Page 150 of Keller

"Are you feeling okay? Physically?"

A small smile touches her lips. The first one I've seen tonight. "I'm doing pretty well. Tired. But fine."

She's growing a human inside her body. My human. And I'm asking if she's tired.

"Take care of yourself, Quinn."

"You too, Keller."

I leave without looking back. The night air hits my face. New Orleans in the grip of late summer, the city sweating even after dark.

My car waits at the curb. I slide behind the wheel and sit in the silence.

The words finally land, settling into my bones with a weight I wasn't prepared to carry.

I start the engine and pull into traffic.

THIRTY-EIGHT

Keller

Krewe Financial Losses After Disruption:When parades or balls are canceled, krewes often absorb significant financial losses tied to float construction, venue deposits, and pre-purchased throws. Because most organizations are privately funded through member dues, these disruptions test both the stability and loyalty of the krewe’s internal structure.

My hands knowwhere they're going before my brain catches up. Not home. Not the office. Not any of the places I've built to contain my life.

Ten minutes later, I pull up to Cain's new house. The porch light glows warm against the fading dusk.

I kill the engine. Sit in the driveway. What the hell am I doing here? I told him before I met with Quinn that I'd come check out his new place. But I'm in no headspace to be happy for him.

But I also know I need my brother. He's the one who lives fast and messy, the one who doesn't calculate every move three stepsahead. He might actually be the one who could understand what it feels like when life throws a variable you never saw coming.

I get out of the car and walk toward the door.

Cain opens the door before I knock. He's wearing a faded LSU shirt and jeans, barefoot on the hardwood. His hair sticks up on one side.

"Keller." He blinks. "You look like shit."

"I can always count on you to build me up. You're not looking so hot, yourself."

He steps back to let me in. The house smells like fresh paint and takeout. Boxes still line the hallway, half unpacked.

"Beer?"

"Yeah."

He disappears into the kitchen. I stand in his living room, looking at nothing. A couch, a TV still sitting on the floor, and a guitar that’s propped against the wall.

Cain returns with two bottles and twists off the cap on mine before handing it over.

"Deck?"

I nod.

The back deck is small but private. Two chairs, a view of his neighbor's fence, and string lights overhead that flicker every few seconds. We sit. The night air wraps around us, thick and damp.

Cain takes a long pull from his beer. Waits.

He's not going to push. That's not his way.