Crown and Anchor Series: Book 1-4

by Kerri Ann

  Curling into a ball against the wall, I vacantly take in all that they do. I could never explain what it feels like to watch this act, this dance of life and death, but I can’t turn away. Fearing that if I pull my eyes from him, he’ll try to escape, leaving me here alone. There’s no one that could tear me away from this.

  “Clear!” Dr. Callie yells as everyone backs away. Wyatt’s body bows, jerking back against the stark bed frame as everyone holds their positions. Gazing at the monitor that’s continued to squeal, nothing changes. “Reset,” she says to the nurse rubbing the paddles together.

  “Charging.” As the doctor ventures a look my way, I try to remain calm.

  Everyone waits patiently as the system sets up before she says again, “Clear!” She hits his body once more. His body jolts after she touches the paddles to his body, and I feel every ounce of the electricity as it courses through him. I’d do everything I could to remove his pain, but him leaving me now is not an option.

  “Come on, Wyatt. Don’t leave me,” I say quietly to myself. Rocking back and forth, I remind myself to breathe. Nipping the insides of my mouth to almost bleeding, I hold my breath until the monitor starts to beep out a consistent rhythm, ending the cruel beep.

  Placing the paddles to the side, Dr. Callie thanks everyone and places the blanket back across my brother’s chest. They all clear out quietly and orderly as I track the beeps. One, two, beep. One, two, beep. One, two, beep. The sound holds me hostage. I have no understanding of its need, other than it means my brother is here and I’m not alone.

  Bending down, Dr. Callie places her hands on my knees, “He’s still here, China.”

  Pulling my gaze from Wyatt feels wrong, but I give the doctor a split second of my time as I respond. “Thank you.”

  “Always. It’s what I’m here for, darlin’.”

  WYATT

  Days upon days. Hours tick down slowly. Minutes seem eternal. Watching, waiting for someone, anyone, to speak to me directly is excruciating.

  Walking in, both the doctor and the nurse offer to get my sister anything she may need. I truly appreciate it. Knowing that others are there for her eases my mind a little. Trusting that Doll can handle everything tossed at her is a pipe dream. Sure, she’s evil on a track, but she’s so young, and we’ve lost so much lately.

  Whiskey arrived at some point, and I’ve seen him taking care of her in his own way. His grumbly conversations are subdued. His usual stark demeanour is calm, and even though he’s pacing like a caged animal, I know he’s here to help. Her posse of bandits have been in and out too, feeding her, giving her moral support, and keeping her from taking all of this too deeply. They’re helping her cope.

  Myself? How am I handling this? Not well.

  Every time I think I get a handle on the silence in my own head, Doll and Whiskey fall out of focus, their words blur and my mind blanks. Staring down a dark tunnel, where there’s no one and nothing, is the wrong place for me. My illness—if that’s what you call it—strangles me. There’s no sound, and no one to talk me down from the silent musings of pain and anguish. No one to argue with either. It reminds me that even though my mother was my greatest trigger, she was also what made me notice I was alive. Yes, we fought, but she had her reasons behind all that she did. Did I despise her for it? Obviously. But with great regret. I take comfort in that last day.

  Remembering when everything truly took a turn for the worst in our family, the bane of our arguments comes to mind freely. That day turned my fate.

  “Wyatt! Are you coming?” She yells down the hall.

  “Not even close, Mother,” I mutter to myself. Fuck, do I wish I were. We’re off to have a rare meeting at the table in the grand salon, as mother calls it, to speak of business. Our family is in one place. All of us are together, which is not something that’s easily done.

  Whiskey flew in this morning and he already looks ready to tear this place apart. It’s mid-July. With the sun streaming in, heating every surface, it’s definitely not his favorite place to be. Doll is still just a kid, and she really has no choice in the matter. I’ve only just turned twenty, and it’s inevitable that I’m included in this soiree whether I like it or not. We’re puppets in the Crown play, and each of us has our part to play in the future.

  Popping into the room, Mother sits on the far side, opposite our team of lawyers. Dad is at the head of the table, while Whiskey is pacing the room. He’s awaiting me and the end to this infernal crap.

