5. Tyson
five
Tyson
It’s my first night in DC, and I’m staying at the Four Seasons.
Since I’m here early, and the team promo stuff doesn’t start until tomorrow, I reach out to Ham.
Happy to hear from me, he invites me to his family’s place to hang out.
After more than an hour of riding in an Uber, I arrive at the long driveway that leads to the historic Halloway estate.
Goosebumps dot my spine as the estate rises over the hill like something out of an old Southern novel.
Huge white columns frame the sweeping porch.
Eight long windows line the bottom floor, with eight shorter windows on the second story.
Swallowing, I push down my nerves, because this feels like I’ve taken a turn and ended up in a previous century.
To my right, rustic cabins sprawl across rolling hills.
From what I’ve heard, year-round caretakers live in these cabins, while others are for guests.
With log siding and a pair of square windows framing the door, they certainly look cozy.
Down to the left, a creek snakes along the property.
It reminds me of a postcard, not a place where people I know actually live.
With a variety of flowers in every color and size, it feels like a Martha Stewart magazine spread.
I’m not surprised to see two random goats trotting along the fence line like they own the place. They are about the same size, clearly from the same parents, with the exact same gray coat. I can’t help but chuckle. Ham has told me enough stories to know they are basically tiny, horned terrorists.
I crack the window, taking in the fresh country air.
With DC being such a bustling city, this place is a haven to treasure.
Past the fields, the big barn comes into view.
Calling it a barn feels wrong. The thing is nearly as large as some hockey arenas I’ve practiced in, with a gleaming white trim to offset the traditional red wood.
This barn gives the impression that the horses probably get spa treatments.
We drive around a gentle curve, and the main house dominates the windshield again.
We pull in front of it, and I gulp, trying to act like my heart doesn’t jolt a little harder.
I’m here to see Ham.
But, yeah. Sure.
I can’t help being excited to see Lottie. I open the car door and drop one foot to the ground; I’m reaching for my phone when movement suddenly erupts to my left. The two goats I saw earlier charge out from behind a hedge like they’ve been summoned by their war leader.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” the driver yells, waving frantically at me. “Shut that door now!”
His reaction stuns me, and I stare as one goat rears up and plants its front hooves on the Uber driver’s door, headbutting the window like he’s trying to get even with the driver for yelling at him.
The other goat goes straight for the side mirror, teeth clacking as it commits what I’m pretty sure is vehicular abuse.
“I said shut that door! I swore this address sounded familiar. I’ve been out here before, and those goats are monsters!” the driver shouts, scrambling to lock the doors. “Oh, that one bit my mirror!” His reaction is so extreme, I’m struggling not to laugh.
“I’m sorry,” I offer, which feels wildly insufficient. One goat slides down the driver’s door, screeching his hooves against the paint. I cringe as he immediately rams the door again.
This goat clearly has an aversion to Uber.
With my door still open and my leg half hanging out, the driver pulls forward a bit, but the goats follow.
“That’s it,” he yells, pointing out the window at the goats staring him down.
“Get out now, or I’m driving off with you hanging out the door.
This address is now banned from Uber. I’m flagging it for abuse.
We don’t do goats. No more drop offs or pickups here. This place is dead to Uber!”
The goat at the mirror lets out a satisfied bleat.
Does he understand what just went down? I manage to hop out of the car and kick the door shut before the driver floors it and fishtails out of the driveway.
The goats take off after him, chasing the car like guard dogs.
I stand there in the quiet aftermath, completely deadpan.
What was that?
After a moment, I collect myself and amble up the steps toward the white-columned porch. I’m here to see Ham, I tell myself again like I need some twelve-step program to get me through this mind trap.
I mean, Lottie’s likely not even here. Never mind the white Land Rover in the drive that looks exactly like the one she drove in Mapleton. Does she really have the same car?
Keeping my eyes on the goats, who are now hanging back and watching the Uber speed down the dirt road, I step up to the perfect white door and knock once.
If this were their Mapleton house, I’d walk right in after knocking, because that’s what I’ve always done.
But this doesn’t feel like Mapleton at all.
The door flies open. Instead of Ham, I get Lottie.
Her hair’s piled into a messy knot, with flecks of hay stuck in it like she’s been rolling around in the barn.
My heart jolts.
I never thought about it before, but hay in her hair is hot.
Now, I’m imagining what it would feel like to roll in the hay with her— then I triple blink as my attention shifts to her hand, and I notice she’s holding a large hammer. Playfully, I duck, throwing my hands in the air. “I’m innocent!”
“Ty.” She blinks at me like she’s unsure I’m real. “It’s been a long time,” she rushes out, and then quickly adds, “I mean, sorry. Hi. How are you?”
“Good. Uh, is Ham around?”
She raises an eyebrow. “Well, he’s not here yet.” She shifts the hammer to her other hand. “My mom’s got drama at her office again, so she’s staying late until the hecklers clear, and Ham stayed with her.”
“So, it’s just you.” A warm flush creeps up my neck. It should be illegal how she does that. How does she actually change the temperature of my body?
