Oh, Say Can You See (Stars, Stripes, and Hockey Nights #1)

1. Tyson Lane

one

Tyson Lane

If anyone asks, you can die from shock.

A breath whooshes out of me as my jaw tightens before I can stop it. Ramming against my chest, my heart ceases pumping as my body goes frozen.

It’s clearly rigor mortis kicking in.

I’m on the brink of death, teetering between two worlds. I grab my throat as my eyes bug out of my head, and my mind erases everyone in the room…but her. Even though she’s clear across the room, a spotlight beams hot on my beautiful queen.

Sitting on a barstool—one she definitely shouldn’t be sitting on—is my best friend’s little sister, otherwise known as the love-of-my-life-who-doesn’t-know-it-yet .

With an angel of a face framed by high cheekbones and arched eyebrows, she could pass for twenty-five, but that’s not the point.

She’s still weeks from being twenty-one.

I know that for a fact because I’ve had her birthday, July twenty-ninth, memorized for ten years.

Her legs are crossed like she’s been sitting on barstools for years, but that’s not the worst of it.

The worst: She’s leaning toward some guy in a polka-dot bow tie.

My ribs are kicked.

Seriously?

Who wears a bow tie to a lake bar?

Hardly a slice of air remains between their bodies as he wraps his sleazy arm around her.

Tightening my hands into fists, I force a shallow breath through my throat.

He doesn’t know he’s risking his life by standing too close to her in front of me.

I glare at Ham—short for Hamilton. Don’t ask.

His parents are in politics. I won’t create a scene, but surely Ham will put a stop to that creep touching his sister.

Ham hasn’t noticed Lottie yet, but I’m struggling to keep pace with him as he strides right past her toward the pool tables in the dimly lit back room.

Lottie with Mr. Polka-Dot Bow Tie knocks something loose in my chest, and I can’t walk straight.

I drag my eyes away, pretending to study the pool tables.

“She’s not even twenty-one,” I leak out, mostly to myself.

Ham frowns as his overgrown tawny mop of hair hangs long on his forehead, apparently blocking him from seeing this breaking news. “Who are you talking about?”

I jerk my chin toward the bar but do nothing to hide the snarl that curls my lip. His smile fades the second he sees Lottie. “Oh, no way. How’d she get in here?”

“I’m guessing with a fake ID.” I fix my gaze onto the pool table, hoping to appear casual as I ask, “Who’s the guy? He probably got it for her.”

“Did I forget to tell you? That’s Brett.

” Ham groans as his eyes bounce from him back to Lottie.

“He’s the new grad my mom hired for her campaign.

I guess he doesn’t have any family or friends or a life or whatever.

Since my mom is a control freak who believes in working her staff to death, she invited him to Mapleton for the holiday to help with the parade and fundraising events.

Thankfully, he got a room at the resort and is not staying at our house, or I’d lose it. ”

Still trying to play it cool, I force a good-natured laugh. My throat is so tight that I end up choking and have to cough to catch my breath. “So Brett? And he’s in politics. I guess that explains the bow tie.”

“Not sure.” We hang back for a second, staking them out. Ham’s eyes narrow on the guy. Mine are probably doing the same. My mind is reeling faster than my heart is pounding.

The Fourth of July is our thing.

Mine and Lottie’s .

It’s not written in stone, but close enough.

We literally carved it in the oak tree trunk behind her family’s lake home.

It’s still there. Well, at least I think it’s still there.

I haven’t exactly checked. Now that I think about it, I have half a notion to grab her hand, rip her away from that barstool—where Mr. Bow Tie is hanging all over her—and drive her back to the rotten stump so she can read what we carved all those years ago.

Always July.

That’s what it says.

That’s been our thing…to spend every July here since we were in grade school. Yet, even though it’s our thing, here she is with Mr. Bow Tie—who, may I add, has the lankiest, scrawniest arms. I don’t doubt for a second that she could take him in an arm-wrestling match.

And the worst part is, nobody warned me. Had I known she was bringing a date to our sacred event , I’d have stayed far away. Ham grabs a pool cue. “Let’s shoot a game.”

I nod, though my focus keeps drifting. Every laugh from her direction cuts through the music like a blade.

We don’t speak as Ham sets up the table and takes the first shot.

Two shots into the game Lottie’s voice rises.

I know all her inflections. She’s clearly annoyed when she blurts, “Maybe just give me a second.”