  “Thank you for giving us a moment of your time, Wyatt.” Mother signals the seat beside her, expecting me to accept.

  As if mud is stuck to the roof of my mouth, I take a seat and avoid the fight that she’s looking for, for now.

  Pulling out a chair, two down from her, I sidle up to Doll. Her and I would rather hit the track today. Dad has a race in less than twenty-four hours, so you can see each of our minds are elsewhere. His is practicing turns, thinking in moments of throttle position and drag coefficients. Ours is trying out new programming on the bikes. It’s supposed to give us a five second advantage, and I’m itching to try it.

  Huffing out a deep breath, Mother begins. “Margo, Merconda, and Jack, thank you for coming over today to go over this with the whole family. There’s no use in doing it more than once. If you could begin, I’m sure that my children will be quiet listeners.”

  Great. She’s already nipping at our heels, and the gathering hasn’t even begun. Doll knows me, knows how this riles up my need to snap back. Touching my hand lightly, tapping it, she’s telling me to be patient. Smiling her way, I nod.

  Noticing that we’re all being quiet and acquiescent children, Merconda starts. “Well, thank you for giving us the floor, Mrs. Crown. I’ll try to keep it short. If there are any questions, I’m sure we can tackle them after.” Pulling out stacks of pinned sheets, she hands them to Margo and Jack, who then move around the table, setting a clipped set in front of each family member, along with a shiny new Mont Blanc. “As per the request of your parents, their wills have been recently adjusted. Please read over the leaflets, and sign the appropriate positions noted by the tabs.”

  “This isn’t right, Mother. You’ve given us no time to decide if this is right for us. What if I don’t want to sign it?” My brother doesn’t even open the paperwork. Slamming the pen that he was handed down, he rises from his chair and starts for the door.

  “Son. Sit.” Dad’s voice is commanding, halting Whiskey’s exit. Normally, he’s the one in the background, quietly voicing opinions, awaiting us to decide our own courses. For him to speak out harshly to Whiskey is unusual.

  “I’m not up for this bullshit. Why should I sit here and wait? It’s inevitable that I’ll be excluded.” Straining his teeth, you can almost hear the enamel scrubbing off as he stands there, visibly stressed.

  “Whiskey. Sit, please.” Dad says it this time with a dark intent, but in his quiet calm.

  Nodding to Dad, he slowly pulls the chair back and sits, but it’s not restful. Pulling air through his teeth, crossing his arms tightly, you can see he’s ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

  “Could we continue?” Charming, yet crassly, Merconda peers at Jamieson over the top of her wire rimmed glasses, with a scowl of disgust. “So, as I already stated, your parents have adjusted their wills. The original format was to leave it to you each in trust until you became twenty-five. Seeing that Jamieson has almost reached that age, and is not involved in Crown Industries in any way, being that he is immersed in his own affairs, it has been corrected.” Turning her sights from Jamieson, she focuses on me. “Wyatt, if you could. Please turn to page seventy-two.”

  The shock must be blazing its way across my face as Doll squeezes my hand in a show of solidarity. Looking down the length of the large table to my brother, I’m shocked. He never felt that mother would continue the original format, passing it along to him, the snow racer, but to remove it from him just as he reaches his birthday is a serious asshole move.

  Lo
oking to Dad, his face is sullen and alight with stress. It shows his displeasure at this turn of events. No, I never assumed it would stay as it was, but to do this is unfair.

  “You both felt it best to do this now? Why?”

  Not allowing Dad to answer, Mother chimes in quickly. “Well, Wyatt. You do have your faults, your moments that cause me great displeasure and disgust, but in all those moments, I still see you as the rightful heir to the position.” Fuck. I knew she’d go there eventually.

  Tossing the paperwork across the table, Whiskey narrowly misses Margo’s head. “You’re kidding me!” Pushing the chair tightly back against the wall, flames can be seen in Whiskey’s eyes. “Dad, I love you. Cas and Doll, I’ll see you if you call me, but otherwise, I’m out of this family.”

