Contents ( 42)
- The Art of Breathing
- Part One: How We Became Who We Are
- Prologue: Or, Where the Kid Hears the Word of the Day
- 1. Where Tyson Learns to Breathe
- 2. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
- 3. Where Tyson Graduates and Bear Freaks Out
- 4. Where Tyson Says Good-Bye
- 5. Where Tyson Gets the Mail
- Part Two: Coming Home
- 6. Where Tyson Comes Home
- 7. Where Tyson Gives a History Lesson
- 8. Where Tyson Attends the Most Awkward Party Ever
- 9. Where Tyson Plans Attends a Protest
- 10. Where Tyson Gets Arrested
- 11. Where Tyson Gets His Ass Handed to Him
- 12. Where Tyson Writes Bad Poetry and Gawks at Frat Boys
- 13. Where Tyson Decides to Man the Fuck Up
- 14. Where Tyson Asks Some Questions
- 15. Where Tyson Remembers Theresa Jean Paquinn
- 16. Where Tyson Learns the Benefit of Therapy
- 17. Where Tyson Meets the Man Who Becomes Helena Handbasket
- 18. Where Tyson Gets Screwed at His Own Birthday Party (And Not in a Good Way)
- Part Three: Just Breathe
- 19. Where Tyson Goes to Helena Handbasket’s Sex Dungeon
- 20. Where Tyson Beholds the Awesome Wonder That Is Paul Auster
- 21. Where Tyson Receives Advice from the Six Sages
- 22. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
- 23. Where Tyson Hears the Inevitable
- 24. Where Tyson Meets His Match
- 25. Where Tyson Says Hello, Where Tyson Says Good-bye
- 26. Where Tyson Touches upon the Inevitable
- 27. Where Tyson Faces the Music
- 28. Where Tyson Breathes
- 29. Tyson And Dominic
- 30. The Art Of Breathing
- Epilogue: Or, Bear’s Perspective, As It Were (Yeah, He’s Gonna Freak)
- Author’s Note
- Excerpt
- Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door
- More from TJ Klune
- Readers love the Bear, Otter, and the Kid Chronicles by TJ Klune
- By TJ Klune
“Then what is this about?” he asks me, ignoring my operatic-condiment laugh and the gallons of sweat leaking from my body.
I have no fucking clue what this is about. “Just… not that.”
“Well, it’s good to know you’ve totally got this planned out. This is going to go well, I’m sure.”
“Not helping.”
“I’ll kill him,” Corey says suddenly, his eyes flashing. “If he does anything to hurt you, I swear to God I’ll kill him. They won’t find enough of him left to bury.”
“That was intimidating,” I say, unable to keep the awe out of my voice. “Seriously.” These men in my life who threaten someone four times their size are fucking nuts. Awesome, but nuts.
He cracks a grim smile. “Good. Because I will.”
“I can do this?” I ask/tell him and myself.
He knows. “You can. You remember to breathe, Ty. You know how to breathe.”
I do. I do. I know how to breathe because I’ve been taught how to breathe. Even if my mind sometimes forgets, my body knows how, and I can do this. I can push through anything. Earthquakes are nothing. The ocean is nothing. I don’t need a fucking bathtub. I’m nineteen years old. I’m a certified genius. I’m not some Kid anymore. I am more than it wants me to be. It will not break me.
“I’ll call you,” I say and open the door without waiting for a reply.
My strides are solid and sure. Well, at least for the first four steps. Those four steps are full of I can do this! I am the motherfucking man!
The next three steps are a little less sure. These steps are Well, I think I can do this. I am the motherfucking man, but even motherfucking men can have doubts.
The next four steps feel like my feet are stuck in cement. These are the steps where I think Okay, so this was probably a mistake. I can do this, obviously, but the real question is if I want to do this.
The next two steps (yes, yes, he has the longest path up to his house in the history of the world) and all I can hear is me screaming at myself (complete with a ridiculous Southern accent) Dead man walkin’! Folks, we’ve got ourselves a dead man walkin’ here!
The last five steps are up a step or two to the front door, and I’ve got stress sweat like you wouldn’t believe. I’m pretty sure this is the worst idea in a long history of bad ideas. It doesn’t matter what I want. It doesn’t matter that he’s inside. What matters is that I must be out of my fucking mind to think I could ever face him after all the shit I’ve pulled, that I could even think I could be in the same town as him, much less show up unannounced at his house. And for what? What am I doing here? To beg for forgiveness? To ask if we could be friends again? How trivial is that? How fucking trite?