Page 80 of Ladybirds

“Hastings,” Seth says, eyes closing. “However, being that I have no identification it hardly matters.”

Miles’ hand pauses, a muscle in his jaw jumping as the words hiss between his clenched teeth. “Of course you don’t.”

Sara sets a hand on his wrist, eyes pleading. “Could you prescribe it under mine?”

“You do know that’s illegal, right?” The hand holding the pen shakes. Sara’s never seen Miles so furious. “It’s fraud.”

From the couch, Seth sighs—his eyes closed and head tilted back. “It’d be easier to just tell him at this point, Princess.”

Miles’ eyes narrow, flitting between them. “Tell me what?”

Seth holds her gaze patiently, waiting for her approval. Sara’s chest is so tight she can barely find the space to breathe let alone answer.

“Sara, what the hell is he talking about?”

She closes her eyes, sends a small prayer to whatever power that will listen, as she forces herself to speak the words. “He doesn’t have any ID,” she says, voice thready and weak, “because, until a few hours ago, he was a ghost.”

When she dares to open her eyes, Miles is staring back at her like she’s spoken a different language entirely. Considering what she just admitted, she may as well have.

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” She wonders what kind of diagnoses are going through his head, what kind of tests he’s on the verge of calling up and ordering. There’s a worried edge to his voice, an unsung plea for her to tell him she’s joking. “Honestly?”

From his spot on the couch, Seth grunts. “How else would she have cleaned the table on your poker night? She can’t lie to save her life.”

Sara offers a weak smile. “I did tell you I had an invisible friend.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

It takes more convincing—a lot more—before Miles’ complexion goes ashen.

Sara knows it’s Seth’s recounting of how Miles tucked himself away in one of the patient rooms to deal with his leg pain in privacy, that does it. The way he’s able to give details he should have no way of knowing. Sara jumps in before Seth can make a mess of the situation by divulging too much. She has no doubts that, in all the times he’s “checked in”, he was bound to have stumbled in on something more personal than he should have.

Struggling to keep her voice steady, she tells Miles how they met—of the curse that bound them together and the miracle that wasn’t one. She tells him how she broke it. By the end, he has sunk into the wingback chair. It’s weird seeing someone who isn’t Seth sitting there.

Sara lays a hand on his shoulder. “Miles—”

He holds up a hand. “I am not ok.” The words are muffled by the fist in front of his mouth, elbows planted on the floral armrest and his glasses dangling from his finger while he massages his temples.“Please, please do not ask me. This is so far from fine.”

Sara bites her lip, wringing her hands in front of her. She glances to Seth, looking for support or guidance, only to frown. He’s fallen back asleep. Sara tries to quell the concern that inspires. Their discussion hasn’t been quiet.

Miles follows her gaze, sighs, and puts his glasses back on. “This… all this is crazy. It’s unbelievable.”

“I know,” Sara murmurs, fingers lacing. She stares at the skinned flesh of her palms. They still sting whenever she lets herself think about it. “But you believe me anyway, right?”

“Kinda have to, at this point,” he grumbles, giving her a considering look. “So what really happened, then? With his injuries. Last I checked, a moose can’t pick up a shotgun.”

She swallows down the bile that rises in her throat. “He was telling the truth.” Cringing, she looks at the floor. There’s a fur ball with Ansel’s signature color halfway hidden under the coach. “It’s—they’re injuries people have given him over the centuries.”

“Centuries,” Miles echoes, horror and awe straining his voice. He runs a hand over his scalp, eyes darting to the sleeping man on the couch. “Fucking hell.”

Honestly, she couldn’t have said it better.

“But how—” Miles’ phone rings, cutting him off. They both know it’s Jen. Besides the fact that no one else would call this late, the sing-song ‘it’s your wife calling’ ringtone gives it away.

He silences it without answering, finger tapping against the case as he stares at the screen. When he speaks, his words are careful. “I’m going to go home, but we aren’t done talking about this—I have so many questions, I—” he shakes his head, in his hand the phone rings a second time. Jen again. “Dinner,” he says, meeting her eyes. “Tomorrow. All of us.”

Sara nods. “Tomorrow.”

Miles stands, sending Seth one last lingering look, before picking up his prescription pad and his abandoned pen. He scratches an order onto the paper, his eyes serious as he tears it from the pad and hands it to her. “For your ear infection.”

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