Page 115 of Fool Moon First Aid

As the door closes behind her, I face Ava, Brody, and Tyler. The weight of Ava’s courage and the path it has set us on fills the room. It’s time to mend the fractures my actions have caused, and there’s no better moment to start than now.

Time to grovel.

Ava

A wave of nerves washes over me, my eyes finding Ethan. He looks so worn, sadness etched deep in his eyes—a sadness he can’t hide from me. Biting my inner cheek, I strive to dispel my nervous energy, focusing instead on my mates.

Unwittingly, my fingers trace the contour of Brody’s bite mark. Even now, his presence pulses within me, a soothing force nestled beneath my sternum, alleviating my anxieties. So much has occurred between all of us that it feels as though there is a chasm between us, and now, more than ever, I want to close the distance between us.

“Can I have a moment with Ava?” Ethan breaks the silence with a voice that’s barely a whisper, shaky with emotion.

“Oh, come on!” Tyler throws up his hands, half annoyed, half teasing. “Fine, but I want to be the little spoon tonight.” He swoops in for a quick kiss on the corner of my lips, then dashes away.

Brody’s hand tightens on my shoulder before he rises, pausing to exchange a weighted look with Ethan. The silent conversation that passes between Ethan and Brody is heavy with unsaid things, leaving me aching to peel back the layers of their bond.

Soon.

The door closes gently behind Brody and Tyler, shutting me in with Ethan. Butterflies explode in my stomach.

Ethan approaches, hesitating momentarily. “Will you come with me?”

“Sure,” I reply, standing, though uncertainty lingers. I mentally scold myself for my apprehension as I step around the coffee table.

His gratitude is palpable. “Thank you,” he says as I draw near.

“Why?” My curiosity piques.

His dark eyes seek mine, laden with unspoken words. “You didn’t have to bring us that paperwork. You could have taken it to any other clan, but you chose us. Thank you.”

I wouldn’t have taken the papers to anyone else.

“What my dad is doing… He needs to be stopped,” I say, shaking my head, troubled by the thought. “And honestly, I feel as though that falls on my shoulders.”

“It doesn’t,” he says, “but I understand. It’s the same weight I feel on my shoulders. When my father is ready to step down, then I will step up. Knowing all wolf shifters in this town will look to me for guidance is overwhelming.”

I smile at him, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s one of those smiles full of shared responsibilities.

Ethan extends his hand to me, leaving the decision to follow him squarely in my court. Our fingers intertwine, his warmth immediately comforting me.

“Your parents seem kind,” I murmur.

“Yeah,” he responds, his voice carrying a hint of whimsy, a smirk playing on his lips. “They are something all right.”

He leads me out of the room and toward the stairs. “There isn’t much decoration in here,” I observe.

He guides me away, remarking on the spartan décor of the first floor. “The clan house is designed to be welcoming. It’s a sanctuary for those in need within the clan, with guest rooms and a medical wing on the ground level,” he explains as we ascend to the second floor. “This floor, however, is private, reserved for my family and close associates.”

“Did you grow up here?” The walls are adorned with photographs of beaming children and their doting parents, evoking a twinge of envy within me.

“Yes,” he replies softly, guiding me down the hallway past Brody’s door before pausing at the next one. “This is my room,” he announces, his hesitation apparent before he finally opens the door.

“Whoa.” The room beyond is unexpected—dark walls adorned with music and movie posters, a bed with a scribbled on wooden frame, clothes strewn about, and a computer that springs to life as we enter.

“You asked why they call me Huggie,” he says, glancing at me as his hand rests on the closet door. With a swift movement, he swings it open. The closet is filled to the brim with stuffed animals. Some tumble to the ground as the doors swing open. It’s larger than a standard closet, roughly six feet in length, and every shelf is crammed with plush toys.

I bite my lip, suppressing a smile. “So why exactly do you have a closet full of stuffed animals?” My curiosity gets the better of me, and I can’t help but grin. “And how does it relate to your nickname?”

He sighs, pulling down a tote. “It began in my first year as a paramedic, long before the job began to take its toll on me.” He picks up a stuffed fox, each animal seemingly crafted by the same hands. “Back then, I had a level of compassion I have a hard time summoning now,” he confesses, as if confiding in the fox rather than me.

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