Page 48 of Something to Prove

“I do. How’s it goin’, Red?”

Walker scowled adorably. “Very funny. I’m well, thank you. Congratulations on your win.”

“Thanks.” Yep…still smiling.

“Don’t mind us. If you need to do an interview, we’ll hang back and watch,” Mom said, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Not today. I was just passing by…out of habit. I usually have a story to report, but I need clearance to enter the locker room, and it slipped my mind, which was how I ended up here…in this corridor instead of the lobby or gosh, the parking lot,” Walker stammered, punctuating his run-on sentence with an anxious laugh. “And, uh…I should let you go. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Czerniak. Congratulations on your impressive win, Ty.Ciaoand cheerio!”

Whoa.

I grabbed Walker’s elbow, unthinking. As in totally disregarding where we were and who might see. It was just that…Bill and Stacy Czerniak were the coolest people on the planet. They were goals. If I ever became a parent, I wanted to be like them. And I guess I didn’t like the idea of steady and chill Walker being nervous with my folks. I felt weirdly protective—like I wanted to put an arm around him and offer him a handful of M&M’s.

I didn’t have any candy on me, but against my better judgment, I rested a hand on his shoulder. And left it there. I had to touch him, and at that very second, any little thing would do.

“Not so fast. I just got here.” No, I had no clue what I was thinking. Don’t ask.

Walker’s panicky expression indicated he was wondering the same thing. “Yes, but I’m sure you have some catching up to do with your family and?—”

“Nonsense! Please join us,” Mom intercepted, her keen gaze flitting between Walker and me. “We’re going to the China Palace. It’s a Czerniak tradition. My boys are wild about Mr. Wong’s kung pao chicken, and I love the moo shu pork.”

“Please do. We’d love to hear about the behind-the-scenes bloopers with this guy,” Dad inserted, yanking me in for a one-armed bro hug.

I shrugged out of his hold with a faux-grumpy scowl and aimed a hopeful glance at Walker. “Seriously. You’re more than welcome.”

And I meant it. Weird. I should have been sweating the notion of my parents and my secret fuck-buddy sharing chow mein, but for reasons I couldn’t begin to dissect, I liked the idea. A lot.

Walker wasn’t sold on it. He licked his lips and shook his head. “Thank you. I can’t, but have a nice evening, and do enjoy the rest of your stay in Smithton, Mr. and Mrs. Czerniak.”

“Thanks, and good luck to you in New York City next year. One day we’ll see you on TV and say, ‘I met him in person!’” Mom gushed.

Walker flashed a shy smile before disappearing into the crowd of hockey fans milling in the area. I knew better than to get caught staring. Especially with these two. The only way to bypass my parents’ finely-honed bullshit detectors was to keep my big mouth shut.

But my folks were relentless and very curious about Walker.

“Do you know who his mother is…or was?” my mom asked. “Deanna Woodrow was a true inspiration. Her passing was such a tragedy. She’d be so proud that her son is following in her footsteps.”

Dad shoveled kung pao chicken into his mouth, nodding. “Yes. It’s tempting to think he’s got a ways to catch up to her, but he’s forging his own path and it’s impressive. Pass the moo shu, Ty.”

I passed the moo shu, humming along to their commentary. I didn’t add much. Truthfully, I wasn’t as interested in Walker’s mom as I was in him. I could have told them about his dad and I probably would someday, but…not tonight. They would have been shocked, and knowing my folks, they’d have a million questions I couldn’t answer.

So I shrugged, changed the subject to hockey, my nephew’s first steps, our old dog, Marlo’s declining health, and the ten-year-olds my dad was coaching at the rec center. Being with them felt like a warm hug and after a couple of months away from home, I needed this.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about Walker and…New York City. What was he going to do there and why didn’t I know? I wasn’t asking my parents, though. Not happening, and hey, not my business.

Except…I wanted it to be.

And that was a problem. Potentially. Something was going on with me, and whatever it was made me nervous as fuck. The last thing I needed was to catch feelings. We’re talking the very, very last thing.

If I were smart, I’d head over to Gus’s later tonight, go home with a girl, or hell, text Carson.

What I wouldn’t do is order extra Chinese and show up on Walker’s doorstep. No fucking way. Not me.

CHAPTER 15

WALKER

“What are you doing here?”