what it felt like when I saw the crash, live. Watching the loss of Jax Crown in a fiery inferno was surreal. I remember it like it was only moments ago, even though weeks have passed. When Jax died, the first thing I thought was, does he know? Assuming his sister would get in touch with him, contacting him before he learned about it from the wrong people, I left her alone to deal with it. He needed to hear it from family.

  After a day, though, I was worried. After three days, I was stressed. I texted China, and she had informed me that she hadn’t spoken to him yet in person, but that she was on her way to India to do just that. It was hard to think that no one could reach Wyatt. I frantically tried to get in touch with him, dialling his cell and every phone line I could think of. At one point, I even called in favors with the station manager to see if they could reach their History Channel people, but I got nothing.

  Luckily, Doll was able to reach him and find out his status. It took her quite a few days to get to him, and by the time she did, I was pretty sure it was too late. She said he’d found the bottom of the largest moonshine container he could, drowning in despair and regret. The low side of depression was rearing its ugly head and pulling every nasty punch it could muster. I thanked whatever cell provider that was there, that she could tell me, because I was losing my shit not knowing.

  Over such a short period of time, that one-night stand with Wyatt had become something I couldn’t live without. Wyatt may have his demons, but his demons I could understand and accept. After his sister explained his condition to me, I decided to look up more on it. The biggest issues for him are the excessive highs and extreme lows. Doll tried to explain to me what could be expected, and I have to say, I didn’t believe her at first, as I’d only seen a small portion of what he was capable of.

  Keeping my head about me, I tossed myself into work as I waited for them to return. Working every little bullshit race, show, and craptastic interview, I did it all just to keep busy, avoiding the phone that I looked at almost every second of the day.

  The once quiet, closed family funeral in California that Marca had planned, had quickly become a bloody circus that the media, politicians, and the fans had to have. It became a television broadcaster’s wet dream—the crash of King Crown and the procession to end all processions.

  I didn’t think it was my place to tell China and Wyatt about the whole mess, so I kept quiet. Figuring that Marca would explain it all as they got home, I kept my distance. I’d texted him, letting him know I was around if he needed me, but other than that, I was in the background.

  Yesterday was the first time I’d heard from him in days since they left India, but weeks since the crash. The texts made me feel better overall, as I could almost see through the phone his mood was on the upside.

  Wyatt: What are you wearing? Can I take it off you soon?

  I hope so, I think to myself.

  Me: I’m at work. Where are you?

  Wyatt: What r u wearing? Are you wet?

  His playful side was something I was very happy to see.

  As soon as China and Wyatt landed, they were dragged off to their parents’ home in Malibu for loads of debriefing, and I’m sure horrible antics from the paparazzi.

  Myself, I’ve been in Indy for two days already, prepping for the automotive funeral of the century. I’m not holding my breath that I’ll see him, other than as a reporter, but I’m hopeful. Fuck, I sound like a needy chick. Damn him and his talents.

  WYATT

  Hours after the crash, everything was cleared, washed down and setup for the next racer’s trials. It seemed that everything was all right after three other drivers had passed through the section without issue. It appeared okay. No one expected what would happen.

  Somehow, I’ve been coping with the loss of my father, my defender, and my mentor. To be honest, I’m not doing very good with it, but I have to keep it together for Doll. As the newsreel plays back in my head over and over again, all I see is that inferno.

  No one expected what would happen. No one expected my dad to find the perfect spot, that minuscule drop of fuel on the track that would ignite the car. The ensuing explosion sent his car careening into the wall at over three hundred miles an hour before landing on its roof, directly in front of Carlos Magnota, his teammate. There was no chance to avoid the collision, no chance to avoid sending his car directly under the front of Dad’s car, hitting the cockpit and killing him instantly.

  The fire crews ran out and tried to douse the flames to save him, but it was already over. Thankful that his neck was snapped by the force of either the Indy car hitting him head-on, or the first initial hit of the wall, I at least find peace in that.

  Trellis tried to hide the news from me, thinking I’d fall deep into the cesspool of my condition. He was right, I did. Angry and distraught, I felt robbed of the opportunity to hear it from those closest to me. Yes, I was drunk, hiding out in my tent, ignoring the world until China showed up
. It wasn’t that she did anything special to pull me from my funk, it was just that she was there to be the rock I needed at the time. I hate how this goes, hating how my body robs me of the ability to handle serious stresses, every dangerous conversation with my mother, and how to regulate my moods better. I hate it all.

