Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  Sipping her green tea—because that’s all Carli buys—she blatantly avoids me, just like my mother has.

  “Come on. Someone has to tell me something.” Now that I’m receiving my caffeine, I’m even more adamant about knowing.

  “Sorry, no can do. Strict disclosure confidentiality clauses. The lawyers in the hall, with police—who are sexy as fuck, I might add—are very good at listening in I’m told.”

  Fuck. I thought for sure Carli would be the one to give up something. Knowing patience with Carli is a necessity, I’ll just have to butter up her ass later. “Thanks for the coffee at least, Car.”

  Sipping it slowly, prolonging the savoury treat, I’ll wait to see if she’ll give me more. The girl cannot keep secrets.

  Ever.

  I lift my hand away from my mother. “Thanks. That’s good.” I tuck it back in the bed before the cold from the air conditioning sets in.

  “What’ve you been doing for fun here as you waited for my blazing personality?”

  My mother grins, trying to hide the laugh that’s forcing its way out. Carli has no idea that she’s the entertainment. Always prim and proper, my mother has never been someone who took to someone like Carli. Her friends are direct, crass and richly appointed, always very contained in their conversations. Sarcasm and wit haven’t had a place in her lifestyle.

  “How about I leave you two alone for a while?” my mother says, gathering her purse and rising out of the chair. “I’ll leave the file for you, just in case you need it again. “Hajimemshite.” Bowing herself sharply, I’m still in utter shock as Carli returns the greeting.

  Waiting until my mother leaves, I smack Car on the arm. “What the fuck was that?”

  “Your mother is very polite.” Sipping her drink again, I sit in awe of what the hell just happened.

  “You’re not going to tell me anything, are you?”

  I wait. And wait. And wait. “Carli! Tell me something. Please,” I plead.

  “Sorry, can’t.” She purses her lips and tightens her jaw. I know there’s nothing she’ll say. I’m wasting my breath, for now. “But I brought you this.”

  Pulling up her oversized Louis Vuitton, she produces the LA Times. “I couldn’t love you more. Unless you’re hiding a mint chip cookie in that bag too.”

  “Who do you think I am?” Presenting the paper bag, I know she’s thought of everything for this visit.

  Placing it on the travel table, I open the Times. Flipping through the first few pages, there’s only the arts, sports (both butchered), and the entertainment section.

  “You know you’re a horrible friend, right?”

  “It’s the best I could get in here. They tore it apart. I’d hid it in my fashion magazine, but I’m betting I’m not the first to attempt it. Sorry, lover, but I can’t lose my job with the Gov for smuggling. I had to fight the plain clothes outside the door just for the first few pages of the newspaper.” Patting my arm, she tries to soothe my injured soul. “They’re hiding it for a reason. I can’t help, love.”

  “You’re the second person to say that today.”

  “Well, at least you know it’s not her fault you’re clueless.” True.

  WYATT

  Another day of watching the nurse, the doctor, various other interns and such perform their duties to keep me alive. I lie still, unmoving and unsettled. I’m not sure I can take much more alone in my own head. Every time I feel this way, the monitors squeak and squeal before attendants rush in, shoving Doll to the side. Every so often, I feel a chill on my body, then hear the monitors chime. Is this a precursor to another point when everything goes black? I believe so.

  Yep. I need to relax. I need to accept that I can’t do anything in this state. But fuck, I need to be released from this mental prison. I’ve yelled, railed, and screamed within these confines, with no movement or flicker of hope for my bludgeoned psyche. The unfortunate silence gives me time to ponder the way our parents slotted us into our new positions. Did I want the position, the responsibility that meant I had to leave the pavement? No. Will I ever have the chance to touch pavement again with rubber? So many questions, so many unanswered revelations as I’ve contended with my fate.

  Will I survive this? Or am I chained, living in servitude to my own memories and fears? Fuck no. That I won’t survive. But how do you escape such a fate when you have no idea how to wake?

  Once more, my sister sits in that same uncomfortable chair/pallet that can’t be any more comfortable than lying on the floor with pillows and a blanket. Doll talks to me as if I’m able to respond.

