Tempting the Crown (The Crown 1)

He was in the middle of one of his highs. A high I had experienced way too often. And I knew what was coming next—the low. But when? How many days or weeks would it take?

“Just listen to me for a minute. I don’t think you have to pick up and move to work on this opportunity. It’s great they see how talented you are. Because you are an amazing graphic designer. But why not stay at home where you can focus on recovery and then if you have free time, you can freelance for them?”

“No, sis. I’m all in.”

Damn it. I knew that’s what he would say.

“Can we at least talk about this tonight when I get home from work? I want to know who these guys are. Have you looked at their business plan? Where is the shop? What beach? The details are important here.”

He laughed. “Well, here’s the surprise.”

I cringed.

“I’m in the car. Already packed. I’m

driving right now.”

“Holy shit. Does Mom know you left?”

“No, but I did leave a note this time so she won’t freak out and call the police.”

“Damn it, Garrett,” I seethed into the phone. “You have an illness and you have to take care of yourself. You’re going to break her heart.” I left out the part about how many times he had broken mine. I had scars that were jagged and deep.

“She’ll be fine. She’s Mom.”

Meg poked her head out of the door and waved me in. I knew the waiting room was full by now.

“Listen, drive carefully. Take your meds, and I will call you tonight.”

“I’ll do two out of those three.” He was laughing. He never took my worry seriously.

“Garrett, please.”

“Stop worrying. Don’t you think if there were something really wrong, you’d feel it? You know that psychic twin connection you always said we have?”

I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye. I pulled my finger away, smudged with mascara. I did feel it. It was terribly wrong. He was driving off a cliff. Over the side with a smile on his face because he thought he had found freedom. He thought he had broken free from his prison. He always forgot the prison was freedom. He couldn’t exist in the world without medical help.

In two weeks he’d be huddled in the corner of his room, crying and begging his friends to help him hurt himself. He’d call me at all hours of the night, wanting me to get him. His personal detox of whatever stabilizing drugs were in his system would take him to the brink of insanity. He’d stop eating. He’d drink. He’d use any drugs someone offered him to erase the pain.

Last time it was heroin. Before it had been cocaine. He would end up in the hospital, strapped to a bed, being forced sedatives and anti-anxiety medication.

Meg’s arm movements got bigger and bigger. I had to go before she tried to drag me in the building.

“Garrett, we will talk. I love you.”

I hung up and trudged into the building. The women in here counted on me to help them and right now I didn’t know how to help my own brother.

Chapter Eight

I didn’t have the energy to make dinner or even order pizza. Greer texted that she had another late night at the Capitol and was going to spend what was left of it with Preston.

I couldn’t blame her. If I’d had someone, I’d do the same thing.

I made it to the top floor, kicked off my shoes, and flopped onto the couch. I extended my legs to the end of the cushions, massaging the underside of my calf.

Garrett ignored my calls and my texts all days. I tried twice before I left the office, but his voicemail was full.

I closed my eyes for a second and remembered the brother he used to be. He was three minutes younger. Three full minutes that I used to hold over his head. It was hard to think about him that way anymore. All I could see was the illness. And I hated myself for it. There was more to him than that, but he couldn’t get out of his own way. He wouldn’t accept help. He wouldn’t accept his diagnosis. That’s what it always came back to. He rejected that he was bi-polar and manic. Until he was willing to stick with treatment the vicious cycle would never end.