Chapter 2 Coco #2
“I don’t know,” I say after a beat. “Because he’s my father. Because this is the family I was born into. I mean, people would kill for a silverplatter like this, a secure job in my city. If I can’t handle that, then I’m a failure.”
She nods, accepting the answer for what it is. “I don’t agree with you there. But I know you need to find your way. For what it’s worth, though, I don’t see you negotiating labor contracts and shaking hands and wink-winking at the shady shit that goes down in this town.”
“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” I say quietly. “I’ve spent my whole life feeling like I’m walking half a step out of rhythm. Like everyone else knows the dance, and I’m just trying not to trip.”
Delphine smiles. “Well, there’s your answer, then.”
“That’s not exactly comforting.”
“I’m just trying to keep it real. I’ll never hold back. You know that.”
We pass a couple arguing in low voices near the fountain, their words swallowed by the music drifting through the square. Kids chase pigeons across the path, laughing like nothing complicated exists beneath the surface of this city.
Delphine glances at me. “You said the same thing after Julian.”
My jaw tightens. “That was different.”
“Was it?” she asks gently.
I shake my head once. “He was so good, better than I could ever be. He was smarter than all of us.”
My voice drops. “But fentanyl doesn’t care how smart you are or who your family is, either. It just takes what it takes.”
Delphine doesn’t respond right away. She never does when it comes to him.
“I just remember thinking,” I add, keeping my voice low, “if nobody steps in, it doesn’t matter how powerful our families are. People still lose.”
She studies me. “And you still think that.”
“Apparently, that’s the problem.”
“So, where did things land with Laurent this morning?” she asks.
Delphine is the only one of my friends who can get away with calling my father by his first name. To everyone else, he’s Mr. Boundreaux.
I sigh. “He told me to fix it. Today.”
“And fixing it means?”
“I call Iggy and meet him again. This time, though, I give him the payment and walk away.” I glance at her. “No thinking, no instincts. Just do what I’m told.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“You know the answer to that.” I shove my hands into my pockets. “It’s easier for now, though. At least on the surface.”
She gives me a look. “Sommelier. Just saying.”
I smile despite myself. That’s a pipe dream, and we both know it. But I guess dreams are good.
A trumpet wails somewhere down the block unapologetically. The city moves around us, alive and messy and loud in a way that comforts me. I love this city.
“I’ll call him,” I say finally. “Get it over with.”
Delphine nods. “Just don’t lose yourself trying to be who he wants.”
We reach the edge of the square, the crowd thickening as the day stretches forward. I pull her into a quick hug before stepping back.
“Text me when you’re done,” she says. “Or if you need backup.”
I laugh at the thought. Delphine as backup. “I will.”
As I head toward the street, the music and chatter fade behind me. The envelope sits heavy in my bag, a simple task waiting to be completed.
I tell myself it’s just a delivery.
But the tightness in my chest says otherwise.
I find a bench at the edge of the park and pull out my phone to text Iggy.
Meet me at the cemetery.
Within seconds, my phone vibrates with his response.
I’ve been waiting for your call. I can be there in 15.
Lafayette is mostly quiet this time of the morning, save for a few early tourists weaving between the tombs, snapping photos of the aging crypts. We both know it well, and it will be discreet, easy, and quick.
I follow the familiar path toward the back corner, away from the main walkways. We used to sneak in here as kids, thinking it was the coolest place to escape all authority and hide from the world.
Iggy and I and a few others, back when things were simple before we’d each been pulled deeper into our families’ business.
We’d spend hours here, laughing, daring each other to walk into the crypts or telling ghost stories. I would always pretend I wasn’t afraid of anything, even though I'd jump at the smallest sound.
Iggy’s father used to drive for one of my father’s contracted crews back then, hauling equipment and workers between job sites. It was just work to us.
Iggy and I ran the same paths anyway. Different backgrounds, same scraped knees, same stupid dares. He grew up on the docks, while I’d been tucked away at private schools, my father’s name stamped on the paychecks that kept those cranes moving.
