Page 65 of 7+Us Makes Nine

The tears welling in her eyes broke my heart. I reached out for her, but she took a step away from me. Like my touch was revolting to her. I felt a piece of my heart break off and fall to the floor when she crinkled her nose in disgust at my outstretched hand.

“Why is it always about Anya?” Catherine said with a whisper.

“What?” I asked.

“Why is it always about someone else?” she asked.

I furrowed my brown in confusion as Catherine slid her hand through her hair.

“It’s always about someone else,” she said. “Always. Hannah. Or Anya. Or my friends. Or the kids. It’s always about someone else but me. And for once, I want it to be about me. I know that’s selfish and I know that’s immature, but I’m always put on the backburner. I’m always the one that’s shoved into a hole or hidden away.”

“I’m not hiding-”

“Yes you are, Jace!”

I was shocked at the volume her voice jumped.

“You are hiding me. Our child. And you can tell yourself it’s for a good reason all you want. Maybe it is. But at least call a spade a spade, Jace. Because you’re better than that. You're hiding us away now. Covering up your tracks instead of standing strong against the decision you made with me every night after we put those kids to bed. I understand. I know you have to keep Anya at bay. I know you have to protect them, because I’ve been doing that as well. Protecting your children, Jace. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t feel jilted from the happiness my friends have boasted about every single time I sit down with them. This is supposed to be the happiest moment in a woman’s life, and you’re telling me to hide away.”

I felt sick to my stomach, because I knew she was right.

“For once, I wish it wasn’t about the drug-addled woman. For once, I wish it was just about me.”

Then she turned on her heels, left the room, and closed the door to her bedroom.

I wanted to go after her, but I didn’t think it would solve anything. Fuck. I raked my hands down my face and groaned into the empty space of my living room. I understood how she felt. So many times I’d had to lock myself and the kids away because of Anya’s insanity. Because of her instability. And I hated it. I hated that I couldn't celebrate this with her. That we couldn't parade it around and go to the doctor and rejoice by going out to eat. I hated that she couldn't call every single one of her friends and yell and scream and just and cry and smile with them.

But I had other children to protect as well. Other children that needed my focus and my help and my protection. Children that were already here. I had to do whatever it took to keep this away from the mess I’d made. The mess I’d caused. No matter how much it hurt Catherine and no matter how much it hurt me in the process. They were helpless. Defenseless. And until I knew for a fact that Anya couldn't touch those children, even if she did take us back to court, then I would have to keep doing what it took.

I also knew that continuing to do that could cost me Catherine. The woman carrying my child. The woman who had single-handedly come in and brightened up my home. The woman who had flipped everything on its head and brought a beauty into my life I thought was long gone.

The woman carrying my heart.

“Shit,” I said harshly.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?

Twenty-Two

Catherine

I flushed the toilet and wiped at my mouth. Morning sickness was a bitch. And I couldn't even call anyone to complain about it. I stood at the sink and splashed some water in my face, trying to wake myself up a bit. The exhaustion was treacherous. I’d sleep all through the night and still want to lay back down and sleep all through the day as well. The bags underneath my eyes were heavy, and there were times when cleaning and laundry didn’t get done and pizza was ordered for dinner just so I could snuggle back underneath the covers and go back to sleep.

My only saving grace was that Michaela had started preschool full-time. So from eight in the morning until three in the afternoon, the house was calm. Silent. If I could muster the energy to clean until eleven, then I had four hours to sleep until the busses came around to drop the kids off. I didn’t want to let Michaela right the bus. I still thought she was too young. But her preschool had a bus that drove around town with all of the teachers to pick up the kids. And the bus had seat belts as well as lots of adult supervision. Plus, she wanted to ride the bus like her

brothers.

She was adamant about it.

But lately, the news had my attention. I’d turned on the television Jace’s room more in the past two weeks than I had in my entire life. His television was the only one in the house, and every time I turned it on I realized why. Anya’s face was splashed along the screen. Her words constantly scrolled underneath ‘breaking news’ stories. For the past month, she had been shouting at the void of the media that she was working on getting her children back.

And the problem with that was she looked better with each interview.

Jace and I had fought over two weeks ago, and walking around one another was hard. I still harbored anger and resentment towards him, but the more I watched Anya on television the more that anger turned to our circumstance. With each passing interview, she looked a little clearer. Her words weren’t as slurred. The color had come back to her features. And for the most recent interviews, it looked almost like she was sober.

No wonder Jace was worried.

The media was eating this story up. They enjoyed the ‘angel fallen from grace’ story. They also enjoyed the redemption story, and the media was constantly asking questions like ‘will Anya and Jace rekindle their Hollywood love story?’ and ‘will we see the dynamic duo reunite their families for good?’

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