Page 106 of Love Thief

I sigh, scrubbing my hand down my face and pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers in disbelief. No one is fucking listening.

I look to the sky for patience. “Very funny, Tim. Can you just put out a statement saying they’re mine and to leave her alone. Include something about how online trolling of a pregnant woman is vile as are the people who do it. I think we also need to put the frighteners on Lauren. Let's legal her up. Most of the shit comes from her.”

He sighs, he’s been at my house, he’s seen the women here.

“They’ve been gone a few weeks now,” I tell him, “but we need her to stand down.”

“Why won’t you go? You want to, I know you do. Xander wants to go.”

I’m exasperated with them all. “What if I go and then something happens to her? I’ve told you, I’ll make that happen, I know it. I need to stay here, Tim. Why won’t you all listen to me.” My fear is paralysing me.

“Marcus, you are not jinxed. It’s probably some weird hormone thing. You never got anything checked out. It may not have even been you. I know you don’t want to think about Caroline badly, but it may have been her, a gene in her. All the babies were boys, and you don’t know if it was something to do with that. You just buried your head in the sand and blamed yourself.”

“I don’t fucking care. I will not be the reason she loses those babies. And I cannot lose her. I can’t. That will be the end, finito.” My heart is hammering in my chest and my brain is misfiring just saying those words.

He throws his hands up. “You’re staying away, missing out again, for some unprovable reason. Go the fuck home, Marcus.”

I shake my head. “Put out that statement. Protect my wife and children.”

I hang up. I reckon I’ve got a few weeks before Xander leaves me. I hope I can hang on, I need to hang on, for her, regardless of the cost to myself. I’m scared I’m going to lose everyone, but my fear of losing Evie and the children drives me to risk it all and stay.

Xander is battering me daily to put out statements or go home. To go on television and talk about Evie and my children or go home. To announce my impending fatherhood via a few radio stations or go home. He finally storms out, threatening he is going home.

Devon is everywhere. The fucking internet is full of it. Pinky, Crocket and Tubbs, Marshall even. I bet they could get their own show. Evie At Home, according to Xan via Jonno. They’re being inundated with offers. Interior shows, family shows, farming, building. People are desperate for a glimpse, them and me both. They are charming, uncensored, real, all the things we love about them. But Evie is something else. She comes across fun-loving, genuine, caring, drawing a crowd more than Pinky. She always did.

I consume everything I can see, and the pictures keep coming. James, is next level.

James

Come home Dad,

Attachment:

week 27 picture

I look at the woman carrying my children. They are huge and she looks tiny. I file it away with the other gallery of pictures. I need to stay strong. If I go, something will happen, I know it. I need to stay away.

Chapter

Thirty-Three

EVIE

The weeks roll by, my plan firmly in place. It’ll not be long now. I’m booked for a section for sixth December unless something changes and we need to go earlier. At thirty weeks, I’ve got less time in front than I have behind, and I’m like a slow moving vehicle, with spatial awareness issues. I keep bumping into things, forgetting how big I am.

Devon is quiet. Kasey and Carter have gone back to LA. They’ve been making the rounds on the chat shows, talking about here, and we’re swamped with offers to make us stars.

I laugh at it all. The only thing I may do is a bit of charity work for kids in the care system. Make use of the farm and the stables for children from towns and cities. We’re debating some of the more ecological horse stuff, if we are able to use it, but ultimately I would leave the picking to Molly and Lisa.

I’m standing out by the railings watching Marshall with one of the yearlings, when I get a call from Tarron Barclay.

“Hello my lovely pregnant daughter, how are you?” I smile into the phone. He’s been calling me ‘daughter’ since our trip up there in June.

“I’m good, getting bigger. How are you? All good in lovely Scotland?”

“Yes and no is the answer to that. I’ve hurt my leg. In fact, I actually broke it a few weeks ago. I’m up and about again, but am having to take it easy. No reeling for me yet.”

I chuckle. “The ladies of Barclay will be glad of the rest, Tarron. Just think how ready to go again they’ll be when their dancing partner is back.”

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