Was he trying to get me scalped today?
“Alright, alright,” I interrupted before the situation could escalate. “Settle down, all of ya. If we’re gonna do this string thing, we’re doin’ it right. Worm, gimme a weddin’ ring.”
Worm snapped his book shut with an exaggerated sigh. “You think I just carry jewelry around like some kinda jewelry fairy?”
“Well, I ain’t got one,” I said, throwing up my hands. “Juju?”
“Sure, lemme just grab mine from the bank vault where I keep all my nonexistent weddin’ rings,” Juju quipped, rolling his eyes.
Devlyn chuckled, her earlier irritation melting away. “Guess that means you’re outta luck, Gator.”
“Not so fast,” Braveheart said, producing a thin silver band from his pocket with a flourish. “Got this from Mademoiselle Moriarity herself. Said it belonged to some duchess or somethin’.”
Worm snorted. “More like it belonged to her costume jewelry collection.”
“Hey, it’s a ring,” I declared, snatching it up. “And it’s gonna do the trick. Now where’s the string?”
“I’ll get it,” Juju said, sliding off his stool with a sigh. “But if this turns into some kinda séance, I’m out.”
As he disappeared into the back, the rest of us stared at the ring like it held the secrets of the universe. Somewhere in the corner, Worm muttered something about how we’d all lost our minds. And maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong. But hey, desperate times called for desperate measures.
Days unraveled like a spool of thread, carrying me from one strange scene to another. Braveheart wouldn’t shut up about the ring’s supposed royal pedigree, while Worm spent half his time researching conspiracy theories to prove it was cursed. Juju, true to his word, kept a safe distance whenever talk turned vaguely mystical. The séance, not surprisingly, never materialized, though we did manage to summon a series of awkward silences over pizza on more than one occasion.
And then there was me—juggling a mix of nerves, excitement, and outright disbelief as the days blurred toward Devlyn’s first doctor’s appointment. When the monitor flickered alive in that stark white room, revealing not one, not two, but three tiny shapes floating in my woman’s belly, I forgot how to breathe.
“Triplets,” the doctor confirmed with the kind of calm reserved for announcing weather patterns. “Congratulations.”
The room spun for a moment, each heartbeat pounding louder than the last. Braveheart, Thore, and Juju weren’t here—thank God—but I could hear their voices echoing in my head. Braveheart would’ve toasted with something strong and smoked, Thore would’ve cracked a joke about needing to build an army, and Juju—he’d probably mutter something so profound it’d make me cry.
Standing beside me, Devlyn gave my hand a squeeze. “Looks like we’re outnumbered already.” Her voice, soft and warm, cut through the storm brewing in my chest as she stared at the documented proof of my virility in her hands. “What are we going to do now?”
Taking her hand in mine, I led her to my truck. After helping her in, I ran around to the other side and jumped behind the wheel. “We’re going to see the only person who can help us.”
“Who’s that?” She chuckled.
“Mymôman.”
Chapter Thirteen
An hour outside the city limits of New Orleans, Wade pulled into a long drive, and I gasped.
Sitting picture-perfect surrounded by generations of old magnolia trees was a stunningly beautiful antebellum home, reminiscent of a time long forgotten. Wisteria, thick as a man’s arm, draped across the veranda, hinting at the secrets held within those aged walls. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, whispering stories only the house could understand.
“Your mother lives here?” I gulped as a beautiful woman in her mid to late fifties walked out onto the veranda.
“Yep,” Wade said, cutting the engine. “I was born in the master bedroom upstairs. Place belonged to my daddy’s family, and when he died, it went to me. Now, mymôman’s ancestral home is about five miles down that way. This house ain’t nuttin’ like the La Croix Plantation. You’ll get to see that place next time there’s a family gatherin’.”
“I thought you lived at The Bourbon Bar?”
“I do,” Wade admitted. “This place is too damn big for me; plus, I ain’t gonna kick mymômanout of the home she shared with my dad. So she lives here, and I stay in town.”
As Wade opened the truck door and stepped out, hismômandescended the veranda steps with a grace that seemed to echo the rhythm of a bygone era. Her presence commanded attention, her features refined yet touched with the warmth of someone who had lived through life’s trials and triumphs. She reached Wade before he could take three steps, enveloping him in a hug that spoke of an unbreakable bond.
“And who’s this you’ve brought with you,Chèr?” she asked, her voice smooth as honey, yet tinged with curiosity.
Wade gestured toward me. “Môman, this is my woman, Devlyn Never.”
Her hazel eyes, sharp and filled with wisdom, settled on me, scanning me not unkindly but with a penetrating gaze that made me feel as though she could read every secret I held. “Well, bless my soul. You’re finally here. Come, let me get a good look at you, child.” She turned smoothly, her steps light as air as she reached for me, giving me a big hug. “Why, Wade, she’s darling!”
