by F. T. Lukens
Leo’s shoulders shook.
“Are you crying or laughing. I can’t tell.”
Leo lifted his head. “Both? I don’t know.” He wiped at his eyes, then took Bridger’s face in his hands. He shoved a hard kiss against Bridger’s lips. It happened so fast, Bridger only registered the wet, bruising force and the smack of sound before Leo pulled away. “Both,” he said with a shaky exhale. “When did you get so smart?”
“I don’t know if you know this, but I do watch a lot of Jeopardy.” Leo laughed outright. “But also, I happen to be dating this guy who is pretty smart himself and has taught me a lot about being true to who I am.”
Beaming, Leo threw his arms around Bridger’s shoulders and squeezed. “Thank you,” he said, low and heartfelt. “I needed to hear all that.”
“You’re welcome.”
Leo held on a few seconds longer, then released Bridger from his death grip. “I need to find my parents and talk to them. I’m going to have to calm my mom down. I’m scared she’s going to write a strongly worded letter or something.” He used the sleeve of his uniform to wipe away the stray tears and smeared more dirt across his nose. It was ridiculously endearing. “We’re still going out?”
“Definitely. Meet me at Astrid’s car.”
“Okay.” He kissed Bridger’s cheek. “See you in a minute.”
Bridger wandered back to Astrid. He felt weird: happy that he could help Leo, angry that he needed to.
“Hey, everything okay?” she asked. “I heard from one of Leo’s teammates what happened.”
“Yeah. It’s okay now.”
She knocked her shoulder into his. “It sucks that crap like that still happens. Are you okay?”
Hands in his pockets, Bridger walked toward Astrid’s car. “Yeah. I guess. Just thinking.” His talk with Leo had his mind whirring—thoughts about his own fears and insecurities, his dad, his future—and maybe he needed to take his own advice.
“Oh, yeah, now I see the smoke.”
“Hilarious. You’re hilarious.”
Most of the fans had cleared out right after the game. Bridger could see where they’d left Astrid’s car, even in the growing dark. His steps slowed. The dome light in Astrid’s car cast a soft glow. “Uh, Astrid?”
“Yeah?”
“Did you kill your battery by leaving the interior light on?”
“No. I never turn the light on.”
“Did you leave your door open?”
“No.” She quickened her steps, and Bridger matched her. “What the hell?”
Astrid’s car sat between two empty spaces, and even from the distance, they could see that the driver’s side door was propped open.
Bridger broke into a jog; Astrid was right beside him.
“Someone broke into my car!” She stopped at the side, hands on her hips. Gently, she pulled the door open from the top. “Shit. What did they take?”
Bridger went around to the passenger’s side. His door was open as well.
“Um, whatever they did, they opened this door too.”
“Don’t touch the handle. Maybe the police can dust for prints.”
“Do you think they’re going to dust for prints when we don’t even know if they took anything? Obviously, they didn’t want the car. Or my backpack because…” Bridger’s bag was on the seat. He’d left it on the floorboard. The zippers were open, and Bridger always made sure to close everything after a middle school disaster involving an open flap and a pudding cup.
“Well, they didn’t take anything out of the center console, which is not surprising, since there’s only charger cords and gum. How about over there?”
Bridger stared at his bag.
“Bridge?”
“They moved my bag. They, they went in my bag.” Bridger’s heart skipped a beat. He took a breath, and it got stuck in his throat as he reached for the car door with a trembling hand. Swinging it open, he went from the speed of a sloth to that of an agitated pixie. Bridger dove for the bag and pulled open the main compartment, the zipper tearing in his haste. He shoved his hand inside. His heart sank.
Oh, no. Oh, no. No. It was gone.
“Bridger?”
“Oh, no. Oh, no.”
“Bridger? What’s wrong?”
The book was gone. “The guidebook is gone.”
