Page 28 of Fool Moon First Aid

Ethan’s gaze drops to my lips, intense and a little bit dangerous. “Vanilla?” he murmurs, leaning in so close, I’m practically swimming in the scent of mint on his breath. “No, tempest, I don’t think you’re ready for that answer.” His eyes, heavy and smoldering, lock onto mine, and it feels like the air in the car thickens with secrets and unspoken promises.

I turn away quickly, my heart pounding a wild rhythm. I open the car door, and the cool night air rushes in, breaking the spell. It’s then that reality slaps me in the face—I can’t walk. These guys make me forget my own name, let alone my injuries.

“Hang on, butterfly,” Tyler says, almost tumbling out of the back seat in his rush to get to me.

“I need air,” I mutter, feeling claustrophobic with the heat and intensity that Ethan’s leaving in his wake, especially as he stands by the front door, looking every bit the brooding hero.

Brody is already on his feet, swinging his door open. He and Tyler, working together silently, gather my crutches. The cool spring air, tinged with the promise of blooming flowers, feels like heaven against my skin. I gingerly put pressure on my good ankle. Brody’s hand, strong and steady, wraps around mine, his touch firm but gentle, helping me stand.

“No chains then?” I blurt out. I mean, seriously, when will my mouth ever take a vacation?

“No chains, butterfly,” Tyler replies, throwing a glance at the moon that’s playing peek-a-boo with some clouds. His laugh is a deep rumble, like thunder on a summer night. “But it is a fool’s moon.”

Brody, always the doctor, fiddles with my crutches, adjusting the size, and they suddenly feel like they are custom-made for me.

“I didn’t know they could do that,” I say, beaming at him. He turns a shade of pink that would give roses a run for their money. “What’s a fool’s moon? Does it have anything to do with April Fool’s?” I ask, my curiosity switching to full gear at Tyler’s somber look toward the moon.

“Maybe I’ll tell you the story while we eat,” Tyler offers, his voice taking on a shade of mystery that has me leaning in.

“That sounds ominous,” I grumble, but let’s face it, my curiosity’s now doing cartwheels.

“Let’s get you inside,” Brody says, his hand warm on my back, sending those familiar butterflies into flight in my stomach.

“Right to the potty, please,” I say, immediately wincing. Who even says potty anymore? Oh right, me.

“I’ve got you,” Brody whispers, close enough that I feel the warmth of his breath. His smile isn’t just seen, it’s felt, like a cozy blanket on a chilly night.

“I’ll get dinner going.” Ethan slams the car door, marching forward like he’s on a mission, his legs eating up the distance between the car and the front door.

“Don’t forget the guac, Huggie,” Tyler calls out to him.

“Huggie?” I nearly topple over laughing when I hear the nickname Ethan’s been saddled with.

Tyler, a few steps ahead, turns around and walks backward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’s a really good story,” he promises, and I can tell he’s holding back a laugh.

“Another one?” I grumble, shooting a death glare at the steps leading to the porch. How dare they exist right now? “You guys are just stacking up the stories to keep me around, aren’t you?”

“How else are we supposed to convince you to stay?” Tyler retorts before he darts inside.

“He’s like a puppy,” I mutter under my breath, though there’s a smile tugging at my lips.

Brody’s laughter rings out, warm and genuine. “He practically is one,” he agrees, guiding me with an ease that makes me feel less like a patient and more like a treasure.

“Got any hidden nicknames yourself?” I ask, unable to resist poking.

“Oh yes,” Brody says, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that tells me I’m in for a story or two.

“Let me guess, you’ll hold that hostage too?” I tease as we make our way up the porch steps.

Instead of answering, he sweeps me off my feet with unexpected tenderness, his arms strong and secure. The crutches clatter to the ground. “Don’t be fooled, Ava,” he murmurs, his voice a deep rumble that resonates with intensity. “I’m no better than the others. I want you here with us as well.”

“You are all hiding something,” I mutter, resting my hand on the solid warmth of his chest as he carries me over the threshold and into their home. The house feels alive, almost breathing, with a warmth that wraps around me.

He doesn’t answer, and instead, he walks me to the bathroom. Photos line the hallway, showing stories of the past. The bathroom, straight ahead and to the right, is a small cozy room with soft, muted colors. Gently lowering me, he opens the door with a care that’s almost palpable. “Do you need your crutches?”

“Please,” I say, my voice slightly shaky. I wobble on one leg, feeling like a flamingo, while waiting for him to hand me the metal crutches. I shut the door, the click echoing softly, and flip on the fan and the light. Flopping onto the toilet, I try to calm my racing heart.

What am I doing here?

---