  He glares at mother. “Don’t call. Don’t ask for me to pop over for family meetings, dinners, occasions, or celebrations. I was never a Crown to you. Thank you for reminding me of that.” Storming out of the room, feeling the heat rise off his body, Whiskey passes us, slamming the salon doors behind him.

  “Was that really necessary?” Merconda asks, slightly miffed that a show of emotion was brought into a very analytical affair. Showing her disdain at our family squabble, I can’t believe her audacity. Her lack of care or compassion is why she’s Mother’s lawyer.

  “Are you fucking kidding me? Are you really that callous? You’re a fucking—”

  “Wyatt!” Raising her voice, spitting mad, Mother interrupts me at the worst time.

  “Don’t act like this wasn’t all your doing.” Rising from my chair, I move toward my parents, seeing red.

  “Cas, don’t let her—”

  “Doll. Don’t be a silly girl. She’s pitted us against each other, changing our fates. We haven’t even been told the worst parts yet, I’m sure? I doubt you or I will be content with the direction they’ve chosen.”

  “Casper, your mother and I felt it best to leave the team in better hands. Someone who would run it correctly. Someone who would perform as tasked, that would benefit the team.” Dad truly feels he’s made a move that will be best for the team, for the family and for the future. I disagree. I look over at Mother, who’s chomping at the bit to throw us into chaos. Dad holds her hand, slowly calming her down, even as that glint of trouble lights her features. He has a way with her, just as Doll has with me.

  Standing beside me, Doll is hoping I won’t cause a scene, that I won’t need to be subdued.

  Calming myself slightly, listening to his words, it sounds as if he’s decided we’re best split up, going our separate ways in business overall. Taking in what he suggests, I sit back down, even though I don’t feel I should. “Do you really feel this is best? I don’t see this as a way to keep us whole.”

  My father shakes his head. “Wyatt, please read the forms. When you’re done, argue your points. At least give your sister the opportunity to see what is required of both of you.”

  Hating to disappoint him, I do as he instructs. Blowing out the fire that is banked within me, I gather serenity from every cell I own and slightly relax, waiting to hear them out.

  “Thank you. Merconda, if you could please continue,” Dad says with a soft smile.

  Acting as if this has been a mere bump in her diatribe, Merconda resumes. “Let us continue.”

  For the next hour, we run through every detail, every nuance, and every point that I’d rather forget. But, I have no choice.

  Neither does Doll, or Whiskey.

  CIRCE

  Dealing with my history, reminding myself that our accidents make up who we are, I gently touch the scar on my leg. It’s my reminder that they were real to me, and they deserve my attempt at being a better person every moment of the day.

  Addressing my estranged mother’s sudden appearance was not something I expected to deal with in this setting, but I can do it. At that point in my life, I wanted to forget it all. I changed my name, and closed any ties that could connect me to them. She didn’t deserve the cut. She was only trying to give me the best of everything.

  That girl, the one who always wanted more, who wanted to be the best, was so different from who I am now. My self-imposed exile made me understand material things were just that; things. It made me understand how badly I needed a true connection with someone. Sure, with Wyatt, I have that now. It’s been an uphill battle with his condition, for me to understand it and go with the flow, but it’s given me back what I gave away willingly.

  I’ve been really short with my mother, acting awful. Arriving on my doorstep, as it were, I was so afraid to talk to her, so I fell back asleep. She said she wanted to be here when I woke up, hoping we could talk more. So far, we’ve just been sitting silently as Sali changed over a few IV bags, cleared up trash on the side table, and brought me in a light meal. I haven’t really touched it, but I have to admit, the Jell-O here is wicked.

  “Circe?”

  Tucking the blanket down, I scoop up the spoon, along with the bright red Jell-O, and suck back a whack of the luscious treat.

  Muffling an answer around the spoon, “Yeah?”

  She’s squirming in her seat, trying to figure out how to ask what’s bothering her. “Where have you been? I mean, I know you left the States for a while, but I didn’t know where you ended up. Well, so that this,” she says quietly, flourishing her hands in the air, “happened to you.”

