Everything Carries Me to You (Axton and Leander Book 3) (28 page)

"Why does
everyone
bring up the farmer's market?" Leander asked.

"Because it was really predictably egregious," New York said promptly. "And a long streak. Now. Go lie for me. Make sure she doesn't storm inside."

"Go hide in the bedroom or something, just in case," Leander said, standing up and going to the door.

New York scuttled away on what sounded like all fours.

Leander cleared his throat and plastered a smile on his face. He opened the door.

"Sorry, hi," he said. "Have you been knocking long?"

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm the house sitter," Leander said, with a straight face.

It took about an hour for New York to relax. Eventually he was filtering through the rooms with ease and humming contentedly.

"Where do you want to get lunch?" he asked.

"You seem happy," Leander said. "I'm glad. Meanwhile, I've lost my appetite. I just lied to a beautiful woman to save you the trouble of facing what a scumbag you are."

"Oh, whatever," New York said. "I'd have done the same for you."

"Accepting that you're kind of a bad person in some ways is just part of the friendship," Leander said. "That's not what really gets me."

"Then what?" New York asked, fishing a lighter out of his pocket.

"You waited for me to offer to lie for you," Leander said. "You cultivated a situation where you knew I would feel so uncomfortable that I would offer."

New York shrugged.

"And?" he asked.

"You didn't ask," Leander said. "You could have just asked."

"One," New York started, as he produced a box of cigarettes from out of apparently nowhere, "our friendship is built on tacit understandings and strategic button pushes, and has been for over a decade. You know me. I know you. We often don't ask. We arrange inputs to get certain outputs. Or, sure, if you prefer: we
cultivate
situations. We both have a skill set we don't get to use much in the real world, so we use it harmlessly between ourselves. We're manipulative fucks."

"There's a lot going on there," Leander said, eyeing the cigarettes, "for just being point one out of potentially many. One implies
two
, at least."

"So you don't disagree," New York said.

"I didn't say that."

"Two," New York said, looking straight at Leander as he slid one cigarette free, "if you think telling one lie for me sets us square after all the shit I'm doing for you about your kidnapped maybe ex-boyfriend, all the
lies
and the outright
fraud
I'm committing for you on a daily basis, then you're a self-absorbed prick. And you didn't
ask
me, either, you baited me with a set of challenges you knew I'd find irresistible. So fuck you."

"You could have said no," Leander said, on edge because he carried a heavy load of secret guilt. "You could still say no."

"And let you drive yourself into the ground trying to do it alone? Please," New York said. "I could tell you weren't going to back down. I'm an asshole, but I'm not that kind of asshole."

"If you could immediately tell I was manipulating you into this, why do it?" Leander asked. "If you could figure it all out--"

"Don't sounds so fucking surprised that I knew what you were doing. You're not smarter than me," New York muttered, eyes downcast now because he was trying to light a cigarette and failing. "You just have your shit together more. You don't have my propensity for drug addiction."

"You do not have an actual--
stop that
--" Leander said, slapping the hand that held the lighter down. "You're
asthmatic
, for fuck's sake!"

New York defiantly wriggled away and managed to light the cigarette. Coolly, he turned to blow a long, heavy stream of smoke right into Leander's face.

Leander slugged him in the mouth.

New York staggered back but caught himself on the wall and didn't go down. The lighter clattered onto the floor, forgotten, joining the cigarette that had been knocked away. There was a hard look in his eyes as he nailed Leander with his gaze, and then his lips twitched into a small smile--

Leander was being yanked off balance before he was even sure what was happening, but he compensated for New York yanking on his lapels and kept his footing. Then New York did some sort of fast bullshit judo leg sweep that Leander didn't know how to defend, and they went down together. Leander moved quickly and shoved at the critical moment, making just enough space to get away and not end up in a grapple--ground fighting with New York was a bad idea. He was halfway to standing when New York, still on the ground, kicked him in the knee. With a grunt, Leander hit the ground, resentment sparking up his spine along with pain. In a flash, New York was in a half-mount, trapping Leander's kicked leg. There was a tense pause--no one relaxed--as they both evaluated their positions. New York was too fluid and flexible to buck off easily in this configuration, and he was controlling Leander's posture fairly effectively. However, he couldn't actually get into full mount on Leander, either. They knew each other's styles very well.

