Page 47 of Fool Moon First Aid

“Yeah.” I push past the lump in my throat. “Dom was my buddy, right up until he decided ‘no’ was just a suggestion, so I had to set the record straight with my fist.”

“He had it coming,” Tyler says, his anger on my behalf sending a little thrill through me. It’s kind of nice knowing he has my back.

“Then the school called my dad,” I continue, the image of that day crystal clear in my mind. “I was there in the office, with Dom trying to ice his ego more than his eye and his parents losing it.”

“Good for you,” Tyler comments, casually snagging popcorn and landing it in his mouth with a practiced flick.

“Dad just strolled in, all cool and mafia boss-like. I mean, if our town had a don, it would have been him,” I say, the mafia term feeling both accurate and slightly ridiculous.

Tyler’s eyebrows do this funny dance of concern. “Sounds kind of dangerous.”

“Maybe, but let’s shelf that for another day,” I suggest, not quite ready to dive into the Dad might be a mobster pool just yet.

Or worse. Something much worse.

As he nods, turning back to the snack layout, I start mixing popcorn with chocolate candies—a combo that should be weird but just works.

“Dad faced down Dom’s furious folks like he was deflecting bullets, not just words. It made me think of him as some kind of superhero, sans cape,” I recall, admiration threading through my voice. “Later, I realized he was playing them like a chess master.”

Tyler’s back to his popcorn acrobatics, but I can tell he’s listening and absorbing every word.

I grab my own popcorn bowl, adding chocolate sprinkles while trying to find comfort in the sweet and salty. “And then Dad, cool as ever, turned the tables, asking Dom straight up what he did to me. Dom cracked faster than an egg in a frying pan.”

“By the fates,” Tyler murmurs, his eyes as wide as saucers.

“Yep.” I pop some chocolate-coated popcorn into my mouth. “Long story short, Dad had Dom transferred for harassment. We were ten.”

“And how do you feel about that now?” he probes, genuinely curious.

I’m torn. “Part of me thinks if you don’t stop that behavior early on, those kids grow up into monsters.”

Tyler finishes my thought when I hesitate. “But was it too much? Nope,” he says quickly. “Kids mirror their folks. You don’t know what kind of environment they are coming from.”

“True,” I concede. “Anyway, that was Dad for you—always on guard, keeping boyfriends, and pretty much everyone else, at bay.”

“That sounds incredibly lonely,” Tyler remarks, his voice dripping with empathy, making me wonder about his own stories of solitude.

“It was,” I admit, then, noticing a shared understanding in his eyes, I add, “You seem to get it though. What’s your story?”

Tyler shares a bit about growing up in the clan, never truly alone yet feeling isolated in a crowd. “It’s a weird kind of lonely—being surrounded but not really connected.”

“Yeah, I know that feeling,” I whisper, memories of my first college day bubbling up.

“Let’s hit pause on the heavy stuff,” Tyler suggests, grabbing a game controller—a clear sign he’s looking for a lighter direction. “Ready for Zelda? Trust me, you’re going to love it.”

His excitement is infectious, pulling me out of the heavy dive into our pasts and into the prospect of adventure. I can’t help but be charmed, ready to go wherever this game—and Tyler’s company—takes me.

Ava

“No, no, no…” I mutter under my breath, throwing my whole body weight into the plush cushion to my left, as if I can somehow control the tiny little man on the screen with my movements.

“To the left, the left!” Tyler, practically vibrating with energy, bounces beside me, his excitement palpable. I only catch a glimpse of his antics out of the corner of my eye. I’m way too wrapped up in dodging virtual death traps.

Just when I manage to maneuver past a particularly nasty set of red lasers, dropping three feet to avoid being zapped, Tyler lets out this high-pitched squeal that’s half terror, half thrill.

“Got it,” I puff out, a wave of relief flooding me as I finally clear those sneaky statues that seem hell-bent on my demise.

“You did it!” Tyler’s up now, literally jumping for joy on the couch. His hair’s all over the place, sticking out like he’s been in a brawl with a wind machine. Total Viking vibes, I swear.

---