Divide & Conquer

by Madeleine Urban

  A round of jeers came from the others, and Nick had to close his eyes and wave Zane off. “School him.”

  “O is from Boston,” Ty explained to Zane, pointing at Nick. “It’s Red Sox or die unless you can prove a deep affiliation with another club or provide a compelling reason to hate the designated hitter. Or kick his ass.”

  “Preach it, baby,” Nick said happily, giving Ty a closed fist in the air.

  “Owen is, however, a Yankees fan, and they both carried extra ammunition on missions for ‘accidents’,” Ty went on, using his fingers to accentuate the sarcasm.

  “I grew up watching ballgames in Arlington,” Zane said, sounding greatly amused. “Affiliation doesn’t get any deeper than being born and bred Texan.”

  “Rangers, huh?” Nick said, rolling the word around as if giving them thought. “Sure, I guess they’re harmless enough.”

  Owen gave them both a raspberry.

  Ty groaned softly and raised his hand to stop them. “Can we avoid this tonight?”

  “Grady’s become a pacifist,” Digger observed, clearly disapproving.

  “He just lost his balls, is all,” Owen corrected.

  “Don’t you remember holding them for me?” Ty asked him without skipping a beat.

  “The Rangers are actually looking good this season,” Zane said. He was looking up, and though his eyes were unfocused, he had the look about him of someone deliberately feeding the fire. Nick liked that in a man.

  “God, Zane, please,” Ty tried. Nick reached out and slid his arm around Ty’s shoulders, squeezing his arm hard. He wouldn’t start a baseball-induced brawl in the middle of dinner. Again.

  Zane smiled and laughed, and it sounded real, not put on. Nick thought Zane might not be too bad a guy, if he enjoyed getting a rise out of Ty as much as the rest of the team did. But Ty didn’t react to Zane’s ribbing the same way he reacted to theirs. He didn’t growl or bring out that rapier wit Nick knew was so deft. He merely looked sideways at Zane and huffed, then went back to his bottle of beer.

  Interesting.

  After four more rounds of beer, some appetizers, several stories, and a lot of friendly squabbling, Digger stopped the pretty waitress to ask where the best place to leave his shoes was.

  “Oh God, here we go,” Owen muttered.

  “What’s going on?” Zane asked, directing the question toward Ty.

  Ty just shook his head. He was leaning back on his bar stool, propped against the wall behind him. He rubbed at his eyes as if the beer was having its way with him, which was unusual in Nick’s vast experience. He must have really been working hard if he couldn’t make it past half a dozen rounds. He had obviously forgotten that Zane couldn’t see him.

  “They don’t intend to go home tonight, Zane,” Nick answered for him.

  “What’s your name, baby girl?” Digger asked the waitress.

  She was smiling, taking the attention of a table of drunken idiots fairly well. “Caroline. Do we need another round, or are we done for the night?”

  Ty made a pained sound as soon as she told them her name, and Nick began to grin.

  Zane turned his head, apparently trying to follow the conversation. “Which one is Caroline?” he asked Ty.

  “Blonde, smells like sandalwood,” Ty answered. Zane nodded.

  Yeah. They came here a lot. Nick elbowed Ty in the ribs, and Ty folded up and grunted at him as he set his beer on the table. But he was already grinning, so Nick knew they were going to get him to do it. After six beers, convincing Ty to sing was easy as pie. After ten, it was getting him to stop that was the problem.

  Across the table, Kelly and Owen were already providing the melody by humming and drumming their fingers on the table. Caroline narrowed her eyes at them but was still smiling.

  “What’s all this about?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ty told her, smiling even as he apologized. “Please don’t ban us after this.”

  Nick kicked back his stool and stood before Ty could stop him, and he began to sing the first few lines to “Sweet Caroline,” the song that Fenway Park in Boston had made its unofficial anthem. Nick had an okay singing voice, enough that people didn’t complain when he started.

  Zane looked like he was torn between laughing and frowning. “Ty…?”

  Ty glanced sideways at him but didn’t answer. Instead he held his beer bottle up as if toasting the poor laughing waitress, and he joined Nick as soon as they reached the chorus. The sound of Ty’s pure, beautiful singing voice never failed to send shivers up and down Nick’s spine.