Saying it out loud made it real, and panic slammed into him. His teeth clenched, and sweat broke out on the back of his neck. And despite shoving his hand deeper into the bag and wishing with everything he had that his fingers would brush the familiar leather and parchment, they didn’t.
The book was gone.
“What?”
“The book. The guidebook. The abridged version of the magical world.” Freaked, Bridger upended his backpack onto the seat and shook out the contents. His pens, notebooks, books, a smooshed pack of gum, and a crumpled dollar fell onto the seat. “The rules and regulations. The confirmation of magical existence.” His compact bounced on the floorboard and cracked onto the pavement. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t there. “It’s gone. Oh, shit, it’s gone.”
“Bridge,” Astrid said. She sounded far away, as if she spoke through a tunnel, or water, or over an EVP from the other side of death.
Rifling through the contents, Bridger flipped through his notebooks just in case it was lodged in one. It wasn’t. He threw his textbooks onto the floor. He picked through all of it and then shoved his hand back in his bag, feeling in all the pockets, skimming his fingers along all the edges. It wasn’t there. He dropped his bag onto the asphalt.
“Bridge?”
He pushed his fist into his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe? His lungs were useless, deflated balloons, and no matter how much he gasped he couldn’t pull in air. It was like trying to breathe through a straw with his nose plugged. He pushed harder on his sternum; black spots danced in his vision. His legs shook and he fell hard to the concrete curb in front of the car.
“Bridge!”
Oh, fuck. The fish tacos swam in his stomach, then washed up bitter and acidic in the back of his throat. He was going to puke. There was going to be vomit. There would be fish taco vomit. He’d never learn. And there would be popcorn kernels in it and bile and blue slushy. It would be foul, and Astrid was going to murder him. Pavel was going to murder him.
There would be a murder of him.
“Bridger!”
He’d lost the book. He’d fucking lost the book. No, he didn’t just lose it. Someone broke into Astrid’s car and stole it. Only one person came to mind who would go through his bag, one person who was on the verge of discovering the myth world. It had to be her. She stole it. Summer stole the book, the travel version of the encyclopedia of the myth world.
She’d know everything.
He clutched his legs and dropped his forehead to his bent knees. His chest hurt. His fingers dug into the fabric of his jeans, like frozen claws. His tendons strained; his whole body went rigid. His heart raced. He gasped like a fish on land, and his whole world zeroed down to the burning in his lungs and the pounding in his head. He was going to die. He was going to die right there in the parking lot. His heart was going to rupture, and he was going to drown on land because his lungs wouldn’t work, and he’d become a cautionary tale about the hazards of eating fish tacos from the diner and dating hot baseball players and carrying ancient books around in his backpack.
He registered tugging on his arms and hands rubbing his back, and his world tilted when someone manhandled him out of his crouch. They unfolded his legs and eased him back. He went from staring at the blue of his jeans to staring at the darkening sky, as his head thudded back onto someone’s hard shoulder.
“Bridger,” Leo’s voice was gentle as he pressed a hand to Bridger’s chest. The heel of his hand pushed on the medal of Saint Dymphna—some help she was.
“Breathe. Come on. Follow me.” Leo sat behind him, cradling him; his chest was molded to Bridger’s back. “There you go. Just like me. Breathe in. Breathe out.” His body rose and fell with Leo’s even breaths, and Bridger did his level best to follow Leo’s example. It was tough, especially at first, when each breath was stuttered and thin, but, after a few attempts, he didn’t feel as if his heart was going to burst from his chest alien-style.
Astrid appeared, her face pale, but her jaw clenched. He’d appreciate her stoicism when he could breathe again.
“Bridger,” she said. “You’re doing great. You’re going to be okay.” She took one of his claws and pressed her thumbs into his palm, then spread the pressure out into his fingers. Gradually, the clench eased. “That’s it. Relax.”
Easier said than done, but, enveloped by his two favorite people in the world, Bridger inhaled, and it wasn’t a harsh staccato and it didn’t catch on a high whine. He blew out in a long, albeit shaky, exhale.