I watch as he approaches. His face is calm and cool. It’s etched with a hard life lived in the few years he's been on this earth.
Iggy is secure in his place working logistics now, coordinating handoffs and deliveries for his family’s contracts. I’m still trying to figure out what my place is in all of this. There has always been a tiny voice in the back of my head questioning if I have what it takes.
Or, if I really want it.
Iggy appears in the distance, his lanky figure moving between the tombstones. He saunters with the easy confidence that is more like him than the jittery mess he was last night.
He’s calm and collected today. The transformation is enough to make me pause and watch him carefully as he strolls over. “Coco, my girl!”
“You’re in a better mood,” I say, my voice flat. "What was up with you last night, dude?"
He shrugs, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets as he stops in front of me. “Maybe I just needed some sleep. Or maybe it’s because you’re not going to take off on me this time.”
I cross my arms, meeting his gaze. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You’re acting like I did that for no reason. You looked like you were outrunning ghosts last night, Iggy. Since when are you jumpy?”
He glances off, his face unreadable, before he finally sighs and looks back at me. “Look, Coco, you’re making things more complicated than they have to be. We both had a job to do, and you fucked it up, making me look like an asshole. My father ripped me a new one for that shit.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So, what, I’m supposed to ignore every instinct I have just to keep up appearances for you? You seemed like you were about to shit your pants. Don’t put that on me. I tried to talk to you, but you were off somewhere else.”
He lets out a low chuckle, but there’s a hint of something sharper in his eyes. “Believe it or not, not everything’s about you and your instincts. Sometimes a job is just a job, and it’s best not to ask questions. One of these days, you’ll learn that. Plus, I had just smoked a blunt. That’s all.”
“Well, maybe I’m not like you. It was off. So I made the call. Lay off the drugs, dumbass.”
He watches me closely, something in his expression shifting. Not fear. Not defiance either. More like he’s reassessing me.
“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” he asks.
“Of course I trust you,” I say. And I mean it. “I just don’t trust whatever’s happening around you.”
His mouth twitches. “You’re starting to sound like Laurent.”
The comparison lands heavier than I expected. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Then what are you trying to do?”
I hesitate just long enough to feel it. “I’m trying not to walk into something blind,” I say.
He looks away, pointing his gaze down at the cracked path beneath our feet, before looking back up. “It’s not your concern, Coco.”
“Maybe it should be,” I say, softer now. “If I’m going to keep being the one who shows up, I need to know when things change.”
He watches me for a moment, then lets out a short breath.
“You don’t talk to me like you used to.”
I frown. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you sound like your father,” he says. Not accusing, just stating it.
The words land wrong, heavy in my chest. “I’m nothing like him.”
“I know,” he says. “But that’s how it comes out.”
I look away, jaw tightening. “Let’s just both drop it.”
“Sure,” he says. “Sure, boss.”
Heat creeps up my neck. I don’t like how easily this slips onto me. How natural it feels to push when I should be pulling back.
We used to be equals. No titles or expectations. Just kids pretending we were brave.
Now I sound like someone I never planned to become.
The moment passes, leaving something colder behind. Like Delphine said, I’m either in or I’m out.
He glances at me again, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. That little gesture softens me somehow. We’re still friends, at the end of the day.
I pull the envelope from my bag and hold it out. “Here. Let’s finish this.”
He reaches for it, and I hesitate. Just a beat. Long enough to search his face for any trace of the unease I saw last night.
It’s gone.
I let go, that unsettled twist tightening in my gut as he tucks the envelope into his pocket.
“Careful,” he says, glancing back at me. “If you keep talking like that, people are going to start thinking Laurent’s training you for more.”
I stiffen. “They can think whatever they want.”
He chuckles under his breath. “Whatever.”
He turns and walks away, leaving me standing between the tombs with the quiet pressing in around me.
I don’t like how easy that was. Or how natural it felt.
I watch him disappear behind a tall crypt. My mind still churns with the doubts and questions that refuse to go away, but I did what my father told me to do. I handed over the payment against my gut.
Because, as he said, I’m not supposed to think.