Page 71 of Something to Prove

“Czerniak here. Yeah, I know. It’s always urgent.” He winked and headed for the door.

I watched him go, sipping my latte and feeling like a fish in a glass bowl.

I didn’t like it.

Call me dramatic, but I’d learned to trust my instincts a long time ago, and I couldn’t shake the premonition that something dark lurked just around the corner.

CHAPTER 23

WALKER

The first callcame on March seventh, a perfectly lovely Friday, I might add. It was crisp outside, but the skies were a pretty shade of blue that contrasted nicely with the daffodils and crocuses on the quad. Spring was in the air, and the birds and bees and a good portion of the student population knew it.

Shay had a date with Mabel’s vet this weekend, Robin was shamelessly mooning over a delectable dork in his physics seminar, and I’d passed not one, not two, but three couples making out on my short jaunt from the parking lot to the humanities building. I sighed dreamily, smiling at a random passerby as I reached for my cell buzzing in my pocket.

The caller ID read,SI.

I had no idea why I answered. I blamed the weather and my good mood.

“Hello?”

“Hi, there. This is Charles Auler fromSports Illustrated. May I speak with Walker Woodrow, please?”

I frowned. “That’s me.”

“Fantastic. Listen, we’re interested in doing a story about your father, Ketchum Clomsky.”

“My father?” I frowned and veered down a path leading toward the lake, away from the bustle on campus.

“He was a legend in the pros. He deserves a tribute and?—”

“No, thank you.”

For your information, that was a panicked reply. Was I allowed to say no toSports Illustrated? I wasn’t a sports person, so…yes, I thought so.

I sat on a bench overlooking the running trail and stared at the shoreline where the undulating current made sunlight glitter like diamonds scattered across the lake’s surface.

An article about my father. Now?

He’d been retired from hockey for over a decade. And why call me? No one knew my dad wasn’t well. It was a closely guarded family matter. Those who did know, wouldn’t say a word.

Perhaps I was reading too much into it. He’d asked, I’d said no…end of story.

But it wasn’t.

There were a dozen messages from various publications, news outlets, and social-media influencers on my cell after class.

“My name is Kathleen de Vito. I’m with theTampa Bay Times. We’re interested in doing an article about you. I understand that your father is Ketchum Clomsky and?—”

Delete.

“This is Jack Keruski withHockey News. I’d like to discuss a feature with Ketchum Clomsky. I’m a huge fan as well as?—”

Delete.

“Good afternoon. This message is for Walker Woodrow. I’m doing a piece on Ketchum Clomsky and?—”

Delete.