Just like that, the panic returned with a vengeance.
“Fuck.” He battled the urge to just go and sprawl in the reflecting pool. The weather wasn’t blistering, but these attacks always made him feel like he’d humped a hundred-pound ruck across the Registan.
Thanks, Afghanistan.
Enough fun and games. Sally had also taught him when to stop, pause, and admit he needed help. When to recognize a moment just like this one.
“Suck it up, buttercup,” he mumbled, plodding over to one of the cart vendors on the plaza. “Une bouteille d’eau,” he requested, and quickly twisted the cap free from the water. After chugging half the contents, he fished a small pill from his back pocket and swallowed that too.
Goddammit, how he hated taking the pharmaceutical escape hatch from this shit—but again, Sally’s words echoed through his head. Brick is your call sign, mister—not your credo.
He wanted to laugh at her now just as much as he did then. And he would—just as soon as he finished up with shaking like a daisy in a rainstorm.
It’d be a few minutes before the chemicals took hold and brought that miracle, though. He endured the wait by slumping against one of the columns bearing witness to the museum’s origins as a military fortress. The smooth stone was warm against his back. He focused on the heat, mentally mixing it with the rise of his dopamine while scanning the plaza with lazy eyes. Okay, whatever counted as lazy for him these days. After eight days away from the tranquility of his place on Whidbey Island, his middle name had likely been changed to Paranoia.
Still, he didn’t flinch at a movement in the shadows beyond his right shoulder. When the man who’d materialized there took three steps in cowboy boots without a sound, Brick relaxed again. “You plan on coming out anytime soon, Wizard of Oz?” he murmured.
“Cackled the bad witch to the good witch?”
The comeback, in Ozias Demos’s trademark drawl, already had Brick twitching with a smirk. “Hold up. I’m the one who looks better in pink sparkles, remember?”
“Crikey. Forgot about that detail. Just like I must’ve forgotten that you switched up our meeting spot. I mean, I don’t remember getting a text, but that’d be what a decent guy would do…”
“And I’m no decent guy, so we’re all good, yeah?” Yet he contradicted himself at once, pushing off the pillar and holding his arms out to keep the passage clear for a passing group of chattering middle-school Brits and their frazzled chaperone. “But you probably also forgot this is your meeting, yeah?”
“Uh…yeah.”
The guy’s hesitancy wasn’t just in his timing. The very timbre of Oz’s tone switched, causing Brick to do the same with his stance. He pivoted in time to get a visual copy on the rest of his friend’s explanation.
“It’s…not entirely mine this time, mate.”
And wasn’t this going to be his new entry for the irony diary? Because the second Brick comprehended that he and Oz weren’t alone, his damn meds kicked in. Mellow battled mistrust for control of his reaction, making him vacillate—and their new friend took advantage of that moment to step forward.
If Brick didn’t know that Oz had no brother, he’d have taken the guy to be that hazel-eyed, celebrity-grinned, semi-ginger of a sibling. The dude even swaggered like a modern-day Eastwood as he stepped forward, meeting Brick’s stare while extending his hand.
“Good day, Mr. Brickham. It is a deep honor to meet you.”
So much for the Eastwood thing.
“Because Oz has told you so many lovely things about me?” he quipped, mentally replacing the reference. Eastwood was now Hiddleston or Tatum, one of those pretty boys with a rugged edge who’d be a better prince than a cowboy.
“Well, now that you mention it…” The guy filled in his own inference with a courtly chuckle.
“Christ.” And now Oz was laughing too, as if they were getting ready to go have tea. Brick started hoping this would wind up with knocking back some Macallan at the Ritz’s Bar. “Where are my manners?”
“You have manners?”
With smooth grace, Oz ignored his gibe. “Jagger Fox, I’m happy to officially introduce Maximillian Brickham—but call him Brick if you value your testicles. And my mate Brick, please allow yourself the treat of being cordial to my friend, Lieutenant Jagger Fox of Arcadia.”
Against all his efforts to contain it, a chuckle sputtered from Brick. Goddammit, Oz knew how he respected a subtle verbal backhand. “My boosted serotonin and I say nice to meet you, Fox.”
But hell, why not blame the meds when he could? Though he regretted the choice as soon as both men’s regards turned openly wary. And they said a lot had changed about perspectives on mental health.
“Didn’t know things had gotten that bad for you, mate,” Oz said with entirely too much sap.
“Only when people make me stop and think about them,” he growled.
“But you’re fine with the crowded meeting place?” Oz pressed. “I had to pick somewhere we’d all blend in.”
“Yeah,” Brick returned. “Yeah, I’m fine. There’s the sky. There’s the exit. I’m good. I’m good.” He even stabbed a dorky thumb in the air. “Props to modern medicine for keeping vets relaxed across the world.”
“And thousand-thread-count sheets, courtesy of the Hotel Ritz?”
He hadn’t expected the observation from Fox—or the chance it gave him to lob an approving chuckle. “Someone’s been doing his homework.”
Fox shrugged. “Some investigations are easier than others.”
“Meaning?”
“That once you made Oz’s recommended short list for this, I backtracked through your lodging records in the city. You do have distinct preferences.”
“You backtracked…distinct preferences…” He cut in on himself by laughing harder. “Guess I should be thankful we’re on the same side, then.” Another stop, in which he cocked a hard eyebrow at the Arcadian. “Wait. We are on the same side, right?”
Ozias swung in, holding up a hand. “Easy, meat eater. There are no sides this time.”
“Oh, my sweet little wizard.” Brick smacked his now-empty water against his palm. “There are always sides.”
“Your friend is a wise man.”
Fox’s words were, shockingly, not a shock. Something about the guy resonated with Brick. A specific sternness he normally didn’t connect to the people of Fox’s country. But he also knew the Arcadians were as reluctant to leave their island as allow others to visit it. Jagger Fox must’ve ventured this far for a damn good reason.
“Christ on toast,” Ozias muttered. “You two are peas in a pod.”
Fox snorted again. “Not every pod.”
“Dare I ask for an interpretation of that?” Brick charged.
Fox straightened, accentuating his tall frame. The guy reminded Brick of a sprinter, his lean but powerful muscles ready to activate at any second. “It means that we both like being the one in control,” he said. “Only you have more success with certain females than I do.”
“Which also means what?” Brick took a second to fortify his stance too. “Or should I now be asking…who?”