  Caroline blushed prettily and laughed, looking around the bar with her hand over her mouth as they serenaded her, and a lot of the conversation around them died down as people watched, agape.

  And then the inevitable happened. Nearly the entire bar joined in. But nothing could drown out Ty’s voice from Nick’s ear. He put his arm around his oldest and dearest friend as they sang, trying not to think about why a melancholy feeling was settling in his chest.

  ZANE pulled on the old T-shirt and sweats before feeling his way along the edge of the bed. It was Ty’s room, and he was more than a little uncertain if he should stay there or go up to the futon in the third-floor guestroom. Ty hadn’t said anything about any of the guys staying over, but they were his friends. An invitation to stay might be assumed. And Zane certainly knew it wouldn’t go over well if they saw him sleeping in Ty’s bed. There was only so much that could be explained away as “helping” your blinded partner. Zane huffed and rubbed his hands over his face.

  He slowly walked toward the bathroom door on the staircase landing, trailing his fingers along the wall. Bare feet touched cold tile, eliciting a wince, and Zane was about to close the bathroom door when he heard Ty’s voice. He could pick it out anywhere.

  “I can’t believe you made me do that,” he was saying, his voice a low, hoarse groan, the type that came with either too much alcohol or when Zane was about to get laid. “I’ll never be able to go back there again.”

  “I can’t believe you don’t still sing, man. What a fucking waste.” That was the Boston accent. Nick. When Zane had stood near him, Nick’s voice hadn’t been quite at ear level, so Nick was shorter than six five, but Zane had nothing else to work with besides the very few details Ty had shared in the course of conversation.

  “Leave him the fuck alone, O. It’s his God-given talent, he can waste it if he wants to,” one of the others said. Kelly, perhaps. Zane wasn’t sure he could tell Owen and Kelly apart. The accents were both unremarkable.

  “Cab’s here,” Digger announced, the words barely discernible. He’d probably been standing by the window, but the deep drawl and heavy accent of his voice was unmistakably Cajun.

  Ty’s answer was lost in the sounds of movement and the front door complaining as it was swung open. Zane frowned and stepped out of the bathroom, moving closer to the stairs. Yeah, eavesdroppers never heard anything good about themselves, but Zane figured he’d be better off knowing which room to go sleep in.

  There was a lot of shuffling and movement, saying goodbye, see you later, who’s got the cab fare, shut the hell up before I duct tape your tongue to your nose. Fairly typical for the type of people Zane expected to be Ty’s friends. After it all died down and the door closed, there was a stretch of silence.

  Then Ty cleared his throat. “Water? Beer?”

  “Yeah, beer,” Nick answered as they both moved past the base of the stairs into the kitchen. So Nick apparently was staying.

  Zane frowned, again trying to decide what to do. Listening to Ty talk to an old friend while sitting there with them was one thing. Skulking at the top of the stairs was another. He’d catch certain hell from Ty if he were caught, and that was enough to have Zane moving back toward the bathroom, albeit reluctantly.

  “You look like hell, man,” he heard Nick say. His tone of voice now, when they were away from the others, was different somehow. More serious and sincere, less teasing. Zan
e hesitated to call it intimate.

  Ty didn’t respond to the observation with a smart-ass remark or try to deflect it. He didn’t respond verbally at all, not that Zane could hear. Zane stood at the bathroom door, gripping the doorjamb, wondering if Ty would admit to Nick what he’d tried to deny to Zane, that he was exhausted, scared, stressed, and uncertain.

  Ty finally just laughed softly.

  “Are you sleeping?” Nick asked. It was the same question Ty always asked Zane when he knew the answer already.

  “Some. I know I look like warmed-over crap, man. I feel like it too,” Ty answered, his voice hoarse but managing to sound flippant anyway. “It’s fine. You didn’t stay because Owen kicks in his sleep. Or to ask me about my sleep.”

  “No,” Nick admitted readily. “You two work well together?”

  “Zane?” Ty asked. He laughed again. “You wouldn’t think so from the outside, would you?”

  “He doesn’t appear the type you usually get on board with, no. He sort of reminds me of that DOD guy—what was his name?”

  “Pike?” Ty responded, uncertainty lacing his voice.

