Page 30 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

WALKER

The vibe on campus was always strange after a long break. It was challenging to reacclimate to a new class schedule and come up with titillating content for What’s New, Smithton? The nice thing about having exposure and experience was that my audience brought ideas to me now.

The women’s volleyball coach reached out with an offer to give me a lesson in exchange for a team interview.

A home boutique opened on Delta Road, and the owner wondered if I’d like a tour.

Yoggi’s Yogurt rebranded itself as a pie shop in the winter months…

a new development and not one that students had fully embraced yet. Was I interested in covering it?

Yes, yes, and yes.

There were always a few oddball requests in the mix. For instance, the owner at the bead store held jewelry-making nights every Wednesday in January. Was I interested in coming to one…with my boyfriend?

I’d been getting a lot of questions about my personal life, come to think of it, and I wasn’t a fan.

The peculiar thing was that Ty and I hadn’t spent much time together in public lately.

He’d been busy with hockey. The Bears had played a series of road games over the past two weekends, which left us with a few sleepovers and the occasional stolen moment between practices and classes.

I didn’t think twice about the “boyfriend” comments…at first. There were rumors after the first time we’d had dinner together at Vincento’s. Most people assumed we were continuing our collaboration efforts, but it was probably normal to wonder if there was more going on.

However, as far as anyone knew, we hadn’t seen each other in a month. Why the renewed BF chatter now? I was curious for sure, but I had bigger concerns.

Ty’s news that the Jackals’ PR team had connected the dots and knew who my father was alarmed me. It felt like a threat, but I couldn’t figure out the angle.

Aunt Kay hadn’t been worried in the slightest. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, honey, but I think you might be overreacting.

Does it really matter if your online fans know your dad is a former hockey player?

It seems like it might actually be good for business, as they say.

Regardless, don’t worry about your father.

No one is getting to him. He’s perfectly safe here. ”

Ty had agreed. “She’s right. In the unlikely event that info gets leaked, it’s not terrible news.

He’s not a mass murderer and hey, once upon a time, he was a famous athlete.

I’m not minimizing your trauma, I swear.

But I think it comes down to your response…

how you own it. You don’t have to discuss his health or your relationship with him. You acknowledge it and move on.”

“What about you?”

“Your dad being Ketchum Clomsky doesn’t affect me professionally. You and I are friends. My friend has a famous hockey dad…cool. There’s nothing more to it.”

I wasn’t so sure, but maybe they were right.

I’d held a lot of resentment toward my father for many years, stuck in a purgatory where love was diluted by fear of abandonment and anger.

You’d think I’d happily feed my dad to the wolves in retribution for neglect, but no…

I felt fiercely protective. And contrary me found that immensely irritating too.

But on the off chance the world was interested in my parentage, nonchalance was my best defense. Probably my only defense.

I set my worries aside and gave myself permission to enjoy the remainder of my senior year at Smithton with gusto.

I worked on graduation-themed ideas for the show, highlighting influential teachers and interviewing fellow graduates about their job prospects and hopes for the future.

It was an ambitious project that if done well would resonate with my viewers and count toward my senior exit project. Win-win.

But I was determined to have fun too…real fun.

January and February passed in a blur of hopeful acceptance. I wasn’t just a chronicler of on-campus happenings, I made an effort to be part of the action. I attended all of Ty’s home games, cheering him on in the student section like everyone else.

I didn’t think anyone noticed me. Sure, my hair was still a vibrant hue, but the more I showed up, the less I stood out…if that made sense.

I even went to a few of Gus Langley’s infamous beerfest gatherings where I generally hung out in a corner of the kitchen with his figure-skater roommate, Rafe, who always looked as if he were seconds away from throwing a butcher knife at his cohost. I diverted Rafe’s attention with witty repartee and even secured an interview with him at the rink while surreptitiously skewering the women clinging to Ty like Saran Wrap.

Puck bunnies didn’t concern me. Ty was his usual gregarious self, but he never led anyone on, and every night he came home to me—parking his Jeep a block away and rarely in front of the same house twice.

We were friends. And friends grabbed the occasional cup of joe at Coffee Cave and pizza at Vincento’s. We never lingered. We waited till we were alone to tear each other’s clothes off. And geez, it was so, so good.

Over the past few months, I’d mapped and memorized every scar and freckle on Ty’s skin, every expression—desire, hunger, adoration.

He’d done the same with me. He touched me with reverence…

as if the act was somehow sacred. Whether he took me from behind with my face pressed against the kitchen cabinets or wrapped securely in his arms, the sex was personal. It was more than release.

However, as out-of-this-world amazing as the sex was, I loved the quiet in-between times too.

I helped bandage postgame scrapes and kissed Ty’s bruises while he played with Mabel.