"You upkicked me to the fucking
knee
," Leander said, because, fuck it, they were deadlocked anyway.

"Yeah," New York said, grinning. "What are you going to do about it, chump?"

"Oh, fuck you," Leander said. "You wanted me to hit you. You're doing the thing you just told me we both do. You wanted me to hit you so you could make your point."

"And I want you to stop being a gigantic pussy now, but I'll just have to cope with the disappointment."

"You deliberately targeted my most fucked up leg!" Leander said.

"You think Dana won't?" New York asked, and all the teasing was gone out of his voice.

Leander shoved hard, fighting to get on his side and get out from under.

"You'll be fighting an opponent who knows exactly where your injuries are,
because he injured you,"
New York went on, going with Leander's movement instead of against it, taking up a new dominant position readily.

Leander tucked his head, chin to his chest, to prevent the obvious choke. Giving New York his back was such a bad fucking idea--

Inelegant but determined, Leander managed to stagger partially upright, New York still on his back. One of Leander's hands was still planted on the ground, so the moment he would be putting more weight on the leg that came up last would be very vulnerable, and New York was a spiteful and gleeful little shit--

The bait worked and as New York shifted to knock Leander's leg out from under him, Leander tilted forward and grabbed, throwing New York off his back.

Sprawling, catching himself, New York bound back up quickly--

But not quick enough, and Leander landed a glancing jab that New York didn't manage to duck entirely. New York was up against the wall again, and Leander didn't hesitate to sock him in the face one more time.

Something blunt but still painful dug into his ribs--

Leander jumped back.

"The fuck is
wrong
with you!" he shouted. "You are
insane
!"

"Hey, hey. It's closed," New York said, holding up his hands. One hand held a folding knife that was, in fact, closed.

"Oh, like that makes it different!"

"Well," New York said, amused, "it does, yeah."

"You could have stabbed me!" Leander shouted.

"Could have?" New York said, smiling. "Past tense? You still look plenty open to me."

Leander closed the space between them to shove New York against the wall, pining his right hand by the wrist.

"Besides," New York went on, as if they were chatting over drinks, "you were about to seriously fuck up my pretty face if I didn't stop you. Temper, temper."

Leander tightened his grip.

"Look at you!" New York said. "Still going!"

Leander kneed him in the midsection, then went for a wrist lock. New York slipped his hand free instead--

Which was just enough of a distraction for Leander to hit him in the face again. New York crumpled.

Leander stepped back, breathing hard, chest heaving with it, and glared down at his…friend.

"Ow," New York said cheerfully, sitting up and cradling his face. "You fucked up my jaw."

"Fuck off - you deserved it," Leander said.

"There's my boy," New York said. "Finally. Been trying to coax you out for weeks."

"Fucking, fucking, asshole," Leander said. "
Fuck
you."

"It's true what they say," New York confided, still carefully prodding at his jaw. "You can teach technique, but you can't teach
power
. You've got heavy hands when you let yourself."

"When I
let myself
?"

"You've always fought smart," New York said, "which is cool and all. Since your injury you've been holding back, though. Too cautious. You're scared of using that leg. And you can't punch right if you're not willing to push off it hard. But I'd say you just learned to trust that leg again, wouldn't you?"

"Fuck you so fucking much," Leander said. "You baited me so I would hit you for real?"

"Yeah, because I'm the best friend ever," New York said, "but keep in mind that I so would have stabbed you to death in a real fight."

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Leander muttered, but he held out a hand and yanked New York up to his feet. "You couldn't have done this in the gym? You had to do it while we were in street clothes and about to go to lunch?"

