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“I don’t know, man. I try not to make fun of people’s names. Mine isn’t exactly on the most wanted baby names list.”
“He’s alright. I make fun of his name, but he’s a solid dude. Works hard, supports her, and to some extent, the kids when I’m not there. It could have been worse. He’s apologized a million times for the whole mess. I’m not sure how to be mad at someone that I loved finding love with someone else. I mean, aren’t we supposed to be happy for them?”
“I think we are,” said Callan, “but I gotta tell you that if Juliette left me for someone else, I’m not sure what I would do.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Callan. I’ve seen the way that woman looks at you. I’m just grateful I didn’t have to go through what my sister went through. She and her husband were both seeing other people, then finally admitted it to one another. They were both pissed, ironic considering they were both guilty.
“Anyway, they fought over everything. The house, cars, kids, dogs, everything. In the end, the kids didn’t want to be with either one of them. Ended up going to live with my mom. One is going to college in Arkansas. The other is still in high school but giving Mom fits. He came home last week with some weird fucking tattoo on his back.”
Callan stopped, wheeling his chair to the head of the table. He tapped his client on the shoulder, and he looked up.
“Weird, how?”
“He went to some hack. A guy just sitting outside bussing for business. My nephew wanted a fleur-de-lis but ended up getting some stupid fucking Chinese symbol. I asked him to come with me today, see if you could fix it, but he didn’t show up at the house before I left.”
“Call him,” said Callan.
“What? Dude, we’re in the middle of my tattoo,” he smirked.
“Call him. Please, this is important.”
“Okay. Okay,” he said, sitting up. He took his phone out and hit the button. “Hi, Mom. Is Marcus there? When? What did he say?”
“What’s going on?” asked Callan.
“My mom said that they got in a fight over the tattoo, and Marcus left, saying he was gonna find the guy to fix it. That was yesterday morning. He hasn’t been home since.”
“Shit.”
“So we think the kid got the same tattoo and decided to confront the tattoo artist himself?” asked Nine.
“That’s what my customer said. He said he’s been a pretty decent kid since living with the grandmother. He left yesterday to chase down the guy that did the tat, and that was the last time she saw him. He’s seventeen, a decent-sized kid.”
“Gabe? Take Pork and go talk to the grandmother,” said Gaspar. His little brother nodded, heading out the door with Pork following.
“What now?” asked Ian. Nine shook his head, looking at his fellow seniors.
“We need a fucking break.”
CHAPTER TEN
Walker, Leif, and Forrest laughed as they left their last class of the day. All three of the boys were done with football and baseball but still running track. Because of the heat in Louisiana, their practice sessions were in the morning.
“How do you think you did on the chemistry test?” asked Leif.
“I think I did alright,” said Forrest. “I probably didn’t ace it like Walker.”
“I didn’t ace it,” laughed Walker, shaking his head.
All three boys were amazing physical specimens. You really couldn’t call them ‘boys’ any longer. They were young men. Their bodies were maturing every day, and by the time they were ready to ship out, they would look much like their fathers, uncles, and others at Belle Fleur.
Leif was the son of Magnus and Addie Bridges. Once Magnus found out that his father was alive and well, he took his middle name as his last name. The way it was intended. Lief Frode was the spitting image of his father. He was tall, wide, naturally strong, and every girl in school was attracted to him.
Walker was the son of Bodhi and Vivienne Norgenson. Although Viv was a short, voluptuously curvy woman with dark hair, Bodhi was the complete opposite. At six-feet-seven and a muscular, solid, two hundred and eighty pounds, he was a giant Viking. Walker inherited his father’s size, speed, strength, and incredibly good looks. With light brown hair and hazel eyes, he was stunning.
Forrest was the son of Robbie and Carrie Robicheaux. And Forrest looked every inch a Robicheaux. He had the auburn hair, whiskey-colored eyes, light-hearted sense of humor, and a body that made the girls want to swoon. With narrow hips and waist, his shoulders and chest seemed triple their size.
These weren’t just teenage boys. They were teenage boys in grown men’s bodies.