I cradled his head on my chest and glided soothing fingers over his biceps as he shared locker-room chatter and his thoughts on everything from world politics to the cliffhanger on Severance and the blueberry pancake mix I’d bought at the new health food market on Main Street.

“I want to like it. I really do. Blueberries are awesome and pancakes are the foundation of my food pyramid, but they fucked it up,” he’d commented in the shower, lathering soap in my hair.

Seriously…pancake talk in the shower.

“You’re using the wrong kind of syrup. You have to try their blueberry syrup.”

Ty had gently nudged me under the spray. “Are you fucking bananas?”

I’d snort-laughed. “I do not fuck bananas, thank you for asking.”

He’d smacked my butt and nibbled my ear. “Funny guy. I’m serious here. The only syrup that counts is maple. That’s it. Nothing else. And if you drown something in maple syrup and it still sucks, you got a problem. Pass the soap, please.”

I’d passed the soap, tucking my chin to my chest to hide my smile.

This was becoming dangerous.

Being with Ty was fun and easy. He made me laugh and think and yes, he was frustrating at times, but he was also charming and unexpectedly kind and?—

Oh.

Oh, no…

It was worse than I’d thought.

I was in love with Ty Czerniak.

Ugh.

Don’t say a word. Not one word.

I was well aware that I was setting myself up for heartbreak.

We had a couple of months left together. That was it. Ty was scheduled to report to Jacksonville till late July, and me? Well, I had no real plans yet at all.

New York City didn’t sound appealing anymore. Lately, I’d been thinking about staying in Smithton. I could reimage my show with a travel angle and include fashion and food. I didn’t have to relocate. I could go wherever I wanted from here. I could even visit Ty in Florida or?—

“Word on the street is that you and the hockey star are boyfriend official,” Robin reported, interrupting my happy daydream from his computer in my office.

I shot a curious sideways glance at him before returning to my monitor. “Where’d you hear that?”

“A girl from my mechanical engineering class who heard it from someone who claims to have witnessed a smooch.” Robin puckered up for good measure, pushing his glasses into place when they slipped down his nose. “No photos yet, but…perhaps there’s a smidge of truth?”

And now he was waggling his brows.

“We’re not boyfriends.”

Robin wasn’t deterred. “Lovers, then? I believe the relationship correlation is inferred.”

“Oh, please.”

“You’re blushing.” He squinted as he cocked his head. “Definitely a blush. Curious. You can trust me, you know. Or…you can talk to me if you’d like.”

“I…I know. Thank you.”

“Well?”

“We’re…enjoying each other’s company,” I hedged.

“Ahh! Gosh, it feels good to be right.”

Robin’s smug expression was mildly annoying, but I chuckled, surprised at how nice it felt that someone in Smithton knew. It made it feel real.

A dangerous sentiment indeed.

“Latte with oat milk comin’ in hot. I brought croissants too,” Ty pronounced as someone called his name from the line at Coffee Cave. He inclined his chin in acknowledgment and set the drinks and a dish with two croissants in front of me.

I removed my bag from the chair I’d saved for him and set my phone on the table I’d secured in the corner. “Is it my imagination, or are people staring at us?”

Ty tore off a piece of croissant and glanced around the café. “Yeah, I think you’re right. Brady and Gus told me they heard a rumor that?—”

“Yo, it’s the lovebirds!” Arlo hooted as he entered the shop. “That’s something new in Smithton.”

His football buddies snickered like delinquents, including Carson, who seemed a little less amused than his friends.

Ty frowned as the entourage made their way to the counter. “Carson.”

“Carson outed us? Why?” I whispered-hissed. “What proof does he have? What did?—”

“Hey, relax. You don’t need proof to start a rumor, Walker. As for why? Who knows? I turned him down and he didn’t like it. Or maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe he made an offhand remark to one of his buddies who told a girlfriend or a parent or whatever the fuck. Doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does. It’s an invasion of privacy,” I groused, sipping my drink and immediately wincing. “Shoot, that’s hot.”

Ty pushed a napkin toward me. “You’ve got latte on your chin. Can I wipe it off?”

“No, you may not.” I scanned the shop briefly. “Why aren’t you upset?”

“Why would I be?” he countered. “They can think whatever they want.”

“Just like that? Are you nuts? What if it gets out…beyond Smithton? What if the Jackals?—”

“Walker, no one knows anything. No proof, remember? Trust me. It’s gonna be fine,” he assured me, leaning in as his cell buzzed. “It’s my agent. I have to take this, and I’ve got class in fifteen minutes.”

“Go. I’ll talk to you later.”

Ty answered the call, slipping on his earbuds while he gathered his belongings.

“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.