  “Yeah! Ramrod straight, Ray-Bans, always holding a file.”

  “No, man, Pike was an officious dick. Zane’s a good guy. He’s stellar. I trust him.”

  “Good,” Nick said, so softly Zane almost didn’t hear it. He was silent for almost a minute, then added, “Was Pike the one we hung over the railing?”

  Ty burst into laughter, the sound clear as a bell as it reached Zane’s ears. Nick’s laughter joined it. “Oh God, that was funny,” Ty murmured contentedly. “The screams.”

  “Almost got the brig for it.”

  “Worth it,” Ty acknowledged.

  There was another long silence, almost enough for Zane to retreat to the bathroom again. But Nick’s next question, seemingly out of nowhere, arrested his retreat.

  “You still dreaming?” Nick asked, his voice lowered reverently like that of a man in church. Or a man with a secret.

  Ty remained silent for several heartbeats. “Mostly it’s just the desert,” he finally answered, sounding somewhat troubled. “But it’s not bad, I’m just there. Don’t know which way is up, which way is safety, which way goes… back. I wake up tasting sand instead of blood, now. They’re not like they used to be.”

  Zane was intimately familiar with the results of some of Ty’s dreams and nightmares, and he knew about the desert. He snorted softly. He’d never asked Ty to tell him, and Ty had never offered. “Don’t know which way is up” described his own situation pretty damn well right now. Lost. Lost in the dark instead of the sand. Maybe Ty really did understand, just a little bit.

  He knew Ty and Nick had been close, very close, close born of blood and beer and sweat and tears and all of that clichéd Band of Brothers shit that really was true. Zane just wondered if they were still that close and how it was possible he didn’t know about it after practically living in Ty’s pocket for almost half a year.

  “How about you?” Ty asked. “You still dream?”

  “Every once in a while,” Nick answered. He sounded almost haunted. “I still wake up screaming your name, man. Just like you never came back.”

  “But I did,” Ty answered calmly.

  Zane heard Nick snort. "And I dream about that damn table."

  “Me too,” Ty admitted, the whispered words painful and drawn.

  Shifting uncomfortably, Zane laid his cheek against the cool wood of the doorframe. Something had happened to them, to Ty and Nick, something like how New York City and a serial killer had happened to Ty and Zane. Something horrible enough to make Ty sound like that when he spoke of it.

  The silence below felt heavy with the past, and Zane’s mind strayed toward painful memories of his own before Nick pulled his attention back.

  “Anyone but you, man, and I’d have died out there,” Nick said, his voice harsh and laid bare.

  “We both would have,” Ty responded, his voice calm again, in stark contrast. “It’s back there, Nick. Stay right here.” Zane heard his knuckles rap the wooden table. “Come on,” he finally said gently, and Zane heard a chair being pushed back against the hardwood floor. “You can take the pullout. I’ll bunk with Garrett.”

  “Hey, Ty? I may be drunk and I may be Irish, but I’m not stupid,” Nick drawled, letting the words run into each other almost insolently. “I remember what on the brink looked like, and it had your eyes.”

  Zane opened his eyes even though it was to complete darkness. He ought to get into the bedroom now while he had the chance, ought to at least shut the bathroom door, ought to know better… but on the brink… of what?

  “Talk to me, Grady,” Nick urged, and after a moment of silence, he added, “I mean, Jesus, after what we’ve been through, if you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

  “There’s nothing wrong, O,” Ty insisted, his voice remarkably calm and honest. “I promise.”

  “Okay,” Nick murmured, giving in and sounding unhappy about it.

  Zane could hear Ty moving, steps slow and measured and not nearly as quiet as when he was sober. “Good night,” Ty said to Nick, the tone of the words effectively saying “don’t ask me again.”

  Zane stepped inside the bathroom and pushed the door shut with a quiet snick, figuring Ty would be on his way up the stairs. Better for him to come out of the bathroom and be told where to sleep rather than picking the wrong place to be. He leaned back against the closed door, wondering about the tone of Ty’s voice. He sighed, wishing he hadn’t listened. He hadn’t heard anything inappropriate. In fact, he’d heard Ty say some pretty damn nice things about him. But it just raised more questions he couldn’t get answers to. Shaking his head, he turned in place and reopened the door.

