Page 4 of The Sculptor

I roll my eyes at the voice on the other side of the phone as Remington pauses, waiting for me to respond. “I’m not in the mood. Get to the point.”

“Aww. You’re projecting.” My brother’s teenage assistant snorts. “Did last night’s date end in a restraining order, or did she use a stun gun?”

Sarcasm is my first language. This kid doesn’t know who he’s playing with.

“Actually, it ended with her on her knees, screaming out a new nickname, Double Bubble.” I grin. “You know, because I always leave her cheeks sore.” I chuckle. “But I didn’t think you’d want to talk about the naughty things your mama and I do when you’re not home.”

The line goes silent for a few tense moments before Remington recovers, his voice casually collected. “Cute. Vance requests your obnoxious presence at dinner tonight.” He pauses, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Your daddy is in town.”

Like my brothers, I loathe speaking with my father. “Can’t,” I respond casually. “I’m in Nevada for the week. Tell Vance to reschedule. Or cancel. The latter being my personal preference.”

“Tsk, tsk, Dr. Duke. I don’t get paid enough to give your brother bad news. Hold, please.”

“Wait—” The office hold music comes on the line before I can explain. Not that I answer to Vance. I’m an equal partner in the plastic surgery practice I share with my two older brothers, Vance and Astor. Potter’s Plastics, though, has always been Vance’s baby. He eats, sleeps, and breathes this practice—just like our father did when he ran it.

But unlike Harrison Potter, Vance isn’t a tyrant. Vance rebranded Potter’s Plastics when our father retired and made it into something we’re all proud of.

We were no longer pawns in Dr. Harrison Potter’s kingdom.

We run our practice with a singular focus—our patients.

And that business mindset has served us well.

Potters Plastics is now the most distinguished and sought-after practice in all of Texas.

“Where the fuck are you?” The hold music is abruptly silenced with Vance’s gruff tone just as I turn into the driveway of my destination and park.

“Oh, hi, honey, it’s so sweet of you to call and check on me. I miss you, too.”

I can feel Vance’s annoyance drift through the phone. “You are supposed to be here,” he clips, “in the office.”

“Noooo,” I drawl out. “I’m supposed to be in Nevada, playing nip tuck with the old geezers this week, remember? I left you a note.”

I wait for him to rifle through the stack of papers on his desk and find the scribbled note he needs to move this conversation forward.

“Oh,” he says after a minute. “Langston Albrecht.” He pauses, the sound of him clicking the keys of the keyboard following as he likely pulls up the electronic chart in our system. “Since when did you start taking on politicians as patients?”

Since Vance was sued for malpractice and stopped doing surgeries for a year while he processed the death of his best friend.

After a few seconds, Vance sighs, understanding likely dawning on him. “Astor will be back at work soon, and I’m fine. You don’t need to keep moonlighting for these celebrities. The practice has reserves. We’re stable.”

Maybe so, but our practice still took a hit financially over the last year.

Moonlighting and catering to the cosmetic needs of celebrities has proven lucrative so I’ll give it up when I know our medical practice has stabilized.

“Speaking of Astor,” I drawl, changing the subject. “Have you talked to him today?”

“Yeah, he and the baby are doing well.” He doesn’t sound so sure, but I don’t know how you could be sure about Astor’s current situation. Not when my oldest brother came home from a six-month-long mission trip and discovered he was the father to a newborn who lost her mother—Piper, Astor’s long-time friend—to a medical complication.

“And Keagan? How is she?” I ask, referring to Piper’s sister, who is here, helping Astor with Tatum, his daughter.

“As good as can be expected, I guess.” Vance’s words carry a weighted sadness, and I imagine he’s stressing over the fact that he can’t do anything but support Astor and Keagan through this challenging time.

“She’ll be okay,” I tell him. “Astor will make sure of it.”

Out of the three of us, Astor is the more responsible one. I guess it comes with the territory of being the older brother, but unlike Vance and me, Astor has practiced patience. He’ll make a great father, and he’ll make sure Keagan is taken care of.

“Yeah.” Vance sighs, pulling in a deep breath. “Anyway, Father called.”

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