Chapter 56 #3
"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."
"Can confirm," Harper muttered into his whiskey.
"Nobody asked you," I shot back sweetly, and Colette's face lit up with delighted surprise.
"But you knew he was worth saving." Her voice softened with understanding. "You saw past the teeth and the scales and the danger to the creature underneath."
I nodded, my throat suddenly tight.
"Hmm." She reached across the table to pat my hand, her touch warm and sure. "No wonder my son fell in love with you. You're just like him—stubborn, soft-hearted, and absolutely terrible at protecting yourself from things that could hurt you."
"Hey, I resemble that remark," I said, and Colette's eyes sparkled with surprised delight.
"Maman!" Remy protested, his whole face lit up with a joy I'd never quite seen before. "Don't encourage her. She's already impossible."
"I prefer 'spirited,'" I said primly, stealing a piece of bread from his plate. "Or 'delightfully challenging.'"
"See what I deal with?" But Remy's eyes were soft as he pressed a kiss to my temple, his fingers finding mine under the table.
"It's true and you know it." Colette sniffed, lifting her chin with exaggerated dignity, though mischief danced in her eyes.
"All my boys are soft-hearted. They just hide it differently.
" Her gaze swept around the table, taking in her sons—both of them—and the pack that had become her family by extension.
"I raised them to love fiercely and fight for what matters. I'm glad to see they listened."
"Sometimes," Henri added dryly from his spot by the fire, swirling the whiskey in his glass. The firelight caught the silver in his hair. "When it suits them."
"That's the Thibodaux way." JP raised his glass in a mock toast, one eyebrow arched. "Stubborn as mules, all of us."
"I prefer 'determined,'" Remy said, propping his chin on his hand and batting his lashes at his brother.
"You would." JP threw a balled-up napkin at him, which Remy dodged with a cackle. The laughter that rippled around the table was warm and easy, and I felt something settle in my chest—something that had been waiting a long time to finally find its place.
This was it. This was what we'd been building toward. Not just the house or the land or even the pack, but this: family gathered around a table, sharing food and stories and the kind of love that didn't need to be perfect to be real.
Harper caught my eye across the table, one dark brow raised in a silent question. I nodded, and he reached under the table to squeeze my knee before turning back to his conversation with Henri.
Silas appeared at my shoulder, silent as always, and pressed a glass of wine into my hand. "You look happy," he murmured, low enough that only I could hear, his expression softer than most people ever got to see in the flickering candlelight.
"I am." I reached up to touch his scarred cheek, feeling him lean into the contact. "Are you okay? I know this is a lot of people. If you need to escape to the dock with Gumbo, I won't judge."
"Tempting." The corner of his mouth twitched. "But no. It's the right people." He turned his head to press a kiss to my palm, brief and almost shy. "I can handle the right people."
"Look at you, being all social and adjusted." I nudged his shoulder with mine. "I'm so proud."
"Don't push it." But his scarred lips quirked, just slightly, and his hand found the small of my back in a touch that was more possessive than he probably realized.
"Henri wants to see the distillery tomorrow." Harper materialized at my other side, his massive hand settling on my lower back. "Colette mentioned something about teaching us her praline recipe. Apparently ours aren't up to standard."
"Everything is up to standard," Remy protested, appearing as if summoned by the word 'pralines,' squeezing in between Harper and me with practiced ease. "I've been making pralines for years—"
"Not the way Mémère made them," JP said, joining our little cluster by the window, his surgeon's hands wrapped around a coffee mug. "Remember when you tried to add chocolate chips?"
"That was an improvement!" Remy's voice climbed with indignation, his curls practically vibrating.
"You were twelve. You added an entire bag. We had to throw out the whole batch." JP's grin was wicked, the look of a brother who'd been waiting years to tell this story to new people.
"It would have worked if I'd had better chocolate—" Remy sputtered, but joy was winning the battle against his indignation.
Colette's voice cut through the bickering: "If you boys are done critiquing each other's cooking, there's king cake that needs eating and I didn't drive three hours to watch it go stale!"