  “He’d like this, wouldn’t he? All this pomp and adoration?” China asks.

  Over the past few years, she’s matured. Even now, as she sits beside me, watching the program on the screen, she’s absolutely arresting. At almost twenty-one years old, Doll has put more men to shame in their unprofessional assessment of her skills, both on and off the track, and I see her surpassing me in skill by taking the TT as the first woman ever. But, even if her racing prowess wasn’t enough, she’s a class act off the track as well. Men fall at her feet where she carefully and graciously cracks their hearts in two, then smiles as she walks over their tired corpses.

  As I watch the loop of his crash, I think of what we’re stepping in to. Dad’s funeral will be held at Indy where he wanted the spectacle. He wanted the fame of public adoration, and he loved that he could make people happy with what he could give them—his heart and soul. Now his heart and soul would make its final round on the Indianapolis Speedway to the finish line of the Brickyard one final time. His wish was to be cremated, and the ashes stored under a brick for all time. He would be a part of the sport and the racetrack that he loved forever.

  Sitting here for the past two hours, we’ve been watching all the crass bullshit about Mother’s injunction. She always hated that request in his will, and even though she tried to squash it, she lost. Never before did she care for the limelight, never liking the fans that were the true power of Crown Racing. In her mind, without them, Jax would have been hers and hers alone.

  Honestly, I’m fearful of the conflict that we’ll step in to. Doll mentioned that before leaving Cali, she’d contacted Whiskey. My big brother, who is more aloof than Santa Claus, flew out for the funeral.

  For the time ramping up to the funeral, as I was falling apart, Whiskey dealt with Mother’s flared temper within the confines of her mansion. The two of them don’t do well in close quarters together. I felt horrible that he was there, and that we were letting him be the buffer.

  Luckily for me, I’d sobered up before we’d flown home from India, thankful that I’d also gotten my illness under control. It wasn’t going to matter, though, as I knew that I would be quickly sequestered, told to sleep it off, and that I had to prepare to be on my best behavior for the following day’s funeral.

  She was on me as soon as I stepped foot through the front door, poking, prodding and destroying the zen I’d tried to encompass. Mother doesn’t want to present the ugly side of our family issues, so for her sake, I was to keep quiet and be the doting son.

  Fuck off. Like I have a chance with her.

  If she keeps to her side of the house, and I in mine for twenty-four hours, we should make it.

  Maybe.

  CIRCE

  “The long procession has been snaking around the city streets’ snarling traffic, getting underway for one of our city’s greatest patriarchs about twenty minutes ago. Leaving the downtown core, it slowly passes along packed streets towards the Brickyard with hardly a dry eye to be seen.” Maxwell pours over the aerial footage, making it sound like the Macy’s Day parade. My usual commentators couldn’t make it, as they had contracted obligations, so I’m with three ex-racers as they speak about a friend and colleague.

  “Neil, Jarred, and I have known King Jax Crown for close to two decades in the Le Mans circuit. Trevor, you had the pleasure of being one of his teammates on the Siren Race Team with the Indy class too, didn’t you?” The grey haired ex-racer turns to the other co-host, Trevor McCann, looking somber, yet entertaining.

  I’ve drowned them out as much as possible, only listening because my job requires it. Really, I’m watching for the procession to enter so that I can see Wyatt.

  The funeral was supposed to be held quietly in a closed family event in California, but once the press caught wind that they weren’t about to give the fans, and the public, the opportunity to show their respect, the whole thing changed overnight. The mayor of Indianapolis, the State Governor, and even the President were sent appeals to involve the public in some minuscule way. King loved the race community and they loved him in return.

  So instead of a secret, contained, and a very quiet funeral, it took on a life of its own, becoming larger than life. I’m not sure that even JFK was given this much hoopla. Well, he probably would have, if the technology and entertainment was as advanced as it is today.

  The stands filled up early, as people wanted to be here for the full effect. Tickets sold out fast, as only an American iconic place such as the Indy could. A Guinness record for sure. It’s filled to capacity on one of the hottest days of the year, with four hundred thousand men, women, and children here to say their final goodbyes to a man that embodied the sport of racing.

