by F. T. Lukens
Throughout the baseball season, Bridger had attended most of Leo’s home games, but away games were trickier, especially if they had far to travel. Also, Bridger did his very best not to be a distraction. Baseball was important. Baseball was Leo’s ticket to college. Bridger would hate to interfere, no matter how much he enjoyed watching his boyfriend play.
Bridger glanced at the TV just as a figure in a gray tattered outfit appeared from behind a tree and screamed in Summer’s face.
“Holy crap!” Bridger jerked backward, fell and thumped on the floor, wedged between couch cushions and the coffee table.
Astrid jumped and clapped her hands over her mouth to muffle her own curse. Her pop hit the edge of the table and erupted, sending a zero-calorie volcanic spray over the living room.
“What the hell is that?” Astrid yelled.
Breathing hard, Bridger propped himself up on his elbows. “I don’t know!” On the screen, the figure flashed again, a blurred face with dark sockets for eyes, and emitted a wail that curled Bridger’s toes and etched into his bones. “Is that the wood witch?”
“I don’t know!”
A cackle was followed by a shriek, then hard breaths and snapping twigs and crunching leaves. Bridger climbed back onto the sofa and perched on the edge with his gaze fixed on the screen and his heart beating as if he was sprinting.
Summer ran, followed by a screeching figure in gray. The camera shook and fell, landing on its side. Leaves stuck to the lens obscured most of the picture, but still visible was a horizontal shot of Summer’s boots. The sound bled in and out of panicked shouts and horrible screaming. The feed cut out.
Bridger’s phone rang. He launched it across the room with a throw that would’ve impressed his gym teacher. It smacked the wall and left a dent before clattering to the hardwood floor.
Astrid shook. She grabbed the remote and jabbed the pause button. Face pale, she turned to Bridger. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know!” He wiped a hand over his sweaty brow, then pressed his hand to his chest. His heart raced beneath his palm. “Oh, my God. It’s living the football game all over again.” He took an unsteady breath. “Why was that so scary?”
“Because it was! It was a jump-scare in the middle of a stupid forest romp. Oh, my God.”
Bridger nodded. “And we definitely know what it’s like to be chased by a supernatural creature.” He shook out his clenched fists. “I can’t believe I’m freaking out. It must be a sympathetic response.”
Astrid cast him a withering glare. “Seriously? You can’t handle the mildest horror movie without me holding your hand. And that…” She flailed toward the TV. “…scared me.”
Bridger lifted his chin. “That was before-the-job Bridger. Or don’t you remember how I confronted a hag.”
“That I fended off with my hockey stick.”
“My hero,” Bridger said, with a roll of his eyes. Astrid poked him in retaliation. “Was that the end?”
“No, there’s like ten minutes left.”
Bridger ran a hand through his hair. “What even?”
“It’s the season six finale. It has to be fake. No way.”
“Yeah,” Bridger nodded. “Fake,” he agreed, not at all convinced. He cleared his throat. “I hope I didn’t break my phone—”
The front door opened, and Astrid and Bridger startled so badly the last of the popcorn went flying. Bridger let out a yell, and Astrid jumped into his lap. Marv appeared out of nowhere, back arched and hissing, balanced on the back of the sofa, her body fuzzed out.
Leo walked in, eyebrows raised. “Did I interrupt something?”
Bridger slumped into the cushions. Astrid laughed sheepishly and as gracefully as possible, which wasn’t graceful at all, extricated herself from Bridger’s lap. She straightened her shirt and picked up the wayward bowl. Sensing Leo wasn’t a threat, Marv ceased her impression of a Halloween decoration and disappeared up the stairs to Bridger’s room.
“I mean, first girls’ phone numbers and then I walk in on you two in a compromising position.” His lips quirked in a teasing smile, and Bridger melted at the sight. Leo. It was only Leo. Not a hag or a witch. No, wait. It was Leo. “We need to talk” Leo. Pushing Astrid’s leg, Bridger stood.
