Page 27 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

TY

I read Walker’s text…over and over, unsure what to make of it.

You should come.

He was kidding. And I had a perfect opening to turn this into something playfully dirty. I should come…in your ass. I miss that ass. I miss you. I miss ?—

Okay, that clearly wasn’t the right tactic.

I set my phone on the bench and tied my skates while silently working on a snappy response that wouldn’t give me a chubby.

To Toronto?

Yes.

Running emoji. I’m on my way.

I stared at my cell for a beat, then shoved it into my locker and headed for practice.

Two hours later, I retrieved my cell from my locker, wiping sweat from my brow as I scrolled our recent conversation.

You should come. To Toronto.

A missed message from my agent popped up too. Weird. Toby didn’t call unless he needed something. Our most recent contact was a few weeks ago after I’d done the last segment for What’s New, Smithton? and I was pretty sure he’d said he’d touch base with me in the new year.

I showered and changed quickly, pressing his contact info as I stepped outside.

“Hey, Toby. What’s up?”

“Did you know that the influencer kid’s dad is Ketchum Clomsky?”

I froze.

Fuck.

I hadn’t been expecting that one. I stopped for a beat, but the cold December wind wasn’t conducive to a slow stroll. I picked up my pace, making a beeline for the parking lot.

“I…um, where’d you hear that?” I asked as I unlocked my Jeep and slid behind the wheel. I started the engine to get the heater running, aware that my heart had jumped to my throat.

“Someone with the Jackals dug it up as part of their due diligence. They’ve got a rookie making waves before he’s on their ice, and they wanted to be sure he wasn’t aligning himself with PR issues.

Turns out his parents are more weirdly famous than we thought.

Ketchum Clomsky. Can you believe that? No one has seen Clomsky in a decade.

He dropped off the face of the earth. Substance abuse…

or maybe painkillers. Poor bastard. You don’t know anything? ”

“Me? No.” Which was basically true.

“Really? Woodrow never shared that his father played in the N-H-fucking-L with someone who punched his ticket to the pros? Seems odd if you ask me, but hey…interesting news, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, uh…it is.” The stammering shit had to stop. I took a deep breath and added, “But it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Maybe not directly. Interesting coincidence. I can just see a clever PR person take the opportunity to pull the strings together and make something out of nothing.” Toby snort-laughed, but his tone changed slightly.

“Then again, how cool would it be to have a past legend endorse a rookie? Huh, that might be a good angle to?—”

“Nah, I’d let it go. I should prove myself on my own.”

“Are you nuts? Associative marketing works, Czerniak. It’s why I told you to sit for Woodrow’s interview in the first place.”

“Right, and I did.”

“On the other hand, if Clomsky has fallen on hard times or is involved with anything unsavory, you’ll need to back away. Negative association is a real bitch.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” I said brusquely. “Sorry, I have to let you go. I’m in the middle of something. Happy holidays, Toby. I’ll talk to you next year.”

I ended the call and stared out the snow-streaked windows.

Fuck . This could get messy.

No, I hadn’t betrayed a confidence, but I felt responsible somehow. I had to let Walker know that some intrepid PI-wannabe had cracked the code.

Soon.

Langley’s parties were either medium intensity or wild and crazy with no holds barred. This one was the latter.

Music thumped through the speakers above the sound of laughter and drunken chatter. It seemed like everyone who was still on campus was here, jockeying for space to dance in the living room, hang out in the kitchen, or smoke on the porch.

I surveyed the mess of chips and dips on the kitchen counter and the puddle of beer in front of the sink that looked like piss on the dirty tile floor. Honestly, I had no idea how Gus’s roommate put up with him. The place was well on its way to being trashed, and it wasn’t even midnight.

I scraped my thumb on the edges of the label of my beer bottle and politely nodded along with whatever the fuck the blond with bubblegum-pink lips and the plunging neckline was saying.

Her tits were all kinds of distracting, but I kept my eyes on her face and resisted the urge to check the time. I wanted to go home. Badly.

And I wasn’t taking anyone with me. When Brady and Regan stumbled into the room, I pulled them into our conversation and oh, so stealthily made my escape.

I spotted Gus grinding against a pretty brunet as I shrugged my jacket on and sneaked past the sea of bodies at the door. I was almost there, but?—

“Ty.”

I did a double take at Carson. “What are you doing here?”

“You know Gus. He invited everyone—even the football team. Arlo and a bunch of the guys are…well, somewhere in there.” He gestured toward the mob scene nearby.

“Oh, right. Cool. Have fun.”

I slipped outside and headed down a long driveway packed with cars. Carson followed me. Once again, a few months ago, I would have welcomed him with a knowing look and an open fly. Now…I wished he’d take a hint so this didn’t have to get weird.

“Wait up.”

“I can’t. Later.” I gave a tight smile and went to search for my Jeep, parked at the end of Langley’s street.

This section of town was called the Bluffs. It was semi-rural, and eerily quiet. On a clear night, you could see stars forever.

Fun fact: Smithton was built on a hill with the university at the center.