We migrated back to the table, all of us, packing in closer than strictly necessary because that's what family did. Colette cut the king cake with the precision of a surgeon, handing out slices and watching with sharp eyes to see who got the baby.
It was Silas. Of course it was Silas.
He stared at the tiny plastic figurine in his palm like it might bite him, his scarred face utterly bewildered, and Remy doubled over, grabbing the table edge to keep from falling off his chair.
"You have to host the next party!" Remy crowed, practically bouncing in his seat, pointing at Silas with gleeful accusation. "That's the rule! Silas is hosting Mardi Gras!"
"I don't—" Silas looked at me, genuinely panicked, the plastic baby clutched in his fist like evidence of a crime he didn't commit. "I don't know how to host Mardi Gras."
"Neither do I, and I've lived in Louisiana my whole life," I offered helpfully, leaning back in my chair. "But I'm sure between the four of us, we can figure out how to throw a party. How hard can it be?"
"Famous last words." Harper shook his head slowly, his dark eyes glinting with amusement.
"Hush, you." I swatted at his arm, but I was fighting back a grin.
"Don't worry, mon chou." Colette patted Silas's arm reassuringly, her eyes twinkling with mischief that made her look decades younger. "I'll teach you everything you need to know. We'll make a proper Thibodaux out of you yet."
The look on Silas's face—caught somewhere between terror and unexpected pleasure—made my heart squeeze tight in my chest. This was family. Messy, complicated, sometimes painful, but worth every moment. Worth fighting for. Worth coming home to.
Later—much later, after the food had been eaten and the stories had been told and Colette had insisted on washing every dish by hand despite our protests—we stood on the porch and watched the Thibodaux family drive away, their taillights disappearing into the darkness of the bayou road.
Remy was quiet, leaning against the porch railing, his face soft and wondering in the moonlight.
"Hey." I moved to stand beside him, sliding my arm around his waist, feeling the warmth of him through his dress shirt. "You okay?"
"Yeah." His voice was rough, scraped raw with emotion, but when he looked at me, his eyes were shining with something that might have been tears but might have been joy.
Probably both. "Yeah, cher, I'm more than okay.
I'm—" He broke off, shaking his head like he couldn't find the words, his throat working.
"You're home." Harper appeared on his other side, one massive hand settling on Remy's shoulder, squeezing gently. His voice was low, certain. "Finally. Really home."
"All of you are." Silas stood at the porch steps, moonlight silvering his scars, turning them into something almost beautiful. "This is what home looks like. Not just the house. This."
I looked around at them—my pack, my family, these three impossible men who had turned my whole life upside down in the best way. Harper, steady and strong, my anchor in every storm. Silas, fierce and gentle, my silent guardian. Remy, bright and beautiful, my heart's greatest surprise.
Beyond the porch, the bayou stretched out silver under the stars, and Gumbo rumbled from his rock, and the frogs sang their endless songs, and everything—everything—was exactly as it should be.
"I love you," I said, and the words weren't enough but they were all I had. "All of you. So much. Even when you're ridiculous."
"Especially when we're ridiculous," Remy corrected, his curls tousled by the night breeze, his voice carrying that familiar warmth.
Harper's arm came around my shoulders, pulling me into his solid warmth.
Silas moved closer, his hand finding mine, his calloused fingers threading through my own.
Remy pressed a kiss to my temple, his breath warm against my skin.
"We know, sweetheart," Harper murmured, the rumble of his voice vibrating through me.
"We love you too," Silas added, quiet and sure, his thumb stroking slow circles across my knuckles. "Even when you're stubborn."
"I prefer 'determined.'" I leaned into all three of them at once, somehow, my heart so full it ached. They laughed—Harper's low chuckle, Silas's quiet huff, Remy's bright burst of joy that echoed across the water.
"Always, cher." Remy tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch impossibly gentle. "Always and forever."
We stood there on the porch of the house we'd built together, the four of us wrapped up in each other, and watched the stars wheel overhead.
This was home.
This was family.
This was everything.