  “Wake the fuck up, Wyatt. I’m not doing this alone. Don’t you dare make me lose another family member. I won’t cope.” God, Doll, I so wish I could. Believe me, once I’m awake (and I will be), I’ll never leave you to deal with anything alone again. That I promise you.

  Tiring out easily, I feel my body needing rest. Closing my eyes is a silly notion, but resting my worried mind is achievable. So I do.

  CIRCE

  Reliving the accident that changed my life, shaping the person I came to be, makes me yearn for the girls and the life they missed out on.

  Once more, the knots in my stomach, like devilish worms, weed their way through my brain like little terrorists. Everything is so hard to accept. It plagues my heart to have no knowledge of him. Dealing with this tight heartache, I’m missing Wyatt terribly. I don’t know anything, and it makes my skin itch not having answers.

  It’s funny. I never found myself finding a guy like him. He reminds me of everything I gave up. The fame, the thrill of an exhilarating sport, the money and the family that was left behind. It’s ironic, actually, that I find my life being crushed into a million pieces on the same highway years later.

  Every day has been the same, and counting the days is difficult. It consists of more awake hours than sleep now, to the credit of the lovely and talented nurse Sali, and the drop in her drug pushing skills. But being the good patient that I am, I’ve popped every pill sent my way to avoid the crushing pain in my chest. Dr. Callie has stopped trying to sedate me after I stopped asking about the Crown’s.

  The annoying, burning itch in my arm is something I can handle, but the pulling and contracting chest muscles that argue every time I breathe makes me feel like a wheezing ex-smoker, or a waitlist lung transplant recipient.

  My mother has visited every waking hour, and then some, to make sure I’m doing all right. Carli left me her number on the side table, and even though the phone doesn’t have texting abilities I call her incessantly. She left, returning back to Indianapolis on the campaign trail, trying to tie up the Governor’s position. That woman is a machine. She even left instructions with my mother on how to get my coffee fix and where, then hit on the sweet police officer that escorted her away. That was just as she was about to finally spill the beans. One of the freakin’ nurses overheard our conversation. I swear the room is bugged. That was a few days ago, and it’s back to business as usual—me prone on the bed, and my mother bringing in food to keep me nourished.

  Really, I don’t mind her around all the time, as it’s more company than I had previously. Still, it drags me back to the past when she’s around. It’s a constant reminder of how everything brought me here. And at the same time, it helps me stay sane.

  Yes, I’m glad she took that giant leap of faith that I would see her, that I’d accept her visit.

  With her out of my life for so long, I wasn’t quite sure how to act around her. Was she here looking for the girl who left home in the middle of the night on her eighteenth birthday, with a written note left on the pillow of sorry and thanks? Or was she looking to restart our mother-daughter relationship? Myself, I’m hoping for redemption. Back then, I was only thinking about myself, not about her feelings at all. Now I understand the pain of not knowing how someone you love is fairing without you.

  “Is it fine to come back in yet?” she asks from the doorway, peeking her head in.

  “Yeah.” Pulling the
blanket back around my chest one-handed, I grab the water from the table and try to pour a glassful.

  “How’d it go?” As the doctor exits, and my mother enters, I answer.

  “Good. The doctor said I should be ready to start physio. I have to,” I pull in a heavy breath, “start conditioning my lungs to work properly again. I’ll have to get my stamina back up so I’m not bedridden.” It takes a great deal of work to speak a full sentence without breaks, but I’m excited to get out of bed. To me, it means freedom. Maybe I’ll even find out about Wyatt and Marca.

  Watching my mother’s beaming smile, a smile that’s easy and carefree, I’m glad to see her. Meeting her on the street, you’d think she was thirty-something, not almost fifty-something. There’s sparsely a gray hair in her sun-kissed, strawberry, sun-highlighted hair. Her green eyes are lit up—a strong, crisp, bright mint behind her long full lashes. Hoping to be as gorgeous as her when I’m her age is something I’ll want for sure; she’s timeless.

