Page 52 of 7+Us Makes Nine

“I wasn’t trying to hide this from you. It’s just all… was she always like this? Anya?”

“Catherine,” I said.

Her watery gaze fluttered up to mine and I reached out to cup her cheek. I caught one of her tears onto the tip of my thumb as my eyes danced along her face. She was scared, but not for herself. She was scared for my children. Scared for me. Scared for her budding place in all of this.

She was a remarkable woman, putting the care of my children first. Especially in a situation that dealt with a member of her family.

“I’m not angry with you,” I said. “But I am angry. Anya’s trying to manipulate her way back into my life and she’s using your family to do it.”

“I don’t think her and Hannah had met before that party.”

“That doesn’t mean Anya didn’t already have plans to sink her talons into her. Now, I’m going to do whatever is necessary to keep you and my children safe. You are more a part of this family than she is right now because she’s rather party and do drugs than do the one damn things that’s asked of her for joint custody.”

“I’m so sorry you’re having to deal with all this.”

“Me too,” I said as I stroked her cheek. “Now, what was that phone call with your mother about?”

She shook her head and pulled away from my touch.

“Just the ever-present bullshit she always throws my way. Somehow, my sister skipping out on rehab is my fault because I didn’t want to take over the family business. How Hannah knows what’s best for her and if she can control herself at a party than she’s fine.”

“It sounds like your parents are enablers.”

“Yep. Until the spotlight’s on them. I found that out recently. My parents didn’t enroll Hannah into rehab until my father’s board of investors caught wind of what was going on. That’s how my parents operate. They don’t do anything that’s best for anyone else but themselves and that damn company until it affects their image or their bottom line. Then, they give a shit,” she said.

“Come here,” I said as I opened my arms up to her. “Come here, Catherine.”

She sank into me heavily as I wrapped my arms around her. I felt her tears staining the front of my shirt. It made my heart ache. This wasn’t what she signed up for when she took this job. And I knew no amount of money or benefits I could offer her would make the pain go away. I ran my fingers through her tangled hair as I pulled out my phone, and I immediately dialed my lawyer.

“Mr. Logan. How can I help you?”

“I need some reassurance, Paul.”

“Then I’m in the business of reassuring. Did Anya do something again?” he asked.

“She did. This time, she threatened my children’s nanny that she would come after them. And it rattled her so badly she called the boys’ school to make sure no one else picked them up or took them in any way but her or I.”

“Then I’ll reiterate what I always tell you when you call. This custody agreement is ironclad. And so is the restraining order. She isn’t allowed on your property at all or within one thousand feet of whatever enclosure you and the children are in at any given moment. This custody agreement explicitly states that she cannot see or interact with the children until she successfully completes rehab and takes the necessary weekly drug tests to prove she’s sober over a four-month period. After that, the custody agreement can be taken back to court and amended. But not until then. And it’s stated verbatim and in that order.”

“And you’re sure she can’t do anything? There are no loopholes with me traveling with the kids or anything like that?” I asked.

“Nope. That’s why I fought for the second part of the restraining order. It pertains to your property no matter if you and the children are in it, but it also pertains to you and the children as a unit anywhere you go. Overseas. To the moon. In the middle of the sun. Anywhere, anytime, no matter what.”

Hearing my lawyer say that provided me a great deal of relief.

“Anya has a habit of making herself a public spectacle. Even if she did find a lawyer and attempt to take you back to court, one drug test and one look at the interviews she’s been giving will tip the score right back into your favor. Her sobriety is paramount to this custody agreement, and she simply isn’t.”

“Thanks for talking with me,” I said.

I felt Catherine’s breathing steadying out against my chest.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” Paul asked.

“Fix this?” I asked.

“I wish I could. I know it hurts. I watched my mother go through the same thing with my father, Mr. Logan. Wanting someone to get sober and watching them choose the drug over their family isn’t easy. Especially when it happens more than once. What I can tell you as many times as you need is that this agreement is ironclad with no loopholes. I made sure of it.”

“Thanks, Paul. I appreciate it.”

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