“Perfect,” Leo said, his voice a whisper on the shell of Bridger’s ear. “And again.”
Bridger found it easy to follow Leo’s orders and he focused on Astrid’s touch. Just as quickly as the panic attack started, it ended, and Bridger’s spine went from unyielding steel to liquid. Bones and muscles as solid as jelly, entire body trembling, he slumped into Leo’s arms.
“Holy fuck,” he said, when he could finally speak again.
“There he is.” Leo tucked his nose into Bridger’s neck. “Bridge, tell me five things you can see.”
Bridger blinked. His world came into sharp focus. “Astrid, a pen that rolled under the car, the car door, your baseball cap on the ground, and a green leaf on the asphalt.”
“Great. Now four things you can touch.”
“You, the pavement, the dirt on your uniform, my jeans.”
“Good job, Bridge. Do you need to keep going or do you think you’re okay?”
Bridger was not okay, but the panic attack, because he was certain that was what he’d just experienced, ebbed, and he was more embarrassed than anything else. “I’m good.” His voice was a rasp.
“Lie.” Astrid patted his knee. “But we’ll let this one slide.”
“Is he okay?” And that was Luke.
“Bridger?” And Zeke. “You all right, man?”
“He’s good,” Astrid yelled back. “But stay on that side of the car for a hot second.” She leveled her gaze, eyebrows drawn together. “Do you need anything?”
“Water. Definitely water.”
“Can you guys find a bottle of water?” Astrid yelled.
“Yeah, sure!”
Bridger saw their feet scamper off.
“What happened?” Leo asked.
Bridger craned his neck to stare at the sharp line of Leo’s jaw. “The book—” His throat went tight again; the words were strangled.
Astrid held up a finger. “Don’t even think about it, Bridge. Give yourself a second.” She turned her focus to Leo. “The guidebook is not in Bridger’s bag, and my car was broken into.”
“That’s… not good.”
“No, it’s not. But we’re fine. Bridger is fine.”
Leo rubbed his hands up and down Bridger’s arms. “Yeah. We’re fine.”
The sound of a hundred construction vehicles backing up emanated from beneath Astrid’s car. From where he sat in the cradle of Leo’s body, Bridger spied the compact mirror vibrating against the blacktop.
“Can you answer that?” he said to Astrid. “You know what happens if we ignore it.”
“Yeah, and the last thing we want is this thing to get louder.”
Astrid crawled on her hands and knees and reached one long arm under her car. Once she had the mirror in hand, she scooted to Leo and Bridger on the curb.
Flipping it open, she angled the mirror so the three of them were reflected. Face pale, eyes squinted, Pavel appeared, wearing horrid pajamas.
“Bridger, are you all right? Your toaster has been ringing like mad. I would’ve used the portal, but, well, we know what happened last time… And it’s gone off before and stopped so I didn’t know if you needed my help.”
“I’m fine, Pavel.”
Astrid frowned. Leo’s grip tightened.
“Okay, I’m not fine, Pavel. I had a panic attack.”
Pavel grabbed a robe, slid his arms in, and cinched it around his waist. “Do you need me to come pick you up? I know my vehicle isn’t your favorite, but I would be able to be there in a few minutes.”
Maybe it was from being worn out and shaky from the adrenaline, or maybe it was the situation with his dad, or maybe it was that Bridger had doomed Pavel’s magical life and family, but tears gathered in the corners of Bridger’s eyes.
“Thank you for offering, but I’m okay. I have Leo and Astrid.”
He needed to tell him about the book. He’d lost the book. Summer had the book. She had the book. She had the book. She had the book. She had the book. The four words beat though his head in time with his heart.
Pavel’s expression was one of fond concern, but he nodded to Leo and Astrid. “Just let me know if you need anything.”
“I will,” Bridger said. “I promise.”
“Okay. Good night then.”
“Night.”
Bridger clapped the compact shut.
