Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  “Time to sleep, Circe,” I hear her say. The effect is fast.

  As I drift off, I hear my mother and Sali speaking. “She’s not dealing with this, Sali.”

  “I’ll try to do something more. But I can only do so much, Natalie.”

  “I understand. Do what you can.”

  CHINA

  Now I understand the saying, shit rolls downhill.

  As my emotional dam bursts, I let the tears flow freely and fast. Whiskey appearing in that chapel was like an apparition. Dad was standing there, caring for me, watching over me inside the fog of my mind as I fell apart. That was days ago, and now I’m back to my usual hold-it-in self.

  Whiskey had me sedated for the rest of the day as he watched over Cas. Thank fuck. I needed it, I guess. I needed to let go and let everything take over; at least that’s what Dr. Callie said. To top it off? Over the past week, Wyatt’s body has decided to shut down a few more times to give me a mental freakin’ breakdown.

  Thanks, Wyatt.

  Like I can take any more pressure, asshole. Those bloody monitors go off, lighting up like Christmas trees in Times Square, causing every doctor, nurse, and sidekick to show up. His heart has stopped twice, and it’s making me crazy. I think I’m about to lose my ever-loving shit.

  Yesterday, it was calm and peaceful, running up to that ticker quitting again. We thought he was dreaming. He must have had a nightmare, throwing him into a panic attack of sorts, tossing him into an irregular heart rate. It was boom! Defib and paddles. Sleeping was not sleeping after all, brother. Minutes later, he was back, and I began breathing. Now I stay awake all hours of the day, just so I can keep track of my big brother.

  Since our moment in the chapel, Jamieson has come by a lot more. He brought me by a jump bag this morning. He took me to lunch as Sali watched Wyatt, but we didn’t talk much. He never hangs around long, and whenever it’s a point I think we could have a heart to heart, he’s gone. Something is going on, but I don’t know what it is. It’s a secret. Whiskey is a secret type of guy, which means little China Doll is expected to keep the peace, smile nicely, and be sweet to Whiskey. He avoids both of us like we’re a burden, or like a date with the gynaecologist.

  It’s crazy. I mean, Wyatt is the one here on the bed. Mom is…well, let’s not get into that. Dad is dead, and I’m alone. My biggest worry right now is me. I’m trying to keep my control together so I don’t have a complete breakdown. It won’t help Wyatt any if I’m laid up in a loony bin.

  Since this began I’ve completely and unequivocally avoided anything that has to do with Mom, Dad, and Circe. Don’t get me wrong, I know Wyatt would kick my ass if he thought I wasn’t caring for her, so I am, but I just can’t handle giving her updates everyday on his non-progression. So I told the Doc and Sali to keep her in the dark about Wyatt’s condition. I’ve asked them to keep me abreast of her needs, and I made sure her medical bills were being cared for by Crown. Jamieson didn’t like it at first, but I was adamant. I’m doing that whether he likes it or not. She may not be a Crown, but she’s important to Wyatt, and that’s what counts.

  Fuck!

  When will shit stop?

  I’m sick of it falling in my lap.

  What I wouldn’t give to be on my bike, riding the blacktop and scraping my knees on the corners. Maybe I’ll get Whiskey to ride my street bike over. I’ve been the one on lockdown in this sterile jail, and I need a moment out for good behavior. I’m itching to touch the pavement. A release of endorphins will help with the tears. I’ll push them right out at a hundred and ninety miles an hour.

  My girlfriends still pop over, but they have to go through so much security, you’d think they were visiting the fucking Pope. Whiskey sucks at sticking around and making me feel better about the whole situation, which I understand. Honestly, he hasn’t lived with the family…

  Fuck, now there’s a joke—family. That’s gone. Like poof, missing, disappear-o, finito. I sit here, hoping for Casper to wake up, to tell me everything will be fine, and it was all a bad dream. But our family will never be whole. It’s gone. Now it’s just us.

  “All I need is a sign, Wyatt. Just one word.” I’m feeling so alone that I talk to him like he can hear me. Screw that. I’m not alone. That’s the wrong analogy. I’m fucking separated on an undiscovered island, filled with coconut trees and ugly fucking monkeys, alone.