“Hey,” he said. Popcorn kernels and fortune cookie crumbs tumbled from the creases in his shirt. Attractive. “We were just watching a TV show. A scary one.”
Leo scrunched his nose. “Really? Bridger, you know how you do with horror movies.”
“Ha!” Astrid said, scooping up the popcorn from the couch.
Bridger shot her a quick glare. “So how was the game?” He turned back to Leo, whose hair was damp and unstyled, missing the usual swoop and spikes. The silver chain around his neck glinted. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, and when Bridger hugged him, he smelled like body wash. Leo’s arms wound tight around Bridger’s shoulders, and Bridger tried not to melt into the comfort of the embrace with Astrid standing right there, though she’d seen probably more PDA than she’d wanted from the two of them over the months. Still, Bridger couldn’t help but sag into Leo’s arms, rest his forehead on Leo’s shoulder, and twine his fingers into the beltloops on Leo’s jeans. Their relationship might be over in the space of a conversation tonight anyway, so Bridger was going to be greedy when he could.
“We won. I hit a home run and turned a double play.”
“Hero.”
Leo chuckled; his breath skirted the shell of Bridger’s ear. “Sometimes,” he admitted.
Reluctantly, Bridger pulled away. “Want some cold Chinese food?”
“Yeah. Sounds great.”
Leo ate while Bridger vacuumed the popcorn and Astrid wiped up the droplets of pop. When Bridger finished, he plopped next to Leo and squirmed into his side. “Hey,” he said.
Leo set the carton on the table, then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Hey.”
Somehow, the ease of their earlier interaction dissipated despite their physical closeness. The conversation to come hung over them like a dark cloud and sucked the air from the room. Bridger straightened from his affectionate sprawl, and Leo didn’t stop him.
Sensing the tension, Astrid’s gaze darted to each of the two boys. She yawned. It was a fake; Bridger could tell, but he appreciated the effort. “Look at the time on this wild Friday night,” she said. “I should head home.”
“Really?” Leo gave her a grin. “It’s only nine-thirty.”
“Yeah, but, I have… things tomorrow.” She slapped Bridger on the back. “Happy birthday, Bridge. Have fun tomorrow with your mom.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“Text me later.” She waved at the TV. “We’ll have to talk about that.”
Bridger sighed. “Yeah. I will.”
She grabbed her things and ruffled Leo’s hair as she walked out. “Bye, Romeo.”
“Later, Mercutio.”
The front door opened, then closed, leaving Bridger and Leo alone.
“It amuses me that you have Shakespearean pet names for each other,” Bridger said, waving his hand toward the door. “Though I don’t know if Romeo and Mercutio are really appropriate. Doesn’t Mercutio die?”
Leo shrugged. “They’re BFFs.”
“For the first act. And then Mercutio curses both houses as he dies in Romeo’s arms. And does that make me Juliet in this scenario?”
Leo shook his head then poked Bridger’s cheek. “Are you going to be on this tangent for a while or do you want your birthday present?”
Bridger froze, then cleared his throat. “Sure. As long as it’s not an eggplant.”
“No, it’s not.” Leo reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a necklace. He looped the chain over Bridger’s neck. Bridger lifted the medallion in his palm. It was an oval, like the one Leo wore, but instead of Saint Christopher, it
showed a woman.
“Who is it?”
“Saint Dymphna. The patron saint of stress and anxiety.”
Bridger let out a breathless laugh. “Seriously?”
“Yep. It’s to help you. During all the changes that are coming.”
Bridger’s mouth went dry. Changes. Of course. “It’s perfect.” He ran his thumb over the ridged picture. “I love it.” Bridger slipped it under the collar of his shirt. It sat on his breastbone; the metal felt warm on his skin.
Leo smiled softly. “Awesome.”
“So,” Bridger said, voice shaky. He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, the worn fabric of his jeans felt soft on his palms. “We should talk?”