“Why didn’t you tell him?” Leo’s chin dug into Bridger’s shoulder. “He deserves to know. It’s technically his book.”
“I, I, didn’t want to disappoint him.”
“Bridge,” Astrid said softly, “Pavel’s not your dad.”
“I know,” Bridger snapped.
“No, I mean, he’s not going to be disappointed in you. Did you hear him? He’d show up here in that mucus-colored robe in his battered car if you asked him to.” She bit her lip. “And it’s his life that’s going to be shattered if she does anything with that book. More so than yours.”
Hauling himself upright, Bridger rubbed his forehead. “I know. I just need a chance to fix this on my own.” Gaining his feet, he swayed, and Leo scrambled to grab him.
“What do you mean?”
“I know where she’s staying. I know what the van looks like. I’m going to get that book back.”
Chapter 14
“I told Luke and Zeke that you’re sick and couldn’t hang out and that I was driving you both home,” Astrid said as she adjusted her mirror. Bridger had knocked it askew in his mad search for the guidebook. “I don’t like lying, Bridge.”
“Consider it a half-truth,” he said, face pressed to the window. “You technically are taking me home, and I did get sick, just with panic. And almost vomit. It was a close call.”
“If you throw up in my car, you’re walking home.”
Bridger’s stomach churned. “Noted.”
Leo leaned forward, elbows on the middle console, chin propped in his hands. “What’s the plan?”
“Find the van. Find the book. Save the world.” Bridger bounced his leg against the floorboard. “Preferably in that order.”
Leo turned the brim of his hat to the side. He was still dressed in his uniform and smudged with dirt. “Are we in a movie? Because that sounded like a tagline.”
“I hope not,” Astrid said, taking a turn. “Because that sounds like a sci-fi thriller. I’m more a romcom fan myself. As is Bridger.” She smirked.
“We’ve established that.” Bridger scanned the streets. “But I think I could handle sci-fi. More Star Trek, less Alien.”
“As long as it’s not horror, I’m in,” Leo said, squeezing Bridger’s shoulder. “We all know what happens to the love interest and the plucky comic relief in horror movies.”
“Which one am I?” Bridger asked, craning his neck to look at his boyfriend. Passing streetlights and headlights illuminated Leo’s fond grin.
; “Do you have to ask?”
“Does that make me the final girl?” Astrid slowed at a red light. “Because I could live with that. Literally.”
“Exactly. Bridger and I would be dead, and you’d be the one taking down the ax-wielding bad guy.”
Bridger shivered, remembering the Pope Lick Goatman. “Can we not talk about death and axes? And focus on the task at hand, please?”
“Find the van. Find the book. Save the world,” Astrid and Leo said in unison.
“Mock me. I see how it is and for the record—” Bridger caught sight of the white van idling in a corner convenience store lot. “There!”
Astrid turned sharply, tires screeching. The car went up on the curb, and several horns honked. With two hands gripping the wheel, Astrid jerked the car into a parking space near the van.
Bridger was out of the car in a heartbeat, striding with a purpose, spurred on by incandescent and righteous rage.
Summer stepped out of the store, hotdog in one hand, candy bar in the other, and a diet pop precariously balanced in the crook of her elbow. “Hey, Matt, they have those nachos you…” She trailed off when she caught sight of Bridger thundering toward her.
“Well, hey there, Bridger,” she said with a wink. “Aren’t you supposed to be at an important baseball game?”
Bridger wasn’t in the mood for snark and word play. He blocked her path to the van. “I know you broke into Astrid’s car and I know you took it. Now, give it back.”
She blinked. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about how you snuck into the parking lot at the baseball game and broke into Astrid’s car, rifled through my backpack, and took something.”
“You’re so creative. It’s almost as impressive as the bullshit you tried to pull on me with your boss when you stepped out of the glowing magic oval.”
Bridger glared. Two could play at this game. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course not. Now, where’s your boss? Is he going to appear any minute and save you from the mean lady with the microphone and the hot dog?”