3. Tyson
three
Tyson
Five Years Later
The weight bar shakes as I inhale and lower it to my chest. My muscles loathe Monday mornings as much as I do.
The only good thing about today is the last of the snow is gone.
On my drive to our practice facility, I saw nothing but sweet, sweet grass.
Mostly dead grass, but it was dry. That’s all I care about.
Seriously, Minnesota winters are no joke.
I exhale and raise the bar, racking it. I should do another set, but my eyes drift to the overhead TV that one of the guys has switched to the national news. My breath catches in an instant.
Standing in the center of the screen is Lottie.
It doesn’t surprise me one bit she’s right next to her mom, shaking hands with several important looking people.
Knowing nothing about politics, I therefore have no idea what they are doing, but I beam at the TV.
Dressed in a patriotically colored blazer, with her long blond hair tied in a bun, she looks untouchable.
I haven’t seen her in five years, and my chest swells with pride.
She’s living out her dreams, helping her mom save the world.
I don’t doubt there’s anything she won’t accomplish.
I truly want her to have everything she desires in life. The camera zooms out.
What do you know?
Bow Tie lurks off to the side, his sleazy smirk locked on Lottie.
And my gut plummets to my knees. Has he seriously been working next to her for the last five years?
Before I can fully spiral, my phone buzzes, saving me.
Swiping it off the mat, I take one look and hike an eyebrow.
Uknown number. Probably scammers. I almost end the call, but something makes me stop. Warily, I swipe. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this Tyson Lane?”
“It is?” My reply comes out like a question, since the voice is unrecognizable. I’m half expecting him to try to sell me something.
“Tyson, this is Coach Badaszek, the head coach for the US Stars team. Are you sitting down?”
“Aw, I’m lying on my weight bench, which is even better.
” A knot swells in my gut. I know exactly what team he’s talking about.
The rumors about this tournament have been circulating for months.
It’s one of two national all star teams the league is building for an exhibition tournament celebrating America’s two-hundred and fiftieth birthday this summer.
As far as I know, no one has been given any privileged information about the game details.
My guess is they take the Olympians, which I’m not.
So, my brows bend down as I ask, “What can I help you with, Coach?”
“Tyson—” He exhales like he’s been holding this in. “You’ve officially made the roster for the Stars team.”
My brain blanks. All that’s left is white space. I hear what he’s saying, but it doesn’t make sense. “Wait. What? How?”
“You’re an amazing player. Yes, it was your first year in the NHL but the fans love you, everyone loves you. This last year was mind-blowing. You shut down two breakaways in that double-OT game against Florida. You led all rookie defensemen in blocks. You earned it.”
I open my mouth to speak, nothing comes out. Instead, I curl up to a seated position and stare as the room tilts for a second. Finally, I manage, “I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you accept.” Coach chuckles.
“Absolutely, yes, I accept.” My voice cracks, which is uncharacteristic of me. My chest inflates, giving me the chance to finally take a deep breath. “Thank you, sir.”
A beat passes before he says, “Also, you’re captain.”
So much for finally catching a decent breath, as I choke on his words. “I’m what?”
“I went with my gut on this one. If it’s all right with you, you’ll be wearing the C.”
Someone injected electricity straight into my ribs.
My eyelids work though. Blinking in rapid succession, it’s like I’m trying to flip some switch on and off to see if it resets this conversation.
Sure, I worked my tail off. It’s all part of my plan to be better for…
that woman whose name chokes me up. I just want her to see me.
Well, that’s not true. I need her to do more than see me.
I need her to think I’m good enough for her to see herself with me .
Even through the best year of my career, never in my wildest dreams did I imagine anything like this happening.
Coach keeps talking, oblivious to all the ways my attention is malfunctioning, and I struggle to keep up with the details.
“You’ll be flying out to DC this month, where the PR team has some early media planned.
We need you to be a heavy hype machine to build up all the fanfare. I hope you’re ready.”