Leo drooped and smacked his forehead. “That was an awful thing to send in a text, wasn’t it?”
“A little.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. It’s nothing bad. I mean, it shouldn’t be. I don’t know.” Leo raised his head. “I hope you haven’t been worrying this whole time.”
“Me?” Bridger asked, pointing to his chest where his heart threatened to break. “Worry? It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
Leo chuckled. He tapped the medallion beneath Bridger’s shirt, then took his hand and laced their fingers. “I know you too well.”
His skin was warm against Bridger’s. His large brown eyes were soft, and he looked at Bridger as if he was the most special thing in the world. Bridger’s middle fluttered. He couldn’t help it. He was smitten beyond coherence, and he never wanted to lose the feeling he had right then: as if he could take on the world if only Leo would smile at him, affectionately and a little crooked, for the rest of his life.
“Okay, maybe I worried a little.” Bridger’s throat tightened. “But I didn’t help things with the LOL.”
“Actually, I knew what you meant. That was Bridger for ‘I don’t know how to respond.’ You panicked.”
“Ugh,” Bridger said, collapsing back on the cushions. “You do know me too well.”
“It’s like I’m your boyfriend or something.”
“You’re still my boyfriend?”
A shadow flickered over Leo’s expression, and Bridger held his breath. “Yeah. But I just, um, we should talk.”
“So you’ve said.”
Leo bit his lip. “I really like you,” he blurted, then grimaced. He ran a hand through his dark hair. It was starting to dry after his shower and it fluffed up in adorably weird places. “I mean, I really like you, Bridger.”
Don’t tempt fate. Don’t tempt fate. Don’t tempt fate. “But?” Ugh. Why did he ask?
“But I’m not ready for sex.”
Bridger blinked. “Wait, what?”
“I know that there is this perception that teenage boys should be ready and willing all the time, but I’m… not. When Matt texted you that, it really embarrassed me. I didn’t want you to think that I was ready for things that involve eggplants.”
“Eggplants as in the literal sense or the figurative?”
“Figurative.” He made a face. “Why do I have to explain figurative?”
“I lead a weird life, Leo. I need to make sure.”
Leo laughed. “I really like how funny you are.”
“Thanks.”
“And I really like you.” His palm smoothed the wrinkles in Bridger’s shirt. “I want things to be natural and easy between us and not because we feel pressured into it.”
That’s all? This was the “we have to talk” talk? A sex talk? Bridger’s relief was palpable.
Bridger swallowed. “Okay. That’s good to know. I respect that. Have you felt pressured by me? About eggplant stuff?”
Leo winced. “Not really? It’s been in my head to talk to you about it, and with your birthday and prom coming up, I didn’t want there to be any miscommunication. I hear the other guys talking about hotel rooms after prom and expectations they have. They all know your mom works nights and they think that… we take advantage of that.” Leo cleared his throat. “You’re not going to break up with me, are you?”
“What?” Bridger’s voice did not screech. It merely cracked. “No. No. No way. Oh, my God. Are you kidding? You’re stuck with me. Sorry, those are the rules. No substitutions or trade-ins allowed.”
Leo knocked his shoulder into Bridger’s, then melted into Bridger’s side and threw his arm over Bridger’s shoulders. “Good.”
“I’m glad we’re talking about this. Because it has been on my mind. And I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with and if I do something wrong, please tell me. I’ll stop.”
Leo’s smile was blinding, like sun on lake water. “Thank you. I don’t know why I was nervous to talk to you. I knew you would understand.”
“I do. And for the record,” Bridger said, “I really like you too.”
Leo beamed.
“Also, for the record, I was freaking out since school. I thought you were breaking up with me.”
“Why?” Leo made a face. “Why would I want to do that?”
“Really? You’re asking. Do you need reasons? First, I’m kind of a geek, if you didn’t notice. I’m also kind of anxious trash.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “I am awkward in every situation. Like, there’s literally no situation that I can get through gracefully. I have no idea what I want to do with my life. I have little-to-no athletic ability unless it’s running from things and—”
Leo cut him off with a kiss. Bridger’s brain screeched to a halt; words died in his mouth. His lips tingled even after Leo pulled away.
