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 isjust 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?”