DC.
My heart stutters. There’s no way I can hear that word without Lottie’s face instantly slamming into my brain.
Five long years ago, we said goodbye to our long-held tradition of Julys, and what do you know—it looks like fate is forcing a reunion.
That has to mean something, right? Some kind of cosmic shove.
“Does all that sound okay?” Coach’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and I startle, realizing I hadn’t exactly caught any of the last details. I can’t admit that though.
“Sure,” I rush out. “Maybe just to be safe, would you send me an itinerary?”
“Absolutely. I’ll have my assistant copy you on everything.
” His tone is surprisingly warm, not intimidating in the way most coaches are to me.
A twitch in my gut tells me that’s a good sign.
Everything is happening for a reason. Curling my bottom lip under my top one, I can’t help but think I already know what this is really all about. “Thank you, sir.”
“You bet. See you in DC.” He ends the call, and I drop my phone to my lap.
A tsunami of emotions slams into my chest. Sure, I’m going to play hockey. That’s huge enough on its own, but this feels like fate telling me to get Lottie—my queen—away from Bow Tie before it’s too late.
Picking up my phone to text her, I cut a bombastic side-eye to the TV.
On cue, my stomach knots so tight it sends a wave of nausea through me as my mind flashes back.
Lottie lives this Pinterest-perfect world of speeches punctuated to perfection and relationships statistically cultivated.
Every detail of her life starts in Harvard-educated planning committees.
It’s the kind of world I don’t belong in.
Surprisingly, Bow Tie fits in perfectly.
Nope. I shake my head and set my phone back down.
I’m not calling her. She’s clearly with Bow Tie at this very moment.
I’ll be a third wheel, but my excitement is overflowing.
I have to tell someone. I blow out my breath and open another contact: Taz.
My friend, also in the NHL, and the only person who would be both jealous and understanding of this accomplishment.
He picks up on the first ring. “Bro, you better be calling to tell me what I think you’re calling to tell me.”
I laugh. His voice is so pumped up, I can’t fathom he already knows. Does he know? “There’s no way you know.”
“I bet I do,” he booms so loudly, I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “Because I’m on the roster for the East!”
I freeze, knowing this means we are rivals. Hearing his smirk through the phone, I add, “You’d better bring it, Rookie.”
“Oh, yeah.” My voice drops as it all sinks in at the slowest speed imaginable.
Though we played together when we were younger, Taz beat me to the NHL, and he never misses an opportunity to remind me of that fact.
His laughter fuels me, and I dare to confess the next part.
I might as well get it over with—he’s going to find out anyway.
“The craziest thing is they made me captain.”
“Nice?” The C comes out like a happy kiss. “You’re a natural leader,” he says, “but I’m going to look better in my C than you ever could.”
“Please,” I snicker, as this conversation keeps getting better. This can’t be happening. “That must be a mistake. There’s no way you got that letter. You don’t even know how to put your jersey on the right way.”
Chuckling through his words, he says, “You’ll be the one struggling to get your jersey on once I get ahold of it.”
It feels good to know one of my best hockey friends is going to DC with me.
“Congrats, Houli. Seriously.” I grin so hard my cheeks hurt.
Taz was one of the first real friends I made when we played outside Boston together before I went to the AHL.
That was so long ago. “Dude, if I have to play against anyone, it’s an honor that it’s you. ”
“Right back at you.” His tone picks up urgency. “Hey, sorry to cut you off, but I need to run, but see you in DC, Captain.”
“Same.” I hang up and sit still, breathing in the insane reality that somehow this is my life. All the hard work is paying off.
Against my better judgment, I can’t help but look back at my phone. I don’t need to scroll to find her number—I’ve memorized it. My thumb hovers over the keypad, but I can’t do it. I set the phone face down. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t remove her from my head.
DC might have called me first.
But it doesn’t surprise me that Lottie's calling louder.