  I’ve read every magazine, watched all the soap operas I can handle, and even flicked to some of the who’s your daddy shows just to bypass the despair. It works about as well as dousing my heart in arsenic. The real shit part is, I can’t really leave this place either. I’m chained to his bed until he wakes up. If.

  Dammit. Do I have to find another goddamn casket? I’ve had enough of caskets, urns, and bullshit. My twenty-first birthday was supposed to be a celebration. In mere weeks, I’m an adult in all the ways that matter. I wasn’t looking for new responsibilities and cares. Getting out on my own, away from Mom and Dad, now feels selfish and horrid. Desperately, I wish it were different.

  At least Dad would have told me “Doll, everything works out.”

  Not this time, Dad. You didn’t work out, and Mom is a reminder that I have something else to deal with. She’s on ice, literally, and until we figure out what’s going on with my brother, she’ll stay that way.

  Showing up about an hour ago, Jamieson, as usual, was off like a shot. Excuses are all he needs to vacate this place.

  Before leaving, I asked him to bring back my ride. Thankfully, he said he’d have it over this afternoon, so maybe I’ll try to run out later while he hangs with Wyatt. At least he understands being on lockdown. Sitting in Cali, where there’s no snow, he has to be having a meltdown. I haven’t hit the track in weeks, and I’m itching for a release. I can just imagine a guy who’s used to the cold, sitting still in ninety-eight degree weather. It must be excruciating.

  I’ve also exhausted my three best friends. If it isn’t Cathryne popping over with food, it’s Harlow, trying to catch a sidelong glance at Whiskey. She’s always had a thing for him. I’ve ran them ragged, having them bring in Starbucks. It’s a necessity. The coffee here isn’t something I’d put in my engine, never mind my stomach. And don’t even get me started on what they consider edible. When Wyatt wakes, he’s going to be hungry as a dog and looking for nourishment, of which he won’t find here. The food, or what they try to pass off as food, is rubbery chicken, overcooked rice, baked unknown pastas, and wilted salads.

  The take-out boys have brought me sushi from Kato’s, carbonara from Tulio’s, and stuffed salmon from Polar Bear twice this week alone. Feeling bad they have to traverse the overstuffed officers, paparazzi, and professional reporters, just to bring it to me, I’ve decided they’re pretty damn brave. They leave here wilted and concerned they’ll be arrested. Crown gave direct instructions to keep everyone out, except those with signed waivers. There’s no one to tell me not to spend, not to be extravagant, and no one to tell me to go to school.

  Bed.

  Don’t date.

  Don’t this, don’t that.

  No China, can’t China.

  I’d rather you not, China.

  Argh!

  “Miss Crown?” Turning toward the partially open door, Sali, Wyatt’s daytime nurse, enters. Because of the circumstances surrounding the crash, the popularity of the family, the team, and Wyatt directly, the hospital setup specific nurses and doctor’s so that comings and goings could be monitored.

  “Hey, Sali.” I stretch out a bit in the Barcalounger. Pulling the light covers around my shoulders, I tuck my feet in to keep warm.

  “How are things today?” she asks, looking over the monitors, the lines, the incisions, and under the bandage at his head.

  He still looks like shit. I won’t be the one to tell him that, but he does.

  I’ve seen worse damage from accidents on the track, but none have scared the living hell out of me like this has. The bandage on his head is covering the ten-inch scar that wi
ll run along the side of his head. It’ll be hidden under his hair when it grows back, thankfully. The swelling has gone down since last week, but there’s still no changes in his condition. Dr. Callie has decided to keep him in a drug-induced sleep for a while longer. I hope to hell that the brother I know comes out on the other side of this. Or, if he is changed, then he’s controlled.

  “Well, I’m still bored stiff and looking for something to pass the time. How are things out there?” I motion toward the front of the building, where I know the masses are still gathered, awaiting news on the Crown family’s condition.

  “Same,” she says.

  “I figured as much.”

  Sali clicks the foot pedals on the mobile bed, turning to me with a smile. “Dr. Callie requested a new MRI and CAT scan today. We’re look for changes. Do you want to come along?”

