Page 68 of 7+Us Makes Nine

I held my breath as he walked towards me, his body closer than it had been in so very long.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Everything has been so out of control. And I’ve been so unfocused. And you’ve been dealing with so much on your-”

I threw my arms around him and pulled him into a hug. I didn't care about his apology. I didn’t care about what he had to say. All I cared about was feeling his arms around me. I held him close, no longer caring if the children saw us touching. If the children saw us caring for one another. I buried my face into the crook of his neck as my silent tears dripped onto his skin. He ran his hands up and down my back, soothing the exhaustive ache I’d had in my muscles for days.

“I’m sorry you’ve been doing this alone,” he said with a whisper.

“We have to stand together,” I said. “We’re no good divided.”

“I know,” he said into my neck. “I know.”

He breathed in my scent and it shot rippling shockwaves down my spine.

“Please forgive me,” he said desperately. “I’m so sorry, Catherine.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s okay. I understand where you’re coming from. I do. I promise.”

“You should have never slept alone these past two weeks. What do you need? What can I do for you, sweetheart?”

I melted into his arms at that name.

My first pet name.

I loved it.

“I need you to help me get these kids some ice cream. I’m exhausted,” I said.

“Done. Go sit down with the kids on the couch. I’ve got it.”

And as I pulled away from him and looked into his eyes, the smallest spark of the man I’d come to know was flooding back into his vision.

The smallest spark of the man I’d come to love was returning back to me.

Twenty-Three

Jace

Anya had been on a tirade for two solid months, and we were at a point where Catherine could no longer hide her baby bump. She was much bigger than I’d anticipated her being. Then I remembered Anya being at her stage with Michaela. Catherine was five months along and I quickly came to find that she didn’t want a lot of intervention. We only went to the doctor when it was necessary, but we hadn’t had an ultrasound done yet. I’d paid a nice price for a doctor to come visit us in our home to do everything. Take blood samples. Check her over. Get her prenatals. But Catherine had been adamant about not having an ultrasound because of all the radiation unless it was necessary.

The doctor signed off in it, given how well she took care of her body, so we hadn’t even seen our child yet.

The legal battle was raging onward. Anya did lawyer up, and he was coming at us full-force. He was arguing that Anya was sober, just not in the way we had intended her to get sober. She was producing clean drug tests despite skipping out on rehab twice, and I was growing worried. She had no legal claim to the boys. A judge had already ruled over that. But she was coming hard for Michaela.

For my little girl.

For my princess.

And as each week went by and as she produced clean drug tests, my lawyer grew more worried.

He kept telling me that it was the only contingency. That her sobriety was paramount. If she was producing regular drug tests that came back clear, then there was nothing in the custody agreement that said she couldn't fight for custody again. And that was what she was doing. I gathered evidence everywhere I could. I even talked with Catherine about the possibility of roping her sister into all of this as personal testimony. I knew Anya was still partying. Staying out at all hours of the night. I had a private investigator following her and he had a trough of pictures of her with drinks in her hands. Hanging around people in the community known for dealing the very things she had to go to rehab for.

Some of the pictures even had Catherine’s sister in them. High as hell and leaning against Anya as the two of them threw back shots. I didn’t want to do that to her, though. I didn’t want to splash these pictures everywhere. I didn’t want to use the media to turn the tide in my favor. Not if I didn’t have to. Even after everything Anya had put me through. My children through. Catherine and I through. I didn’t want to use the tactics she was resorting to in order to win this custody battle she’d thrown me into.

So I told the private investigator to keep the pictures in his possession and not do anything with them until I gave the word.

Because I only wanted to use them if it was my last resort in protecting my children.

Though things were tough and incredibly stressful for all of us, I was trying to put my anger and frustration aside. Today, Catherine and I were going to find out the gender of our child. Even though she was still nervous about the use of radiation during her pregnancy, I knew she wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl. She was more excited than I was in some ways, and watching her happiness come to life when the doctor came to the door brought an unspeakable joy into my life.

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