  If my path in life hadn’t taken me from home, would all of this have happened? Was it destined for us to meet, Wyatt and I? Would my mother and Marca hit it off, I wonder? Would they become fast friends or enemies?

  Everything I did changed her life too, and I constantly remind myself of that. Leaving the house with a bag of light clothing and liquid assets, I had no credit cards, no driver’s license, and nothing that stated Circe Matcheson. I was reborn on the back of a really good, yet not so reputable source, as Circe Maco. Hopping a plane out of the States, I went to school in Britain, then worked and lived in poverty in Cardiff until my chance encounter with Wyatt. Mom and I have talked at length about it. She explained what happened with her and my dad when I left as they searched for me, using every resource they had, hoping to find me.

  Mom and Dad? Well, they didn’t last. Her words were that he gave up hope early on. He resigned himself to the fact that I’d decided my family wasn’t important. He left her for a younger woman, and now has a new family in Texas.

  “Time for your meds,” Sali says as she enters the room in a breeze, toting behind her the bloodwork cart.

  Shifting the bed up a bit, I prepare myself for her devilish ways. “Oh goodie, the vampire is back.” Smirking, I lay my arm on the bed for her ministrations as she gathers up the necessary accessories.

  “Well, it’s a painful job, but someone has to torture patients on a daily basis.”

  “I’m glad those dominatrix online courses came in handy,” I tell her. She laughs, drawing blood into the vials before slipping me a water glass, and the tiny cup with various little pills.

  Handing the empty cup back to her, she tosses it in the trash. “How are you today? Is your chest sore?” Sali chirps, taking my pulse and blood pressure.

  “Better,” I say on a tight breath.

  “Good. Hopefully, we can get you up in a wheelchair tomorrow so you can—”

  “Tomorrow! I can get out of this nine-by-nine prison? Sweet.” The joy must be written across my face, even though I’m wheezing as I speak. She grins in return and honestly, I can’t wait.

  “For now, though, I need you to get more sleep.” Looking to my mom, she nods her acceptance. Rising from the chair, she follows my nurse and her evil cart out. I’m alone, and really tired.

  As she exits, she says to me, “Have a good sleep, sweetheart.”

  “Thanks.” Watching her leave, Sali closes the door behind them.

  “Fine. I can do this.” I express my excitement to the vacant room. “Tomorrow I’m blowing this pop-shop to find me something sexy. Wyatt, be ready. I’m coming to get your ass.” I know my grin must be a mile wide, but I’m excited for what’s to come.

  Pushing the button, reclining the bed, I look forward to the opportunity to see Wyatt for myself. If I have to, I’ll search the whole damn hospital until I find either, a corpse, or his prone soul on a bed like mine.

  Waiting will be torturous.

  That night, my dreams have me reliving everything from the first moment to the last, but I always return to that first night we met. It was crazy. It was awesome. All of it brought me to him.

  To us.

  WYATT

  Being in this state, I remember being with Circe. Then a time when she wasn’t in my life, when Dad was still here. Being at the house and enjoying every moment with my father before a race, my mind reenacts it all. Then he’s gone, and I’m alone.

  I’ve dealt with sadness, with being scared, and the confusion of my own volatile mind as I wade through it all. I’m thinking and overthinking things.

  Yes, I’m still trapped in this stinking hospital room, watching my sister like a spectre as she sleeps uncomfortably in the chair, hardly resting. There’s times I listen in as she speaks with the doctor about my care. More and more, I feel disgusted that she’s been thrust into this. At times, my brother and sister talk in hushed tones about the house, mother, my care. Or oddly enough, there’s silly moments when they think about days that were simpler. I listen as they rehash old wounds, think on the happier times, and even converse as a brother and sister should.

  The danger of being trapped here; I don’t know how long I can handle my own thoughts as company. The pressure of only me, myself, and the other fella that likes to fall into a deep abyss of despair and desolation is a battle I may not win.