  The family, of course, have been sparse in the public eye since the crash. Marca, Jamieson, China, and of course, Wyatt, were given wide berth by the reputable news sources, giving them time to grieve. An hour or two was all that was allotted, though. After all, it’s news. It was a plague of leeches attaching themselves to the family. Trying not to be a part of any of it, because I didn’t want to be found personally feeding their grotesque and filthy trash, I was still subjected to watching it unfold publicly on all the stations.

  The ride through town wasn’t hard to miss. Jax’s hearse, a horse drawn, pitch-black carriage, sporting white fringe feathers on each of the horse’s heads with white harnesses, stood out in stark contrast to the driver wearing a black suit and white top hat. Very stunning, to say the least.

  My phone rings as I’m walking down to the podium below. “Hello?”

  “Have you heard from him since this began today?”

  “Well, hello to you too, Car. And no. Hey, how are things? Are you keeping busy? What’s it like, wearing a dark dress in an open building with four hundred plus sweaty and overheated race fans, and no deodorant because you forgot?”

  "Any beer hats?”

  Cringing at the thought, I check myself and remember that these are hardcore race fans, celebrating the life of a legend. Of course there will be beer hats in here somewhere, so I scan the crowd closest. Flannel? Check. Race hats and various memorabilia? Check. Beer cans and bottles of every flavor? Check.

  Shit, there's a beer hat. Damn, I honestly thought that was a long shot.

  "Nope, nothing that crazy, Carli. That's stereotypical. No one is that uncouth." Trying to clear the image from my mind as I take in the man with the hat and protruding beer gut, I work on finishing this show with dignity, even if the fans don't.

  “Where are you, Circe? I looked for you, but I haven’t found your setup yet.”

  “We’re directly in front of the finish line, like right on the line. Where are you?”

  “I’m with the Gov, riding in the congregation of overheating cars as we pass through town.” Carli left the show the week after my Casper interview. She had found a job with the Governor's office in Indiana, but hadn’t told me until she was given the position. I’ve missed her, but it was a good career choice for her.

  As I’m trying to walk and not trip on my maxi dress with my phone against my ear, I reach the lower desk to adjust the volumes, feedback settings, and shade umbrellas so that the show is presented perfectly.

  “When will you be free tonight?” I ask Carli as I smile at Trevor. Nodding with my head to indicate that I need his mic, he hands it over quickly for me to adjust the positions on it.

  “You mean, when you’re not filming the coolest funeral of the century? Or when you and I aren’t trying to get away through the craziest traffic? You mean after that, right?” Smart-ass.

  “Yes,” I laugh. “After that. What are you doing tonight?” Wyatt is off with family for a dinner, and I’m left alone to wander the
city after work, alone.

  “Nothing.” Carli can pull off aloof and petulant better than anyone. Right now, she sounds bored and annoyed with my request.

  “Wanna grab a bite?” I hand Trevor back his mic, check the other two hosts, then clear off the stage as quick as humanly possible, wearing a twelve-foot-long skirt. “We can hit that place off—”

  “Oh, yes. Killer Sushi. Totally, I’m in. Text me when you’re done, and I’ll get it booked. Gotta run! TTFN!” Hanging up, leaving me listening to dead air, I mumble to myself that I hadn’t even offered a place to eat.

  “Crazy bitch.” Stowing my phone in the top of my bra, I walk back up, holding the dress so I can clear the steps without falling. I’m glad that I have Carli. We don’t get to see each other much anymore, with her now on the Governor’s campaign trail. Governor Rock is up for re-elect, hoping to gain some really needed points with this show of compassion for the people of his great state. This should garner stacks of it.

  Like everyone else in this venue, we’re awaiting the final turn of the hearse and Jax Crown to enter through the tunnel. It feels tense. A pall of anticipation collects as people ready cameras, video players, and smartphones to catch a glimpse of Jax’s last time in.

  Hearing them chime in after the commercial break, Trevor makes a comment as he lean forward on the desk. From our vantage point, we can’t really see the tunnel or the horses, but they can see the video feed that is posted in front of their desk.

  “Trev, you’re positively correct. It is stunning,” Maxwell chirps happily. “The crisp outfits and giant stallions make it regal. You know, every time we do this, I have a hope that it’s the last time. It’s tiresome, emotionally and physically draining, watching a friend that you’ve joked with, drank with, and raced with over the years, retired in a manner that you hope never happens. This puts to light the severity of our extreme sport. Truly, I’ll miss Jax Crown, and I’m sure you all agree that this is a fitting display for a great man.”