Page 70 of Ladybirds

She huffs, shaking her head and laying on her side with her arm folded under her head. “Can you do any others?” Part of her actually wants to know. A bigger part just wants to see that dimpled grin of his again.

He doesn’t disappoint her. “What would you care to hear?”

She names a few from the top of her head, delighted (and a little amazed) when he’s able to pull off every single one convincingly. Hearing his voice in a southern drawl is almost as surreal as hearing him use ‘clap back’ in a sentence, and she chokes on a laugh.

She’s ready to ask for another, but his smile has been replaced with a baffled frown—his gaze fixed across the field, over by the river. “What is that?”

Sara sits up, looking over the grass and searching until she spots movement along the tree line to their left. It takes her a full second to recognize what the mass of brown is. She crouches deeper into the grass, shoving her camera in the bag as quietly as possible despite the shaking in her hands. She debates on how and if she should even try to grab the blanket.

Seth pales. “Sara, what is that?”

“Shut up,” she hisses—a plea and a prayer all rolled into one.

The creature’s head turns, the antlers crowning its head in a nightmare of bloodied, shredded velvet. Its eyes, deep and dark, meet hers, and Sara knows they’ve been spotted.

Seth’s voice goes shrill, edged with the same panic she can feel rattling her bones. “What the bloody hell is that?!”

“It’s a moose, now will you please shut up.”

“It’s a monstrosity is what it is, good God. I’ve never seen anything more horrifying in my life.”

“Seth.” Maybe it’s the use of his name, or the fear in her voice, but he finally looks at her—finally sees the numbing fear saturating her brow in sweat. Finally, finally, realizes what she had known from the start.

It can see him. Can hear him.

He stills—a monument of flesh and bone in a sea of swaying grass. Slowly, he sinks down beside her, but it’s too late. The moose shakes his massive head, fleshy velvet ribbons swaying like corpses, and takes the first lumbering steps towards them.

“Run!” The word is hissed through clenched teeth, the only warning he gives her before blinking away. For a terrifying moment, Sara thinks he’s abandoned her, but then she hears him—yelling from the other side of the valley. “Come on, you stupid beast!”

Sara doesn’t look to see if the distraction works. She’s running, camera bag slapping painfully against her hip. Seth’s taunts, the bull’s bellows, echo in the valley—somehow managing to sound both too close and too far—and she urges her legs to go faster despite the burning in her lungs and the cramping stitch in her side.

The car is in her sights now, a football field away, when her foot finds the gopher hole. Her ankle twists, sending her sprawling. Dirt and rock bite into her hand, her chin bashing painfully against the ground. For a dizzying moment, she struggles to find her breath, but she forces herself to stand. To hobble. The car is so close, and she can still hear Seth’s voice casting echoes across the valley—goading snarls that tell her she’s not yet safe. She’s never been so appreciative of his talent to annoy.

Her hand finds the door handle, jerking it open with enough force that it nearly bounces back closed. She slides into the driver’s seat, slamming the car door behind her. With shaking hands, she fumbles for the key ring around her neck, releasing a loud curse when the lanyard gets momentarily snagged in her hair. Clumsily, she inserts the key into the ignition. The moment the engine sputters to life, Seth appears in her passenger seat. He’s more disheveled than she’s ever seen him, hair wild, pale skin flushed. “Go, go, for the love of God, go!”

She peels out, gravel and dirt kicking up from the tires and leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

The radio plays, but it’s too soft. Between their panting breaths, Sara can’t make out the genre, let alone the song. When the gravel gives way to asphalt, their eyes meet; a second of shared relief, and then a giggle escapes her. A laugh. Sara has to pull over, because it’s leaving her like a flood—uncontrolled and too late to pull it back. Seth stares, baffled concern playing across his face, but it only makes her laugh harder.

Then his lips twitch, a chuckle, and suddenly he’s joining her. Head back, throat exposed—his chest rising and falling with the force of each breathless burst of laughter.

Sara quiets, mesmerized by the dimples in his cheeks and depth of his voice. It dawns on her that this is the first time she’s ever heard him truly laugh. The realization is sobering; a glass of ice water breaking through a haze of wine.

He looks at her, smile dimming when he sees her expression. Then his gaze lowers… her mouth? Is he looking at her mouth? He frowns, body turning towards her more fully.

“Your chin.”

Sara blinks, hand instinctively raising to touch the bruised, scraped flesh and flinching. “Oh, yeah. I, um, tripped.”

On his knee, his hand flexes—once, twice—before hovering in the space between them. “May I?”

She nods, sand in her throat and drums in her ears. Hooked fingers under the line of her jaw, he coaxes her to tilt her chin with a pressure so light she could almost believe she imagined it. His frown deepens, lips pursed. Sara wonders if he’s aware of how close his thumb is to the corner of her mouth. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Um, my ankle. I twisted it a bit.” She doesn’t mention the burning sting in her palms, but apparently she doesn’t need to. He’s already cradling her hands, turning them over until he can see the damage. The car is becoming increasingly warm...the AC never worked well while idling. Sara decides to blame that for the flush heating her skin instead of the simple, whispered touch of his fingers tracing her palm.

“I put you in danger. I’m sorry.”

He can’t lie to her, but even if he could, Sara knows he means it. There is regret there, darkening the rims of his eyes.

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