“My dad’s around,” she adds like a warning.
Ba-dum … Whomp!
A series of thumps rattles the porch. I don’t need to turn my head to confirm the goats are back . Lottie exhales, her gaze following the thumps. “I came home early to fix the gate. As you can see, my goats got out again, and they only listen to me. My dad has given up trying to discipline them.”
“Understandable.” I give a side-eye in that direction. I don’t know how much I should reveal about the humble way they greeted me. “Your goats are terrifying.”
A soft burst of laughter slips from her lips, hitting me square in the sternum. It’s crazy how I both forgot that sound and yet instantly recognize it.
“Oh, please. You just need to know how to talk to them,” she says, nudging me forward with a wave of the hammer. “And come on. If you’re here, you’re helping.”
I’m clearly not arguing with a woman wielding a hammer, and I follow her down the porch steps and around the side of the house. I have no idea where we’re going, but luckily, we don’t walk more than a few steps before she calls, “Crunch, follow me.”
When Crunch steps forward, I get a better look at him. I’ve never actually seen a goat that big. With the perfect shade of gray, he must be crossbred with a rhino. He locks eyes with me, and then, like we’re in a horror movie, he charges at full speed.
My life flashes before my eyes. “Nope,” I tell him, backing up and waving my hands frantically. “Remember you’re a vegetarian, and I taste bad!”
Lottie snickers, trying not to laugh. “Don’t worry. That’s his he-likes-you trot. He’s coming to say hi.”
“No!” I repeat because that seems to be the only word that fits this encounter.
“That’s not what he’s doing. That’s not a trot.
” Having already seen him in action with the Uber, I’ve lost all trust for him and jump back.
He’s faster than me, and he rams my leg.
I freeze as he sniffs my sneaker. For a fleeting moment, I hold my breath, waiting for the sharpness of his teeth.
Do goats have sharp teeth?
I mean, they must, because they eat everything.
Instead of biting me, he sniffs.
I suspect it’s an act.
Sure enough, he clamps down on the front of my sneaker. “Stop!” I wave my hands in front of him, trying to get him to back off. “No!”
Lottie proves useless, doing nothing to get him off me. She laughs as he drags my foot like he’s towing me into another dimension.
“Seriously, Lottie?” I shout while hopping on one foot, which I may add is an impressive skill as I don’t wobble even once. Years of skating has given me exceptional balance.
“I’m sorry.” She laughs through the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “He’s playing. I’m not sure why, but he really likes you.”
“This is not how you act when you like someone!” I scream.
“This is how you act when you’re crazy!” The last thing I need to do is accidentally kick her goat, but my leg is tiring from hopping, and I tug back.
The goat tows me forward, and it’s taking all my strength to hold my ground.
I plant my foot as hard as I can. Miraculously, Crunch lets go, and I face-plant into the dirt.
“Oh, wow.” Lottie wipes her eyes, still giggling. “Okay. I’m done. I swear. No more laughing,”
I can’t help but beam back at her—even if I’m being murdered by a goat.
It’s what she does to me. As Crunch moves closer to her, I let out a deep breath and I raise my gaze.
Our eyes lock, and my heart twists. I’ve risked my life plenty, willingly diving in front of flying pucks every day as a defenseman.
No amount of damage I take could ever stop my heart the way her eyes do.
Sea-glass green from an otherworldly dimension that doesn’t even exist on this planet.
“Sorry,” she says softly as she strolls forward and lowers her hand to me.
An impulsive swallow hits my throat because she’s always apologizing when it’s not her mess. “It’s fine.” As much as I yearn to grab her hand, I can’t show any weakness around her. I push myself off the ground and stand on my own. “I should have known better than to show up on his turf.”
“Well, it’s only his until I fix that gate.” She waves the hammer at me again. Her smile falters slightly and becomes gentler. “So, I heard you made that USA team, or whatever it is. I’m really proud of you. It sounds like it’s a huge deal.”
Warmth spreads through my chest. She’s one of the few people who has known me throughout my entire hockey career.
She’s seen all the sacrifices I’ve made.
It means a lot to hear that from her. “Thanks.” I clear my throat.
“And I’m proud of you too. For, you know, making the news all the time doing all your impressive political stuff. ”
“You know I can’t take any credit for that,” she scoffs as she slides her foot forward. “That’s me surviving my mom.”
I walk a little slower than her, letting her lead the way. I don’t miss the twitch in her lips when I say, “You survive it better than anyone.”
“I guess.” She slows her steps even more, keeping her gaze on the goat, who is actually behaving at the moment, just trotting alongside her. “But someone has to keep her from setting things on fire.”
I smile. “Well, someone has to keep you from getting eaten alive by your goats.”
She laughs as Ham’s truck barrels up the driveway behind us, cutting off our conversation. She points to it with her hammer. “There’s your friend.”
“Yeah.” I let out a breath, but all I can think is, I hate Ham’s timing. “Look at that.”
Ham’s truck rolls to a stop at the end of the driveway. Before he even gets out, Lottie turns to look out over the pasture, ignoring me like we were never having a conversation.