  The impact with Ty’s body was almost immediate. Ty whuffed and wrapped his arms around Zane to catch his balance. “Slow down, Hoss,” Ty murmured. Zane could sense a smile there, but there was also lingering discomfort or annoyance. And a lot of beer on his breath. “You going up?”

  “I… I wasn’t sure where to go,” Zane mumbled, not knowing if Nick was right there or not.

  Ty’s hands came up to cover his cheeks, fingers pressed against the beard growing in after five days without shaving. He could feel Ty’s breath on his neck as he whispered, “I know I smell like beer. But I’d rather have you in my bed tonight than the Irish.”

  Zane shivered. No Nick, then. “You smell like you, mostly,” he said.

  Ty kissed him without another word. It was a quick, almost furtive kiss, but there was heat behind it, too, and the sour tang of the beer was fainter on Ty’s lips than Zane had expected. The steps below creaked, and Ty pulled away from him and gave his shoulders a turn, heading him in the general direction of the bedroom. A moment later Nick was murmuring goodnight to them both as he passed on to the third-floor stairs, and Ty shut the door to his bedroom behind them.

  “Won’t he think this is weird?” Zane asked, keeping his voice down.

  “There’s only two beds in the house. He usually sleeps with me, the others fight over the couches. I told him you needed to be within stumbling distance of the bathroom, less stairs.” Ty’s hand found its way to Zane’s lower back. “Would you rather he sleep here and you go upstairs?”

  “Hell no,” Zane swore under his breath. “It’s just… he’s your friend and all. A Marine. I didn’t know if you had… in the past… does he know that you….” Zane paused for a breath. “Never mind. I’m tired and you’re drunk. Time to sleep.”

  “Are you asking if Nick and I have fucked?” Ty asked, plowing through all the gentle euphemisms he could have used, getting right to the point.

  Something inside Zane curled awkwardly, and he flinched, aware of being silent for too long. “I actually hadn’t gotten that far in thinking about the ‘friends through thick and thin’. More along the lines of would he have any reason to think we might be more than work partners.” But now he also wanted to know the answer to the quest
ion Ty had thrown out there.

  “If you’re uncomfortable, I can sleep on the couch,” Ty offered, voice low and soothing, just like it had been for most of Zane’s blindness. It was the same tone he’d adopted with Nick, telling him to stay in the present instead of dwelling on trauma of the past. Zane had never consciously noticed Ty had that ability, to calm and reassure with his voice, or even that he’d been doing it to him all week, until now. Zane remembered abruptly that Ty did have a degree in psychology, and he wondered if he was really that easily manipulated. Although Ty wouldn’t even have to try, not really.

  Zane frowned. “No. No, I’m not uncomfortable.” He wasn’t sure he could explain this well enough to get through the filter of beer, stress, and exhaustion. “He doesn’t know about us, right? I’m just trying to be careful.”

  “He doesn’t know,” Ty affirmed. Zane could hear the rustle of clothing as Ty got undressed.

  He’d never actually answered the other question. Zane didn’t feel right asking, though he knew it would bother him now. He took a steadying breath, pulled his T-shirt over his head, and dropped it to the floor. He made it to the bed and under the covers, leaving on his sweats. A moment later Ty crawled in next to him, his skin warm against Zane’s, the smell of the bar just faint enough to be slightly arousing instead of nauseating.

  Ty pulled him close and kissed him carefully. “He’s never been anything more than my best friend, Zane,” he whispered. “Stop worrying.”

  Zane didn’t realize he’d tensed up until he relaxed after Ty’s words, and he set his forehead against Ty’s with another sigh. “You know me pretty well, huh.”

  “Not as well as I’d like,” Ty replied, voice barely there. He kissed Zane again, letting his lips drag across Zane’s. Then he sighed heavily and rolled onto his back, his movements restless and slightly inebriated. Zane let him sprawl, knowing that trying to hold onto Ty in this state would just make him squirm more.

  He was fairly confident there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t tell Ty, besides some few select experiences better left buried. But it was a discussion they’d had before, and Zane didn’t expect a reply, so he turned away and onto his side, pulling the pillow up against his chest.