“They dont intend to go home tonight, Zane,” Nick answered for him.
“Whats 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.
“Whats all this about?” she asked suspiciously.
“Im so sorry,” Ty told her, smiling even as he apologized. “Please dont 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 didnt complain when he started.
Zane looked like he was torn between laughing and frowning. “Ty…?” Ty glanced sideways at him but didnt 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 Tys pure, beautiful singing voice never failed to send shivers up and down Nicks 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 Tys voice from Nicks 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.
Z ANE pulled on the old T-shirt and sweats before feeling his way along the edge of the bed. It was Tys room, and he was more than a little uncertain if he should stay there or go up to the futon in the thirdfloor guestroom. Ty hadnt 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 wouldnt go over well if they saw him sleeping in Tys 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 Tys voice. He could pick it out anywhere.
“I cant 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. “Ill never be able to go back there again.”
“I cant believe you dont still sing, man. What a f**king waste.” That was the Boston accent. Nick. When Zane had stood near him, Nicks voice hadnt 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 f**k alone, O. Its his God-given talent, he can waste it if he wants to,” one of the others said. Kelly, perhaps. Zane wasnt sure he could tell Owen and Kelly apart. The accents were both unremarkable.
“Cabs here,” Digger announced, the words barely discernible. Hed probably been standing by the window, but the deep drawl and heavy accent of his voice was unmistakably Cajun.
Tys 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 hed be better off knowing which room to go sleep in.
There was a lot of shuffling and movement, saying goodbye, see you later, whos 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 Tys 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. Hed 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. Zane hesitated to call it intimate.
Ty didnt respond to the observation with a smart-ass remark or try to deflect it. He didnt 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 hed 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. “Its fine. You didnt 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 wouldnt think so from the outside, would you?”
“He doesnt 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. Zanes a good guy. Hes stellar. I trust him.” “Good,” Nick said, so softly Zane almost didnt hear it. He was silent for almost a minute, then added, “Was Pike the one we hung over the railing?”