Page 48 of Fool Moon First Aid

Or maybe a lion. I keep that one to myself.

“What are you two doing?” That deep, sudden voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin.

Twisting around, I spot Ethan, Tyler’s older brother, just behind the couch, looking like he just stepped out of a brooding male model catalogue. His arms are crossed, his muscles bulging, and there’s this snarl on his face that could scare a bear. Assuming Ethan and Tyler share features is a stretch, until you notice the little things, like the way their noses tilt or how their lips curve, but while Ethan is rugged and broad, Tyler’s like a sleek panther, his muscles defined, and everything about him screams swimmer’s build. Plus, their personalities couldn’t be more opposite if they tried.

“Just showing Ava the magic of Zelda,” Tyler replies, like we’re discussing the most normal thing in the world.

“And that required turning the living room into a frat house?” Ethan’s gaze roams the chaos we’ve unleashed, snack warfare on full display.

I follow his stare and cringe. The room’s a mess, with candy wrappers, soda cans, and the remains of our snack fest strewn about. Catching the time on the clock, I blink. It’s dark outside, and we’ve somehow fast-forwarded to nearly six in the evening. It hits me—I haven’t been this lost in the moment in ages, where all my worries just evaporate.

“Well, it was game day,” Tyler retorts like that explains the mess.

“Clean up,” Ethan orders, turning to stomp off, probably to brood or lift weights…or brood while lifting weights.

Tyler shoots me a look, his eyebrows raised. “Looks like we ticked off the alpha,” he whispers, trying to stifle a laugh.

“Seems like it,” I whisper back, biting my lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“I can still hear you!” Ethan’s voice booms from the garage, making both of us jump.

As Tyler gets to his feet, his earlier excitement now channeled into cleaning duty, I stifle a yawn. “Let me help,” I offer, trying to push myself up.

“Don’t bother,” Tyler starts, but Ethan’s growl from the other room cuts him off. That man could intimidate a statue, I swear.

“No, really. I need to stretch. My butt’s numb from sitting too long,” I argue, feeling every bit of the stiffness in my limbs. Tyler drops what he’s doing and rushes to grab my crutches. Sometimes, I think he’s like a puppy—easily distracted but always eager to help.

Getting up, I let my feet hit the floor, immediately feeling the throb in my bad leg as blood flow returns. I can’t help but feel grateful for today. Hours flew by in what felt like minutes, filled with laughter and the kind of fun that makes you forget the world outside. It’s been forever since I’ve felt this carefree and happy.

“I smell blood.” Ethan crashes back into the house, his voice slicing through the calm. He tosses something metallic onto the island, the sound clanging loudly, before his intense gaze locks onto me. “You’re bleeding.”

“Huh?” I blink, feeling a touch of embarrassment. Did my period just ninja its way into this situation? I sneak a peek at the couch, half expecting to find a crime scene, but nope, it’s just as pristine as ever.

“Your leg.” Ethan circles the couch with the focus of a hawk, his eyes darkening as they land on my bandaged leg. “Fuck, you’re bleeding.”

“Huh?” I echo, my brain on a temporary vacation. Words? What are those? Yep, the bandage looks like it’s thrown in the towel, soaked through. “Uh-oh.” Just acknowledging there is blood makes my head spin. “Going down.” I barely get the words out before my body tilts to one side.

Ethan’s on me in a flash, scooping me up with a grunt. He’s all grumbles and muffled curses as he holds me close, completely ignoring the fact that I’m probably ruining his shirt with my blood.

“What happened?” Tyler rushes after us, the crutches forgotten on the floor.

“My guess?” Ethan carries me upstairs with a determination that would be impressive if I weren’t feeling like a damsel in distress all the darn time. The scent of him—pine and a hint of something spicy—wraps around me, and it’s oddly comforting. “She sat too long. Probably popped a stitch.”

“Rest. Don’t rest,” I quip, trying to lighten the mood. “What a catch-22.”

Ethan actually snorts as he gently sets me down on the most comfortable couch. It’s like something out of a luxury catalog—all plush cushions and soft microfiber fabric. “Don’t move.” He disappears into a walk-in closet that’s practically a room of its own, leaving me wondering just how many supplies one needs for a minor medical emergency.

They are paramedics.

Without warning or concern for my clothing, Tyler digs a finger into my jeans and rips them open, right where the wound is.

“What the hell?” I shriek.

“Not sorry.” Tyler’s hands are gentle as he starts to deal with the bandage. “We should have checked this first thing,” he mutters, more to himself than me, his brow furrowed in self-reproach. “I’m sorry. You should have been our priority.”

“Yes, you should have,” Ethan agrees, emerging like a magician with a bright red tote in hand. Mr. Prepared, apparently.

“Stop,” I insert, my patience thinning. “Seriously, I’m not some porcelain doll. Besides, my mental health is just as much of a priority as my physical. And Tyler helped with the latter today.”

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