Risking the Crown (The Crown 2)

“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 8

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.

For tonight he was safe. He was on one of his peaks. He had something he looked forward to. He had an outlet for his art. He had friends. It was what was coming next that worried me.

I peeled myself off the couch to pour a glass of wine.

The bottle glugged as the crimson liquid filled the oversized glasses Greer had bought. I wandered to the deck and stooped to turn on the lights.

The first sob came from my shoulders, but the next one from my stomach.

I tried to simultaneously drink the wine while I cried. It was a pathetic attempt. I just needed something.

I’d never experienced loneliness like I had here. The isolation was unbearable tonight. I dabbed at my tears and tried to take a steady breath. I wanted more wine and walked back to the kitchen.

Garrett made me f

eel helpless. Part of me resented that about him. He made me unable to act. Kept me from being able to help. Prevented me from doing what he needed. It was twisted and unbearable.

He wasn’t thinking about how he affected Mom or me. We were an afterthought. That part always hurt. He wasn’t my afterthought. But maybe this was the consequence for moving so far away. This was his way of shoving my choices in my face. I couldn’t drive to him. I couldn’t stop him. And we both knew it.

I jumped when I heard my phone ring. I rushed to answer, praying Garrett had finally changed his mind, or at least was ready to talk about his new life plans. I only needed to catch him in a moment of clarity in order to reach him. He would listen to me if only I could tap into the sliver of reason I knew he carried with him. It was still there. He was still there.