  I’ve gone with Wyatt on these in the past, but for some reason, I don’t want to today.

  “No. I’ll wait here, if that’s okay? How long will you be gone?”

  Attaching the IV pole and the monitor systems to the gurney, Sali opens the door to the hallway. “I don’t think there’s anyone else there waiting, so we should be back in about an hour or so. Why don’t you go get a shower and something to eat?”

  “Thanks. I just might.” I can’t stand the showers here. There’s no pressure, and the food, as I’ve already stated, is something I wouldn’t hand to the homeless.

  Being as civil as I can, I smile, rising from the chair. Hopefully, Dr. Callie will see something that will show progress, because I need my brother back.

  CIRCE

  Two days ago, I fell apart. I’d had enough. After weeks of being here, I still no nothing about Wyatt and Marca. My waking mind and every thought are damaged. What if I hadn’t switched seats? What if my phobia of the back had saved her?

  Nurse Sali, my mother, and Dr. Callie tell me it’s not healthy to worry about the past, about what I can’t do anything about. I shouldn’t worry about failures and unfixable situations.

  Today is about fixable situations. I’m getting out of this bed, this room, and trying my first day of physio. If I thought it was hard to breathe lying down, sitting upright in a wheelchair has been goddamn near impossible. The pressure is difficult. It’s like laying a ten-ton weight across my breastbone.

  Excited to get up and about as soon as I was given the go ahead by Dr. Callie, my mother helped my ass into the unloving stiff beast. Venturing out of my room on our floor, we passed a commissary, two nurses stations, a treatment room in the cancer wing, and a chapel. There were a ton of police and professionally dressed men. None of them gave us a moment’s notice.

  When I was a kid, my parents were religious to a fault, so of course when we passed the chapel, she asked if I felt the need to give thanks. Truly, I’m not sure if I’m thankful after everything that’s occurred, or if I feel like railing at an unforgiving being that has caused me so much heartache. For now, I told her that I wished to bypass it.

  My high hopes that I would see Whiskey, or Wyatt’s sister China in the halls was excessive, as we didn’t see anyone I knew. Making me mourn a bit more, the trip down the hall felt wasted. The pain I was suffering was worthless.

  Most days, my mother visits early. Now that I’m allowed out, she’s taken me on rides through the castle, then left just after I passed out in the afternoon. I’m starting to look forward to our talks too. We’re catching up, learning who we are as adults, not as mother and daughter. It’s funny. There are some things we now have in common that before were polar opposites.

  She has a love affair with sappy love stories and raunchy sex novels. We both hate broccoli. We believe that espresso is a necessary evil, and that even though I didn’t own a single pair, I still have a penchant for shiny, expensive shoes. One day, she actually brought over a pair of my shoes I left behind, and it reminded me that I was truly a troll when I headed out of there without a word. Funniest part is that the shoes still fit. I grew up, but didn’t grow out.

  It’s been another week of the same routine, and today, I’m at another physio session with Crane, my therapist. Learning how to do things with my right hand has been a blunder. I’ve been told it’ll be at least three more weeks before they remove the cast to put on a soft one. It totally sucks moose balls.

  “Try again, Circe,” Crane says as I’m learning to lift a pencil in my opposite hand. It’s awkward as fuck.

  “Good.” He’s happy with my progress. Disappointed in myself, I shouldn’t feel like a helpless toddler.

  Turning the pencil, I lean into it, looping letters the size of a baseball across the page. It’s worse than a kindergartener.

  “Do you praise everyone? Or did you just decide to be kind today, Crane?”

  “No. I only praise when someone does something right. It’s true, you suck. But at least you’re trying. That’s good.”

  “I’ll keep trying, Mr. Happy.”

  “Did you work on the breathing exercises I gave you too?” Showing him my progression, as I huff and wheeze like a smoker, it feels like I’m trying to work out at a Lamaze class, but I do as I’m told.

  “Okay, you’re done for today. Return to your jail, madam.” He smirks, man giggles, then pushes my chair toward the door where my mother is. She’s looking at her phone, and I know damn well she’s looking through the Tinder account that I setup for her. She places the phone in her pocket, stands, then smiles at me.

