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I start to move. “What the fuck does that mean?” Jude’s angry now.
Oh boy. I look at him, and his expression instantly confirms who he was with in the black tent, and potentially white as well. I examine all my brother's faces. They already knew.
“It means exactly what I said. I’m going to meet Grace, so I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“Not so fucking fast,” Jonno stops me. “That was a very cryptic message you just sent us. Has she tried to hurt James or Bucky in the past?”
I just stare at him. “I’m going out. You know how I feel. I’m asking you to respect that. I live here too, and I have feelings the same as you.”
“You weren’t bothered about us when you were fucking Kellen here and we didn’t want him.”
“Did you tell me you didn’t want him? Or did you call me a whore-bag? Questioned how I could let him do things to me and expect me to extrapolate his rescinded invite from there. Not sure which it was Jude. Enlighten me. Was it concern for my well-being, my lack of respect for your wishes, or the fact I didn’t ask your permission?”
“I apologised for that!” he roars at me.
“I’m out, because this is going nowhere.” I stride away confidently to my room and sit on the bed, looking around at the remnants of my life.
I pick up my phone, dialling out. When Marshall picks up, I tell him, “I just got my answer. Put the hammer down, it's go time.”
“Midarlin’, you sure? It’s a big thing, and I’m not sure you’re in the best place to make the decision.” He’s so calm, he always thinks of me first.
“This was coming. We've just been lucky, I guess, and had a good run. Do it. See you later.” I click the phone off.
“Who’s on the phone?” Jonno pushes into the room.
I view him benignly. “What do you want, Jonno?”
“I want to know why. I want to know who you were straight on the phone to. Telling him to ‘Do it.’ And I want to know what ‘it’ is.”
“You don’t want much, then. Not telling you why–strike one. Not telling you who–strike two. And not telling you what ‘it’ is, so you’re three for three, J—strike out.” I push at him and laugh, trying to deflect the seriousness of the situation, I’ve just instigated.
“You know, Evie, you’re good. In fact, I’m so fucking proud of how good you actually are, but you’re not quite as good as you think. I will find out what you’re up to.”
I smile at him. “As it should be then, little bro. Game on.”
Chapter
Thirty-Six
Evie
I feel like a cuckoo has taken over my nest. I’m a doppelganger for Evie Greystone.
Several weeks pass in a blur of activity. Work is busy, made even busier by all the things I’m manoeuvring in the background. I have meetings with lawyers, but all of them are booked under the guise of my building work. I continue to get calls from Kellen, and I continue to answer and force myself to carry on like a normal human being.
But the only time I feel like myself and not ‘on’ as Evie Greystone is when I’m at Marshall’s.
I’ve even stopped going to the Greystone farm when I visit Devon, choosing to spend the entire time at Marshall’s and brushing off my brothers’ concerns anytime the subject is brought up. I know I’m hurting their ma—she practically raised me—but I have to remember my end goal. I can’t be hurt again.
Kellen has been calling almost daily (you would not believe the shit he comes up with to call about), Xander is still sending pictures and calling daily, and now Isobel has started to call as well—obviously Jude has passed on my thoughts and best wishes.
Easter has been and gone and the lads are still hard at the books. It's full steam down to exams and the summer. So my days are pretty full. The distractions and excuses everything provides are a blessing and a curse.
I’m in my office in the city sorting some building materials that seem to be stuck in the docks at Felixstowe. We can’t seem to get them out and my building needs them. I have an architecture magazine coming in a few days to talk about the building and surrounding area. An area I am now the sole owner of.
However, only my beautiful building is in my name, so I am pretty sure no one is any the wiser. Unless Jonno is on to my buying spree. As of yet he hasn’t said a word, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know.
My phone rings and it's Kellen again. “Hey, Kellen. What’s up?” My standard greeting these days.
