Page 60 of Fool Moon First Aid

Dad: Ava, the decision is made. You’ll comply, no questions. Your clinic was reported for violations and will close by the end of the week. Time to step up and leave those animals behind. You’re marrying Elijah Castellon, a man of standing. We’re meeting Wednesday. Don’t defy me. It’s time you acted like a Thompson, not some wanderer. Be there, and accept your responsibilities.

The words hit me like a bucket of ice water, each sentence colder and more unfathomable than the last. I read through the message three times, not because I hope it’ll change but because my brain refuses to accept it. Then, feeling a mix of defeat and disbelief, I hand my phone to Brody. The shock doesn’t just wash over me, it seeps into every pore until I’m numb.

“Oh, Ava.” Brody’s arms are around me in an instant, his arms a fortress against my crumbling world. I melt into him, my tears an unspoken language that his shirt absorbs without complaint.

As my world crumbles, Brody’s steady presence anchors me. His scent, a comforting blend of pine and leather, wraps around us—a tangible reminder that not everything is lost.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper against his neck, the confusion and hurt evident in my voice.

“I’m sorry, Ava,” he murmurs, his touch wiping away the tears. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

“Yeah, because being the family disappointment was on my to-do list.” I try to joke, but it comes out bitter. “He really believes in his own twisted version of reality.”

In Brody’s company, a flicker of peace stirs within me. His nearness, his scent, they ground me, reminding me of who I am beyond my father’s dictates.

“Ava, I know your father’s words and actions cut deep. It’s hard when someone you’ve looked up to shows such disregard for your dreams and your essence, but remember, his vision for your life is not the path you are bound to follow. You’ve always had the courage to stand up for what you believe in, to be a voice for those who can’t speak for themselves, and to fight for a world that’s just and kind. Your strength and compassion are who you are, and no one, not even your father, can take that away from you.” Brody’s words are soft-spoken, causing emotions that I haven’t felt in a long time to surge through me.

Comfort. Empowerment. Value. Hope. Determination.

He gives me a gentle smile, the kind that reaches his eyes, and plants a soft kiss on my temple. It’s a gesture so tender, it feels like it echoes down to my soul, making me feel cherished in the most profound way.

“I know it’s only been a few days,” he murmurs, his voice enveloping me in a cocoon of warmth. “But you have a family here with us. We see you, Ava, for the incredible person you are. We’re with you every step of the way. Whatever comes, we’ll face it together. You’re not alone in this. You never will be.” His words are a balm, soothing and overwhelming all at once. They are a promise that fills the room, making the air around us feel charged with new energy.

As comforting as his words are, though, I don’t feel quite ready to unravel the emotions they stir within me. However, a distraction may be exactly what I’m looking for.

“Will you help me shower?” I blurt out.

Ava

Points to Brody, because he recovers quickly from his shock. “Of course,” he answers, wrapping his arms around me with a strength that promises protection. He carries me to the small en suite bathroom and sets me down with a gentleness that contrasts his sturdy frame. “Use the toilet if you need. I’ll be right back,” he says, leaving with a soft click of the door that feels like a whisper against the burgeoning tension between us.

Once alone, I quickly take care of necessities and sit back down, my thoughts swirling. The bathroom feels like a world apart from the rest of the universe, with its modest sink and the clean, organized space. The shower especially, with its modern head that promises a cascade of warmth, stands out as a sanctuary.

When Brody returns, the air shifts, becoming thick with anticipation. “Shower,” I state before he can ask if I want a shower or a bath, my voice steady, despite the fact he is about to see me naked.

“I thought you’d say that,” he replies, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief. He unveils the shower seat and turns on the water, the sound filling the room with a soothing rhythm. The steam rises, blurring the lines between us, making everything outside this moment fade away.

And it is exactly what I need.

“How are we going to do this?” My voice is a mix of curiosity and challenge as I contemplate the logistics. The edge of my borrowed T-shirt brushes against my skin, igniting a trail of heat that seems to pool deep within me, making me feel alive.

He blushes—a charming contrast to his earlier confidence. “You’ll need to take your clothes off,” he says, the words laden with an unspoken invitation.

Spurred by his presence, I remove my shirt, the fabric floating to the floor. The air thickens with tension, an electric charge enveloping us as the steam curtains off the rest of the world.

The pain in my thigh and ankle is a distant echo against the drumming of my heart, and a different kind of ache begins to demand my attention. It’s a slow burn ignited by the prospect of his touch, a yearning so potent, it threatens to overwhelm my senses.

His eyes linger on mine, a storm of blue that seems to hold a world of promises. “Lift up,” he instructs gently, guiding me with a care that brings us closer, both physically and emotionally. The air around us crackles, charged with the electricity of our connection.

As he carefully slides my underwear down, the world narrows to just us, to the heat of his gaze, the warmth of his touch, and the unspoken desire that dances in the space between us. Each movement, each breath, builds a tension so thick, it’s almost palpable.

The steam from the shower envelops us, like a curtain that hides us from the world, leaving us suspended in a moment filled with the promise of unspoken possibilities.

As he secures the protective cover over my leg, his fingers brush against my skin, sending shivers down my spine. The clinical task can’t mask the undercurrent of his desire that seems to echo my own.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice husky, betraying the control he’s clinging to.

I make the mistake of looking down his body. His erection is pressing against his sweats. I look away quickly, though my clit is telling me to ride that thing until I scream his name.

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