  “Better today?” she asks Crane, twinkling like a teenager. He’s cute for an older guy, but she stares at him like he’s the best man candy on the planet. He’s taller, around six-six, with black and white tattoos covering both arms, a neatly trimmed moustache and beard, and a loosely slicked back, peppered haircut.

  “Yes. She was, Natalie.” Crane makes it sound sexy. It still makes me laugh to hear my mother addressed by her first name, instead of ‘mom’. He watches her intently for a moment or two, then he winks, causing her to blush. Loving that the heat rises in her features, he stares her down like prey, It’s nice, actually.

  Spinning in my chair, I try to avoid the awkward silence and blatant sexual friction that’s flowing between them. “Ready, Mother?”

  With a quick nod, she wheels me out to the hall, toward the room. Slamming straight into the oversized elephant, I ask, “Sooo?”

  “Nothing, Circe. Crane is just—”

  “Yummy?”

  “Yes, he’s yummy, but not something I need in my life right now. My priority is you.” That’s a bow chicka wow wow moment. I mean, my mom just called someone yummy. It’s funny as hell. Admitting that she found him sexy as all get, and that she’s avoiding it like the plague to care for me is bogus.

  “So, when I’m out of physio, out of the hospital, well and repaired, will you then take a shot at Crane?”

  She thinks about it for a second. I can physically see the wheels spinning as she considers her words wisely.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “No, Circe. I’ll think about a man when it’s time for me to, not when the time accommodates your schedule.”

  “Fine,” I laugh, “I’ll leave you alone about—” Pausing mid-sentence, my heart stops. Seeing someone I never expected to see, my mother frets over my sharp intake of air.

  “Are you okay, Circe?”

  Standing casually beside the nurse’s station is one person I’d know anywhere, and excited to see. “China?”

  Freezing in place, she slowly looks over her shoulder at me, like a scared rabbit. “Hi, Circe.”

  Nervous, giddy, and unsure, I blurt out. “Are you here to see me?” The first time I might have a chance at answers, and she’s standing right there.

  “No, sorry. I’m just talking to the day nurse to see if I can grab a few more blankets. Some moron turned up the a/c in our room. I figure if I’m freezing—” catching herself saying something she doesn’t want to, she stops. Her mouth is set harshly as she tries to hold in her words.


  Knowing she’s hiding something from me, I break the pregnant pause. “China. Is it Wyatt? Is Wyatt okay?”

  China’s shock is visible. She didn’t expect me to push her further. Taking in the my old man cart she smiles. Genuine and sincere, China steps forward with her hand outstretched. “And you are?”

  “Natalie Matcheson. Circe’s mother.”

  “Even though I’ve never heard about you, it’s nice to meet you.” Wow. Nasty, cutting, and sweet as she avoids.

  “It’s nice to meet you too, China. Over the past few days, Circe has told me quite a bit about you and your family.”

  Seeing China’s face drop, it shows fear, sadness, despair, doubt, anger, rage and sympathy. Schooling her face to look calm and composed, China smiles tightly. “I’m sorry, but I need to get these blankets back to the room.” Spinning on her heels as fast as possible, China starts down the opposite hall from us, off to where I assume Wyatt and Marca are guarded. I feel horrible, but I have to push it. I need to know.

  “China, please. Please tell me.” I plead.

  Stopping, then turning back, her face is set in a hard line. “I’m sorry,” Is all she says moving away without another word.

  “China! Please,” I yell, “Please. Tell me something!”

  Tears choke me, pain surrounds me, and the need to jump from this prison like chair is all I can think of. Attempting to rise, my mom gently presses her hands into my shoulders, holding me in place. “Circe, no. Let her go.”

  Resigning, dragging in a deep breath, I hold in the emotions attempting to flood forth. “Can we go back to the room? I’m tired all of a sudden.”

  “Sure.”

  CIRCE

  “Damaged souls, how may I direct you call?” Witty. For once, it doesn’t make me smile.

  “I saw China today.”

  The line is quiet, with only her breath to be heard. “Fuck.”