In unison, Ham and I glance over. The guy’s literally crowding her with one hand braced on the bar and the other on the back of her stool.

When he doesn’t budge, I do. My cue hits the table, and I stalk across the room before Ham can blink.

“Hey there, Bow Tie.” I step up behind them.

“You heard her. I think you might need to take a step back.”

The guy scans me, sizing me up. His dark eyes blaze as he huffs, “We’re just talking.”

“Ty.” Lottie’s eyes flash when she recognizes me. “It’s fine. I don’t need your help.”

“Are you sure about that?” My voice comes out rasping, how it always sounds when I’m fueled by adrenaline. “You know you shouldn’t even be in here.”

Ham marches up on her other side, and his hand lands on Lottie’s shoulder. “Ty’s right. Mom will kill you if you get caught underage at a bar. You know what that will do to her approval rating. Let’s go. It’s late, and we have to be presentable for her campaign parade float tomorrow, remember?”

“I’m not ready to leave.” Stubborn as ever, Lottie lifts her chin.

“Fine.” Ham opens his mouth as if he wants to argue, but instead he sighs. “Learn the hard way.” He turns to me. “I’m not sticking around until she gets caught. The press will blame me for contributing. I’m leaving. You ready?”

I start to say yes.

I should go.

He’s right.

Though Ty and I are a legal twenty-two, we aren’t drinking.

We came here only for the free pool, but the press hounds his family over every little thing they do.

If Lottie gets busted for being in the bar underage, somehow we’ll get blamed for it.

I glance at the exit, but Lottie laughs at something Bow Tie whispers in her ear, and it yanks me back.

Everything in my chest burns because something isn’t right about this guy.

He’s clearly not looking out for her best interests when he brought her here, since she’s underage.

Playing it cool, I slide my feet toward the pool table and say, “Nah, I’ll stay to pocket all these balls. ”

Ham gives me a look I can’t read. I’ve never told him I have feelings for Lottie. Sometimes I think he has to know. I’m not exactly the coolest guy at hiding these things. “Okay,” he mutters. “I’ll grab an Uber and leave you the Land Rover in case Lottie needs a ride too.”

My eyes bounce from him to Lottie, where I can’t help but let them linger. “Yeah, I won’t be too long.”

He digs in the pocket of his cargo shorts, removes a leather key fob to the vehicle they share when they’re in Mapleton and tosses it underhand.

I snatch it out of the air one-handed as he turns and leaves.

I get what he’s doing. He manages security for his mom, and he never switches out of that mode.

He’s got a lot at stake if he gets in trouble, and he trusts me to take care of things.

I pick up my cue again, pretending to care about it, but my focus never leaves the bar.

My gut was right about this guy, because only one song later, Bow Tie crowds Lottie again.

Strain stamps her face as she leans away from him.

My ear lasers in on what she’s saying, but she’s too far away from me, and the music is too loud.

I settle for reading her lips, which is something I’ve become an expert in over the years.

Her lips. Not in the way I would like to be an expert, but I can read her words.

I don’t miss a syllable as she grabs her phone and says, “I’m calling a ride. ”

That’s it.

I toss the cue down for good and stride over. “What’s this? I heard you need a ride?”

“Ty? I thought you left with Ham.” With hesitation her gaze flicks from Bow Tie to me. Then she nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

Stepping in between them, I bask in the opportunity to give Bow Tie a gentle nudge backward with my elbow to allow Lottie space to slide off her barstool.

Not waiting for me, she quietly slips through the crowd and heads toward the door with her shoulders back.

I’m right on her heels as the door closes behind us.

Outside, the air is sticky and warm, and we don’t talk. Walking straight to the Land Rover, she fiddles with the bracelet on her wrist as I open the passenger door and stand back while she gets in. “You know I wasn’t drinking,” she says softly. “I wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“That’s your business.” I shut the door and run around to the driver’s side and get in. I start the engine and remain quiet as I back out.

“I’m sorry, but you don’t have to babysit me, you know,” she mutters under her breath.

“I know,” I say casually as my chest still burns with the visual of her with that guy.

I pull forward and steer out of the parking lot.

I’m not surprised the first thing she says is an apology.

Sure, she should not be in the bar. Everything tells me it wasn’t her idea.

Due to her high-profile family, she and her brother are both meticulous rule followers.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she told Bow Tie not to even go there, but aside from being a rule follower, she’s also a people pleaser who has trouble drawing the line. “You know, you say sorry too much.”