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Back The Art of Breathing Save as PDF
Contents ( 42)
  1. The Art of Breathing
  2. Part One: How We Became Who We Are
  3. Prologue: Or, Where the Kid Hears the Word of the Day
  4. 1. Where Tyson Learns to Breathe
  5. 2. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
  6. 3. Where Tyson Graduates and Bear Freaks Out
  7. 4. Where Tyson Says Good-Bye
  8. 5. Where Tyson Gets the Mail
  9. Part Two: Coming Home
  10. 6. Where Tyson Comes Home
  11. 7. Where Tyson Gives a History Lesson
  12. 8. Where Tyson Attends the Most Awkward Party Ever
  13. 9. Where Tyson Plans Attends a Protest
  14. 10. Where Tyson Gets Arrested
  15. 11. Where Tyson Gets His Ass Handed to Him
  16. 12. Where Tyson Writes Bad Poetry and Gawks at Frat Boys
  17. 13. Where Tyson Decides to Man the Fuck Up
  18. 14. Where Tyson Asks Some Questions
  19. 15. Where Tyson Remembers Theresa Jean Paquinn
  20. 16. Where Tyson Learns the Benefit of Therapy
  21. 17. Where Tyson Meets the Man Who Becomes Helena Handbasket
  22. 18. Where Tyson Gets Screwed at His Own Birthday Party (And Not in a Good Way)
  23. Part Three: Just Breathe
  24. 19. Where Tyson Goes to Helena Handbasket’s Sex Dungeon
  25. 20. Where Tyson Beholds the Awesome Wonder That Is Paul Auster
  26. 21. Where Tyson Receives Advice from the Six Sages
  27. 22. Where Tyson Makes a Phone Call
  28. 23. Where Tyson Hears the Inevitable
  29. 24. Where Tyson Meets His Match
  30. 25. Where Tyson Says Hello, Where Tyson Says Good-bye
  31. 26. Where Tyson Touches upon the Inevitable
  32. 27. Where Tyson Faces the Music
  33. 28. Where Tyson Breathes
  34. 29. Tyson And Dominic
  35. 30. The Art Of Breathing
  36. Epilogue: Or, Bear’s Perspective, As It Were (Yeah, He’s Gonna Freak)
  37. Author’s Note
  38. Excerpt
  39. Prologue: Or, Where Bear Answers the Door
  40. More from TJ Klune
  41. Readers love the Bear, Otter, and the Kid Chronicles by TJ Klune
  42. By TJ Klune

“No, Bear,” Otter sighs. “I don’t think there was a test for serial killers with tails.”

“Well, there should have been!” I shout at him.

Then two things happen at once.

A phone rings.

The doorbell rings.

“That’s my phone,” Otter says. “It’s downstairs. You need to take a deep breath and answer the door. Someone showed up a bit early.”

“No violent video games!” I tell him. “And he eats all his vegetables! I don’t care what he tries to say. Those goddamn Brussels sprouts are going down his throat or he can stay at the dinner table all night!”

“All night,” Otter says, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Bear. Focus.”

“I am focused!” On my son being a serial killer with a tail. As I should be. (Because what if being born with a tail causes you to be a serial killer?)

He turns me around and steers me toward the stairs. “You need to get the door. I need to see who called to make sure everything’s okay.”

The phone stops ringing. But then it starts again.

There’s a knock at the door.

We reach the bottom of the stairs. He kisses me hard, knowing full well my brain is still racing at a hundred miles an hour. I’m a little breathless by the time he’s finished, and a little turned on, and a little turned around. Gosh, and today started so well.

“Good?” he asks.

“Blargh,” I tell him.

“Good,” he says and pushes me toward the door, then turns to the living room, where his phone is going off again. Must be important.

The doorbell rings.

Right. Get the door. No more babies with tails. At least until later.

“Huh,” Otter says as he picks up his phone. “It’s Megan.”

Megan. The surrogate. She had an appointment today to get an ultrasound. She told us it was okay if we didn’t come to this one, because she knew we’d be getting the house ready for Ty to come home. We thought it’d be better to have everyone meet her later. She’s a sweet girl. A bit of a ditz, but sweet nonetheless.

And now she’s calling us repeatedly after a meeting with the ob-gyn.

Headlines flash across my mind: THE SERIAL KILLER KNOWN AS THE TAILED DOORSTOP STRIKES AGAIN! STAY INSIDE! LOCK YOUR DOORS! YOU ARE NOT SAFE!

I hear him answer the phone.

Someone pounds on the door.

I open it.

“Is everything okay, Megan?” Otter says in the living room.

There’s a little girl standing on the porch of the Green Monstrosity. Dark hair, braided down the back of her head. Dark, tired eyes. A smudge of dirt on her nose. A backpack slung across one shoulder. Her eyes widen as she stares up at me. There’s something familiar about her that I can’t quite place.

“Can I help you?” I ask, trying not to show this little girl that I’m pretty much a fucking lunatic.

“Slow down, slow down,” Otter says into the phone. “Say that again, Megan.”