"Tell that to your mother." Henri clapped a hand on Remy's shoulder, then pulled him into another fierce hug. "I'm proud of you, son. So damn proud."
Jean-Pierre stood slightly apart, his hands shoved in his pockets, uncertainty written across his handsome features. He was built like Remy but broader, his face more angular, his eyes a darker shade of amber. He looked like a man who wasn't sure if he was welcome.
Remy noticed. Of course he did.
"Hey, JP." His voice was softer now, stripped of its usual bravado, the performer's mask set aside. "You going to stand there all day or are you going to come meet my pack?"
Jean-Pierre's face crumpled for just a moment before he wrestled it back under control, his jaw tightening with the effort. "I didn't know if—after everything?—"
"We're idiots." Remy crossed to his brother and grabbed him by the shoulders, his grip firm but gentle. "Both of us. Complete and total idiots. I spent twelve years running from something that wasn't your fault, and you spent twelve years blaming yourself for not chasing me." He shook his brother gently, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. "So let's just agree that we're both idiots and move on, yeah?"
Jean-Pierre let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-sob, his composure finally cracking. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." He nodded,swiping quickly at his eyes. "I can work with that." They embraced—fierce and brief and somehow more intimate for its restraint—and when they pulled apart, both of them were blinking too fast.
"So." Jean-Pierre cleared his throat, visibly pulling himself together, and turned to face us. His posture was easier now, some of the tension bleeding from his broad shoulders. "You must be the infamous pack. Remy hasn't shut up about you."
"Lies and slander." Remy pressed a hand to his chest, gasping in mock offense, his curls bouncing as he shook his head. "I am the picture of discretion."
"You called me at two in the morning to describe how cute Artemis looks when she's angry." JP's lips twitched, a dimple appearing in his left cheek—the same side as Remy's, I noticed.
"That was important information!" Remy jabbed a finger at his brother, but the grin pulling at his mouth ruined any attempt at indignation.
I felt my face heat, but I refused to let embarrassment win. "Two in the morning? Really, Remy?" I arched an eyebrow at him. "And here I thought you loved me for my sparkling personality, not just my angry face."
"I love all your faces, cher." Remy's grin was unrepentant. "The angry one just happens to be particularly memorable."
"I'm filing that away for later." I turned back to JP, extending my hand. "It's nice to meet you, Jean-Pierre. Remy's told us... well, he's told us a lot, actually. I'm choosing to believe about half of it."
"Smart woman." JP nodded approvingly as he shook my hand. "And please, call me JP. Everyone does except Maman when she's angry."
From inside the house, Colette's voice rang out: "Henri! Come taste this gumbo! It's actually good! Why is it good? Remy, what did you do to my mother's recipe?—"
Remy groaned, dropping his head back in exaggerated despair. "Here we go." But affection laced his voice as he headed toward the door, drawn toward his mother like a magnet finding true north.
Dinner was chaos in the best possible way.
Colette had indeed brought four coolers' worth of food—boudin, crawfish pies, pralines, a king cake even though it was nowhere near Mardi Gras, "Every celebration needs king cake, don't argue with me", and she insisted on adding dishes to our already laden table until there was barely room for plates.
Henri had settled into the rocker by the fireplace like he'd been born there, a glass of Harper's best whiskey in his hand, trading distillery stories with an ease that made Harper's usually stoic face light up with enthusiasm.
Jean-Pierre and Silas had found common ground in an unexpected place: military history. Silas rarely talked about his time overseas, but something about JP's genuine interest—he was a trauma surgeon, I learned, not just a lawyer-turned-doctor—had opened a door I'd never seen Silas walk through before. They sat in the corner, heads bent together, speaking in low voices about things I didn't quite understand but that seemed to bring Silas something like peace.
And Remy—my beautiful, chaotic, golden-hearted Remy—sat between his mother and me at the table, fielding questions and laughing and occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand like he couldn't quite believe this was happening.
"So the alligator," Colette said, delicately spearing a piece of andouille sausage. "Remy mentioned him, of course, but I wasn't sure how much was exaggeration."
"Gumbo is very real." I glanced toward the windows where I could still see his massive shape by the dock, warmth spreading through my chest. “He's family."
"He tried to eat me," Remy offered helpfully, pointing his fork toward the window for emphasis, his expression one of exaggerated trauma.
"He did not try to eat you." I rolled my eyes, pressing my lips together to keep from laughing.
"He looked at me with malicious intent." Remy widened his eyes, pressing a hand to his heart like he was reliving the horror.
"That's just his face!" I threw my hands up, and the table dissolved into laughter. Harper snorted into his whiskey, his shoulders shaking. Silas ducked his head to hide his smirk. Even JP looked like he was fighting a losing battle against a grin, his hand pressed over his mouth.
Colette studied me with that sharp, assessing gaze that saw everything. "My son also tells me you saved this creature. That he was injured, and you nursed him back to health."
"He saved himself, mostly. I just provided the space for him to heal." I shrugged, then let a smirk tug at my lips. "Also, I was too stubborn to let him die. Everyone said I was crazy for trying to help an alligator, but I've never been great at listening to what everyone says."
