one
Tyson Lane
July 3, 2021
Ifanyoneasks,youcandie 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 eraseseveryone 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 withMr. 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 toour 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.”