  Nodding a response, I resign myself to the line of questioning I knew would be inevitable. “I ended up on a longer road than I can explain in one sentence. Suffice to say, I was living in Cardiff for a couple years, and I’ve only just gotten back in the States.” Mouthing the spoon, pulling in a couple servings of the red goodness, I scrape the bottom of the now empty cup, wishing there was more. The rest of the food on the tray is indescribable. It might have once been a chicken breast and soft pasta in sauce, but it smells odd, and it’s not very appealing.

  Laying the empty cup and dirty spoon on the tray, I grab up the glass of water and drink it down, as if it’s the last freshwater on earth.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks sheepishly. Looking over at her, I worry about what to tell her. She seems nervous and awkward. To tell her that my insides are burning, and that my arm is ice cold would seem petty. Most of all, my heart is broken not knowing what’s happened with the others. I don’t know how to tell her how badly I’ve missed everything about her, and that I’m really glad she’s here.

  “Tight,” I tell her. “My chest is very tight. The worst thing, honestly, is the itch in my hand. I can’t reach it in this stupid cast.”

  Smiling, reaches down into her oversized purse and pulls out a metal nail file. I squeal with delight.

  “Oh, sweet heaven. You’re a genius!” Handing me the petite silver bliss maker, I can almost taste the relief. Taking it in hand, I place it just inside the edge of the cast near my thumb and move it back and forth. It’s hard to shift it gently without scratching my skin off, but every time it hits the right spot, it’s orgasmic. Until it slips.

  “Circe, you look encumbered. Will you let me help you, please?” Trepidation is displayed across her features. She’s afraid to offer assistance, or to offend me. Fuck, I feel horrible. Extending my arm out, positioning the open side closer to where she sits, my mother gently appeases my itchy skin.

  We haven’t seen each other in years, and I’m not sure what’s happened in all that time in her life, or in Dad’s, and how they’ve been since I left them behind without a word. Locking the feelings down before I cry inconsolably, because to be totally honest, I want someone to confide in and talk to. Hell, I want to know the truth. But that’s not her issue, and pushing it on her won’t fix it. Patience is what I need. I need tons of patience. The best I can offer her right now is a starting point on repairing our relationship.

  “And I thought bringing you a good coffee would be a welcome respite.” Poking her head around the curtain, I’m relieved to see my friend.

  “Did you happen to find—�
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  “Psh! Of course I found you a triple mocha, half-caf, nonfat latte. Who would doubt me?” Smiling at my mother, I take in the confusion in Carli’s eyes.

  Tears threaten to spill out as I take the glorious smelling concoction from her. “I missed you.”

  Sarcasm lights her features. “Well, who else would know your likes and dislikes, Raggedy Ann?” Pulling over a chair, she reaches a hand out to my mom. “By the way, I’m the best friend, confidant, and all ’round better half to Circe. You must be related.”

  Carli knows some things about me. Not much, as I kept it pretty locked down, but even an idiot could see the resemblance. “Carli Katana. This is my mother, Natalie Matcheson.”

  Seeming offended with my introductions, Carli extends her hand across the bed for my mother to shake. “Hard to miss the resemblance.” Turning to me with a WTF look, Carli quips off like she does in awkward situations. “I always figured you weren’t hatched in an incubator, so someone had to be your mother.”

  Mouthing to her that I’ll explain later, I sip my coffee. Sweet, addictive, and totally required.

  “Kubanwan.” Turning toward my mother, with a confused look on my face, I listen as she speaks Japanese.

  Returning the greeting, Carli bows slightly, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You know Japanese?”

  “Sukoshi.” Winking, she releases Carli’s hand and returns to the nail file.

  Kicking back on the chair, placing her black pumps on the bed beside my legs, Carli turns. “So, wanna tell me why I can’t tell you anything about anything? What’s with the lawyering up before I visit?”

  “I wish I knew. Mom said she’s sworn to secrecy too. It’s driving me crazy.”