"It was way more believable this way," New York said.

"I hate you," Leander said.

"Besides, if you can't hit me for real, how are you gonna land the killing blow on your opponent?" New York asked.

"That is--
what
," Leander said. "That's the shittiest logic I've ever--that doesn't even make sense!"

"Yeah, so, whatever," New York said. "The point is, you should fight hard. Disproportionately hard. Bite to kill. Then eat what you kill. You're going to have to be ruthless to win this once and for all."

"I don't want to kill him," Leander said.

"La, la, la," New York said. "Was that some ruth I heard, on the wind? Because I remember calling for a distinct lack of ruth."

"I hate you so much," Leander said. "So much."

"You don't though," New York said.

"Yeah," Leander said.

"You love me," New York said.

"You're still a son of a bitch," Leander said.

"And I could have stabbed you, remember," New York reminded.

"Why did I agree to train with you," Leander said, to the room at large. "Why did I think this was a good idea?"

"Because you think I can take care of myself if shit goes down suddenly," New York said, "and you currently live with the ever present fear that those around you will be hurt by your nemesis."

"Thanks for reminding me," Leander said glumly.

"Any time," New York beamed. "I'm honored, by the way, that you trust me more than your entire dojo back home."

"That's only because I think you're a paranoid fucking loon," Leander said, "and a generally unstable motherfucker, so you'd stab Dana in the liver before he even got to the shit talking. You'd shoot him, too, if you were packing heat at the time."

"It's true," New York said, beaming even harder. "Now, let's go get some lunch."

"But you're bleeding," Leander pointed out, "from the nose."

"Yeah, it'll be badass," New York said. "Besides, it's only a little. Let's go."

"I'm getting you some ice," Leander said.

"Later," New York said. "I'm hungry now."

On his last night before returning to LA, Leander took inventory of his body.

He was sore in places he had forgotten could be sore. It was a good kind of pain, the type of pain he was used to. No matter how he moved, his torso hurt. Bending down, twisting to pick something up, straightening to stand--every action that engaged his core muscles hurt. It wasn't anything much, just constant background noise: normal muscle soreness, and Leander was very happy to have the soft perpetually wrecked feeling back. His sides did hurt a little more, enough to be just a bit louder than background sensation. This, too, made him happy. It meant he'd been punching correctly. His thighs hurt. And his claves. Sore legs were also normal, but Leander tried to ignore the fact that his legs were, perhaps, more sore than he was used to after a martial arts extravaganza week.

He rubbed one finger against a knuckle on his other hand. There were scrapes in exactly the right places, which was gratifying, but--

"Man," Leander said. "I'm sorry I punched you."

New York was cradling an ice pack to his face.

"'S alright," he said.

"Seriously, though," Leander said.

"You needed it," New York said.

"Not gonna lie, I'm also kind of concerned that you're going to get me back later."

New York gave him a lazy grin of obvious pleasure.

"I might," he said.

Leander sighed.

"I haven't seen you so mad since we were kids," New York said dreamily. "It's so sudden. No wind up. No bullshit. You just go for it."

"Um," Leander said, "it makes me uncomfortable that you think my temper is awesome."

"We've had this talk before," New York said. "You're stupid hard to provoke to that point. Don't worry about it."

"Not hard enough," Leander muttered.

"I know you value you the ability to keep a clear head, unclouded by anger or whatever," New York said, "but it's possible to learn how to think through the rage, man."

"I am not taking advice from you on this topic," Leander said. "I have pulled you out of too many brewing bar fights to take any anger management advice from you."

"No, those classes I had to take that one time were pretty good," New York said. "I learned stuff."

"You slept with your therapist," Leander reminded. "I'm not sure that counts as learning."

"Hey, she wasn't teaching ethics," New York said. "Fair game."

"All right," Leander said, in the most patronizing tone of voice he could muster. "What did you learn?"