Our bartender brings our drinks over, and Lyall lifts his glass.
“To family,” I say.
Lyall smiles. “To charting our own course in life, no matter the consequences.”
I drink when he does, his words replaying in my head. “How’s it compare to mead in Iceland?”
He smacks his lips, then takes another gulp. “Delicious. Thank you for bringing me here. I wonder if there are any similar places we could visit.”
“You mean, more themed bars?”
“Something like that, aye.”
“Maybe there’s some other medieval-themed activity we can do.”
I didn’t mean for today to turn into a Viking-era adventure in NYC, but I’m here for it. Especially if I can make Lyall smile like that again.
Damn it. No, this is just a fun outing. Not a date. Get it together, me.
By the time we’ve drained our glasses, I’ve found something else that sounds interesting. “How about a sword fighting class?”
Lyall slams a fist on the bar. “I will conquer this class!”
I bark out a laugh. “Sounds like a yes to me.” I close out our tab and motion for Lyall to follow me. “Come on. The class starts in thirty minutes. We’ll get there faster if we take the train.”
Lyall frowns. “A train?”
“No, the F train. It’ll take us right there.”
We zip up our coats and I lead the way to the nearest station. “Have you ever taken a sword fighting class before?”
Lyall grips my arm as cars rush past, and I realize I was so busy looking at him that I almost walked into oncoming traffic. Whoops. “I’ve mastered all manner of blades andblunt weaponry. My father trained us lads as soon as we were old enough to swing a blade.”
Whoa, that’s pretty hardcore. It sounds like he had an unusual upbringing. Once we’re down in the subway, I tap my phone to pass through the turnstiles. Lyall simply hoists himself over and looks confused when other people don’t do the same.
“Show off,” I say.
Lyall grins. “It seemed the faster way.”
“Excuse me, sir,” a police officer calls, marching toward us. “You’ve got to pay the fare!”
“Shit!” I grab Lyall’s hand. “Let’s go!” I take off, leading him down onto the platform just as our train roars into the station. Lyall freezes, wide-eyed as the train screeches to a stop.
“Excuse me, pardon me!” I call out, dragging Lyall onto the cramped train before the passengers can get off. They grumble and some curse us out, but enough people exit the train that the flow of foot traffic cuts the cop off from us. Collapsing into a seat, I laugh as the cop’s scowling face becomes a blur out the window.
“Next time, pay the fare. Or make sure the cops don’t see you if you decide to jump it.”
Lyall doesn’t respond. He’s standing and gripping a pole with both hands. His knuckles are white from how hard he’s holding on. Wide green eyes dart around the train car,and his shoulders heave less from exertion and more from panic.
Shit. That chase with the cop must have freaked him out.
“Hey. You good?” I stand and quickly grab onto the pole so I don’t fall as the train rocks on the tracks.
“I… I don’t think so.” Lyall gulps, wincing as the train’s wheels screech over the tracks.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, not sure what else to say. “Worst-case scenario, the cop would have made us pay a fine. He probably wouldn’t have arrested us.”
“That’s not—”
