Page 20 of Ladybirds

“No cold feet then?” Sara jokes. If she wasn’t so happy for them, the moon eyes they make at each other would be borderline nauseating.

“Only the one,” he says, patting his left thigh with a wink. “And it hasn’t stopped me from doing anything else, so I think we’ll be ok.”

Sara nods, sobering. “How bad is it, really?”

His smile is sardonic. “I’ll live.”

It’s a thing between them—a hybrid cross between an inside joke and a code word.

Sara’s sure he’s remembering the night they all got drunk and Jen passed out on the couch. Jen’s enthusiasm had ensured that Sara knew all about him before their first meeting—was well schooled about his time in the military and how his career was cut short by an IED, how the loss of his leg and the hours of physical therapy had inspired him to specialize in emergency medicine—but she hadn’t known him. Not yet.

He was wearing shorts that day. The intricate lines of plastic and metal, the way it melded into flesh just below the knee, was fully displayed. The booze made her head foggy and her lips loose.

She asked if it hurt.

Miles laughed. “Only every day, but better my leg than my head, right? I’ll live.” He followed it up with some joke about veteran’s benefits after—something along the lines of at least the army was paying for his school even though the VA was doing a shit job of taking care of his leg.

Ever since that night, there had been an understanding between them. Sara knows the truth behind those two words; knows the pain is worse than he would ever willingly talk about. Miles knows it’s the same for her.

“You should take the meds,” she murmurs, holding his gaze. “At least enough to take the edge off.”

He frowns, looking away. “I don’t like the brain fog that comes with it,” he says, a soft confession. “I’d rather feel the pain.”

“But—”

“Look,” he says, cutting her off. “I love you like the sister I never had, but please—and I’m begging here—please, drop it.”

Sara goes quiet, absently tearing her straw wrapper into tiny pieces. “Miles?”

“Yeah?” he sighs around the rim of his mug.

“You have three sisters.”

“And they ain’t even half as much of a pain in my ass.”

Sara smiles, wadding up a piece of the paper and tossing it at him. It hits his shoulder before bouncing back onto the table. “You love that about me.”

“I’m pleading the fifth.”

CHAPTER TEN

She hates her literature class.

It’s only been two weeks and, really, Ms. Green is nice enough and ten times more engaging than her art appreciation professor, but she hates it.

Her pencil taps against the blank page of her notebook, the only writing decorating it being her name and date in the upper corner. It feels like it’s been taunting her for hours. The background noise of Seth’s newest drama does little to help her concentrate. It’s a stupid assignment—one Ms. Green claimed was supposed to just be a fun exercise in how to format their weekly homework assignments. Except, there’s absolutely nothing fun about having no clue where to start.

Sara glances at the man who’s made himself at home in her grandmother’s chair. She really shouldn’t ask, but she’s too irritated with the assignment to care about the consequences at this point. “Hey,” she calls, “Which of the seven deadly sins am I?”

He doesn’t spare her a glance or a moment’s reflection when he answers, “All of them.”

She resists the urge to chuck her pencil at his head. Bastard would just laugh as it passed through him, anyway. “Jerk.”

He waves her off. “Hardly. It’s a true enough statement for most of us.” Rolling his shoulders, he casts her a knowing look. “Besides, I’m fairly certain the assignment was for you to determine which ails you most.”

She runs a hand through her hair, staring miserably at the assignment sheet. “But I don’t think I’m any of them!”

Seth's sharp exhale is tinged with laughter, entirely unrepentant when she glares. “Apologies. Only, to deny all of them makes you a little proud, does it not?”

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