  Crying out for mental freedom, I’m a tortured hostage as I’m thrust back into the present. Anger is a necessary evil flooding me in these moments. I think about all that I’m missing out on. I have an overwhelming explosion of happiness as I think of Circe. Then, an unwavering sadness that hangs like a pall over my head. Everything is a regret. I was never able to be the man my father wanted me to be. I don’t have it in me. I know that with certainty.

  FUCK!

  I hate being stuck.

  I want to be with her.

  Siren.

  Regretting that I’m not more worried about my mother and her outcome is a pain I’ll deal with later. Right now, I need her. Knowing if she’s safe is a driving need.

  With nothing else to do, I watch Doll. Taking stock of the strong woman she’s become, I’m proud of her. She holds her ground with Whiskey. Watching their interactions, the two of them have a heated argument in the hall. As usual, she’s stronger than he gave her credit for. Don’t ask how I see everything, yet can’t react. It doesn’t make sense, but I do. She seems utterly pissed off about something, and Whiskey, in his usual aloof attitude, is blowing off her serious conversation. Giving in or giving up, Doll leaves as Whiskey wanders in.

  Slamming the door, he positions himself in the chair with a huff. I expect him to be silent and despondent as usual, but surprising me, he speaks. “Fuck, Cas. Hurry the hell up. The last thing I want to do is deal with the bullshit you’re intended for.” Pulling out his phone, scrolling through emails or posts, everything about our world crashes around us. I wish so badly to answer him.

  Absently talking for the sake of chatting, Jamieson stuffs his phone back in his pocket and continues. “Remember that ramp we built? Fuck. I thought mom was going to kill us both.”

  Memory lane with him? Huh. Okay, I can do this.

  Listening to his deep breathing as he thinks about the past, it’s melodic and relaxing. “We were racing. You rode that bike of mine down, crashed into the side of Dad’s Bentley, and I slid down my side on a board, straight into the garage. I took out a stack of plants Ciccero was repotting. Man, we got our asses handed to us. I thought for sure Mom would have coronary on the spot.” He pauses. I bet he’s thinking the same as me. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. That’s something I can’t fix.”

  Clearing his throat, he rises out of the chair, as if it’s made of brimstone and fire. He heads for the door as Doll reenters with two coffees in hand.

  “Where are you going, Whiskey?”

  “Something came up.” Grabbing the outstretched cup, he opens the door open. “I’ll grab you lunch if you want. Text me later.”

 
; And there’s the consummate brother I know. He’s always ran from family obligations. No, it’s true he wasn’t meant for this, but he’d better damn well be looking after Doll. Once I’m up, if he isn’t, I’ll kick his ass.

  Our family business never had any sway over Jamieson. No pull at all. He never affiliated himself with the Crown Industries label, and it’s because Mom and Dad created this strife.

  We used to love each other. Sure, our lives were all different because of age, but we always cared. It was the common link. Remembering a time when we were all together, in the same house, dealing with family drama and politics as children, my mind sways...

  The party is in full swing. Even though there’s a mansion full of teenagers and sponsors milling around, Doll wants me to take her outside to our track. Bad freakin’ idea I said, but she’ll do it either way. It’s bad enough I have an obsession with speed and danger, at least that’s what Mother tells me consistently. She’s somewhat resigned to it now, knowing there’s no stopping me. That minuscule chance that I could die in her backyard scares the living hell out of her. It frightens her to no avail. Now there’s no trying to drag Doll away from it either. It’s in our blood, in our genes. It’s a calling. Danger is an aphrodisiac like no other.

  Mother, though, wants her children playing safe sports. Things like tennis, water polo, badminton, or lawn bowling. Floor hockey, soccer, and racing aren’t sports to her. They’re too dangerous to be considered a sport. They’re barbaric, requiring padding, controlled environments, doctors and surgeons on call.

  But that’s all we know. The chance that you could be hurt, maimed, or killed in a second because of a jellybean on the track, that’s what she wants to save her children from. She wants what every mother wants. She wants us to outlive her and our father, but that tender, motherly side is never shown. When she wants us to quit, it’s in shouts, screaming fits, and manic moments that include pieces of porcelain embedded into the walls.