Page 50 of Fool Moon First Aid

“Almost had me there,” I say, holding up my fingers a whisper apart. “You were this close.”

“Yeah, but I managed to distract you, didn’t I?” He finally drops his hands and leans back, a trace of victory in his stance. “Ready now?”

“Nope,” I reply, stubbornly avoiding glancing at my leg. Just the thought of it sends twinges of pain shooting through me.

“Too bad,” he says, reaching for a pair of gloves and slipping them on with a snap that sounds way too final. “Time to get comfy. First order of business, these pants have to go.”

“Could you make it sound any less sexy?” I complain, hooking my thumbs into the waistband with mock indignation.

“Would you prefer it if I cut them the rest of the way off?” he asks, suddenly more paramedic than flirt.

Rolling my eyes, I start to shimmy them down, revealing panties that have seen better days. Maybe I can save the hole with a patch. When I get halfway, he efficiently helps, stripping them off the rest of the way with a decisiveness that leaves no room for embarrassment.

“Will you keep talking to me?” I settle in, resting my head on the arm of the couch and staring up at the ceiling fan as it lazily circulates the air.

“Tell me about your favorite memory,” he prompts, his touch cautious on my skin.

“My favorite memory,” I echo, letting out a sigh as I mentally sift through the highlight reel of my life.

Memories flutter like snapshots in fast-forward—childhood laughter, teenage angst, and everything in between—but one shines brighter. “My mama,” I start, the mere thought wrapping me in nostalgia.

“What about her?” His voice is a steady, calm presence as he preps for whatever comes next.

“Every Sunday after church, she’d take me to this tiny ice-cream shop,” I reminisce, the corners of my mouth lifting at the memory. “Right on the corner of two bustling streets in downtown Mystic Falls, smack dab between human and spiritkin territories.”

“Sounds like a risky spot for an ice-cream shop,” Ethan comments offhandedly, rummaging through his tote of medical supplies.

“I think that’s the big draw for me,” I say, letting the memories wash over me. “Merger Ave was my favorite place to visit. With the food trucks, and the markets, and the lines between human, spiritkin, fae, and witch all blurring.”

“Merger Ave.” He chuckles quietly, the sound warming the chilly air between us. “The place where humans and spiritkin kind of just…melt into each other.”

“It was magical,” I reply, clinging to the sentiment.

“It still is,” he asserts, a note of defiance in his voice.

“Touché.” I can’t help but crack a smile, despite the somber mood.

“Have you ever gone back?” His probing feels intense. “To the ice-cream shop?”

“No.” I sigh heavily as he sets about cleaning my wound—a distraction I’m not sure I’m grateful for. “Not since my mama passed. We used to meet there, right up until the end, and when I was off at college, she’d still go, and I’d find some local spot so we could talk over video chat.”

“Your mom passed?” He stops for a moment, and I feel his gaze on me. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, me too.” I sneak a peek at him, letting just a sliver of vulnerability show before shutting it down again. “She was everything…magical, but trapped in a world of expectations, playing a part whenever my dad was around. With me, though, she was real.” I can’t help the bitterness that creeps into my voice—a silent accusation against my dad.

“I’ve always had a soft spot for Merger Ave too,” Ethan says, breaking the silence that follows, his voice a balm to my raw emotions. “I know the shop you’re talking about. It’s right across from that terribly named groomers.”

I let out a snort. “Terrible, indeed.” Muffin Chops.

“I had to be there like clockwork, every month. Dad’s orders—to always look the part,” he grumbles, a hint of old resentment surfacing in his tone.

“You and Tyler seem so alike and yet so different,” I comment, eager to steer away from my own past. “Seems like you were raised by entirely different folks.”

“In a way, we were,” he admits, a shadow passing over his features. “Clan life… It’s complex. Zane took Tyler under his wing, while I was groomed by my father. They couldn’t be more different. Zane was all about sneaky ice-cream trips, while Dad was… Well, he had us practicing how to take down a hunter by age five.”

Just like that, he reveals a childhood that sounds more like boot camp than anything else. “And your mom?”

“Lunas are…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “A world unto themselves.”

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