Restaurants like Bear Depot and Vincento’s were at the bottom of the hill off Main Street with other businesses like Yoggi’s Yogurt, Coffee Cave, the market, drug store, a gazillion boutiques, and affordable student housing—which was where I lived, along with more than half the student population.

Next came the residential area where Walker lived, and beyond that was farmland.

The area in between was called the Bluffs, even though it didn’t overlook anything.

It was just a divide between fields of grazing cows and civilization.

A perfect spot for parties if you asked Langley, since his closest neighbor was a quarter of a mile down a tree-lined road. Or murder, I supposed.

It was also ideal for clandestine hookups. Trust me, I knew what I was talking about.

Hey, this was college. I’d gone from sharing a dorm room to sharing an apartment with a teammate. Privacy was a luxury, and I understood why Carson might think the stars had aligned for a no-fuss, low-risk fuck. Over the hood of my ride or in my back seat.

Or…we could go to my place. Brady was at the party. He wouldn’t be home for hours. If I was interested. I wasn’t.

I jiggled my keys in my pocket and sighed with frustration at the sound of footsteps behind me.

I turned to deal with Carson, but he was on me, shoving me against the passenger side door, his warm breath on my neck as he pressed the heel of his hand on my zipper, massaging my cock through a layer of denim.

“Jesus, I want you so bad. Let me touch you, Ty. I missed this so much. I want?—”

“Whoa!” I pushed him off me with a growl. “What the fuck?”

Carson blinked in surprise, and I couldn’t blame him. But I wasn’t playing this game anymore.

He licked his lower lip. “What do you mean? Didn’t you want me to follow you?”

“No. I didn’t. I’m not…” I huffed a laugh, unsure how to explain myself.

“You’re seeing someone,” he guessed, narrowing his eyes. “Who?”

“It’s not?—”

“Oh.” Carson’s mouth formed a perfect O. “Don’t tell me…you’re fucking the redhead.”

Not a question, a statement.

“Jesus.” I raked my fingers through my hair. “I don’t?—”

“Hey, it’s cool. I kind of wondered what was going on. I’ve seen you with him on campus. A lot. I get it. He’s a new flavor, Internet famous, and?—”

“It’s not—it’s not like that.” Walker was more to me. Much more.

“Sure. Does anyone know?” Silence. “No shit. Interesting.” More silence. Carson raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. Whatever.”

He made a meal out of adjusting his semi and turned away.

“Hey, Carson?” I waited for him to face me, hating that this was necessary. “Don’t say anything.”

He scoffed. “Who am I gonna tell? Just…call me when you get bored. Or when he gets bored of you.”

I worked my jaw, gnashing my teeth in an effort to control a new burst of anger I wasn’t sure I was entitled to.

So much for being out of the closet.

The string of half-truths and lies of omission felt heavy as fuck. I mean…how was it that my ex-fuck-buddy knew about Walker and me, and my agent knew who Walker’s dad was? Those were our secrets. No one else was supposed to know that stuff.

I still believed it was perfectly acceptable to keep our private lives under wraps. And it wasn’t as if anything had changed. It was just that Carson was the last person I’d tell. He was, well…insignificant. Not a friend, not an enemy—just someone I used to fuck.

I felt trapped by the things I didn’t say.

I wasn’t real anymore. I hid good things while pretending to be transparent.

Playing it safe so I wouldn’t lose something I didn’t have anyway.

Walker wasn’t mine to lose. He wasn’t coming with me to Florida next year.

He’d laugh if I suggested it. Or would he?

Would the Jackals care if I had a boyfriend? Did I want a boyfriend?

See what I mean? I was a mess.

And this was my state of mind when I spoke to Walker the next day. Not a text, an actual phone call.

I told him about the party and that I was the only one without a hangover at practice.

Then I told him about Carson. He went quiet on the line, but I assured him that Carson wouldn’t say anything, and he seemed okay with that.

Someone in the background was yelling that it was Walker’s turn, and he groaned as he filled me in on the game of Pictionary taking place in the living room.

I didn’t know that was still a thing. He’d laughed and damn, I loved the sound of that laugh.

So like a fucking idiot, I said so.

Walker snickered. “Do you?”

“Yeah. I miss it.” I paused, adding, “I miss you.”

Oh, my God. Was that me? Had those words left my mouth…for real? Okay, it was true, but I didn’t have to admit it. That was boss-level sappy shit on par with my dad getting teary-eyed at Hallmark commercials. Who was I?

“Come see me.”

“Huh?”

“Fly to Toronto after Christmas. Stay for a couple of nights.”

“Where? I?—”

“Here. There’s plenty of room and…my cousin flies for a commercial airline. He’ll pass along the friends and family discount so it wouldn’t cost much and—well, it’s up to you, but it could be fun.”

“I’ll think about it.”

I switched topics to my upcoming game and something goofy Langley had done or said at practice. By the time we ended the call, we were laughing and I just didn’t have it in me to bring up his dad. I’d tell him soon.

Maybe in Toronto.