“Oh, hey, that worked. I’m filing that away for later.”
“You… I can’t….”
Leo’s eyes crinkled in clear amusement. “Wow. Do you need a system reboot?”
Narrowing his eyes, Bridger shook his head. “Oh, it’s on now.”
Intent on tickling him into an apology, Bridger jumped on Leo, but Leo was an athlete and stronger, and Bridger’s offense quickly turned into defense and peals of laughter. Wrestling on the cushions, Bridger’s anxiety ebbed with the heat of Leo’s body next to his and Leo’s laughter ringing in his ears and gave way to happiness and gratitude for someone as understanding and perfect as Leo.
Leo pinned Bridger. Hands on Bridger’s shoulders, stretched along the length of Bridger’s body, he grinned like a Cheshire cat.
The position wasn’t lost on either of them, and Bridger raised an eyebrow. “We can still make out, right?” Bridger angled his elbow to nudge Leo’s side.
Leo smiled brightly. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Bridger surged up as Leo bent. A few months ago, they would’ve knocked heads or teeth, but this was familiar and comfortable. They kissed. Leo’s mouth was hot, and his breath smelled like fried rice, and he kissed Bridger with the focus of an athlete trying to win. Kissing Leo was thrilling and soothing at the same time, and, while Bridger didn’t have much kiss experience, he could say that Leo’s were by far his favorite, soft and sweet and intent. Leo rolled so he was wedged between Bridger and the back of the couch, and Bridger cupped Leo’s cheeks. His stubble felt scratchy under Bridger’s hands, and, yeah, he’d gone from thinking Leo was going to break up with him to having a really good talk about peer pressure and consent, and Bridger was on cloud nine. Judging by the way Leo’s hands grasped Bridger’s shirt, he was up there as well.
Bridger’s phone rang. For the second time that night, Bridger fell off the couch.
“Why is your phone all the way over there?” Leo asked, amused, propped up on one arm. “And why is it so loud?”
“I threw it in a fit of terror. The volume must have screwed up when it hit the wall or the floor.”
Bridger crossed the room and scooped it up. It was probably his mom. No one else would call him at this time of night, except Astrid and Leo.
He answered it. “Hey.
Yes, I’ve eaten. Yes, I’m home. No, I’m not out partying and no, I’m not going to stay up too late.”
The voice on the other end cleared their throat. “That’s great, Bud. Good to hear my son is keeping to the straight and narrow. Even on a Friday night.”
“Dad?” Well, this night was one full of surprises.
“Hey, Bridger. Yeah, it’s Dad.”
Bridger plugged his other ear with his finger and walked into the kitchen. “What…”
“Happy birthday, kiddo. How’s eighteen treating you?”
“It’s tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I’m calling. I’m actually in Grand Rapids settling your grandma’s estate and wanted to drop by and see you tomorrow.”
Bridger paced, blindsided. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s been a while.”
No shit. Try about five years since Bridger had last seen his dad. And five years before that when he left—a decade of distance between them.
“It has.” Bridger clenched his jaw. His brow furrowed, and he rubbed his finger between his eyes to smooth out the stress wrinkles forming there. “Um, tomorrow? I usually do something with mom and—”
“That’s okay. I’ll ask her if I can tag along. She won’t mind. She knows I’m close to town.”
“Oh,” Bridger swallowed the lump in his throat. “Okay then.”
“Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo. Anything in particular you want for your birthday?”
No. He’d already gotten a magic cat, an anxiety-reducing necklace, and a tiara. What else could he want?
“Not really. I’m good.”
“Cash it is then.” He laughed, his voice rich and warm.
The sound lanced through Bridger’s body. A confusing ache of loss overwhelmed him, and he rubbed tears out of his eyes.
