Page 31 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

WALKER

The first call came 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 from Sports 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 to Sports 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 the Tampa 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 with Hockey 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.

I waited till I was home to call my aunt.

“How are you, honey?” she answered. Her voice had a strained quality that sent my frayed nerves into the stratosphere.

“Fine. Is everything okay there?”

“Yes and…no. We’ve had a few calls. Suddenly the world has Ketchum Clomsky fever. And someone from Florida wants to chat about Ty Czerniak.”

“What? Wh-why?”

“You’re the obvious connection, but I don’t know what they want.” She paused for a moment. “I’ve contacted our lawyer.”

“Lawyer,” I repeated, raking my fingers through my hair.

“They suggested releasing a statement.”

“A statement.” Oh, geez, I was a parrot. “But…what would we say?”

“We’d politely ask for privacy.”

I smacked my palm on my forehead and blew out a stream of air. There was no reason to get frustrated, but seriously…did she really think hardline reporters on the hunt for a juicy story would give up that easily?

Oh, never mind. The family wants privacy. Let’s bug someone else, guys.

Conversations with my aunt almost always soothed my nerves. Not tonight. I was a basket case.

“Right,” I said instead.

“Darling, I know it’s upsetting, but at the end of the day, it’s a hockey story during hockey season.”

“About someone who can’t defend himself.” My voice cracked ominously.

“I think Ty is perfectly capable of defending himself, and I have a feeling this is more about you than your dad.”

“Me? How?” I choked out.

“An Internet star whose father played hockey and is now romantically attached to a rising hockey star is interesting,” she replied, patiently connecting the dots.

“But…no one knows about us. We’re just friends.”

The heavy pause on the line was thick with sympathy.

“Then they’ll soon lose interest. Don’t worry, honey. The fuss will die down, and it’ll be all right.”

Was that true? I wasn’t so sure.

My well-ordered life had devolved into utter chaos in a matter of hours. I fell onto the sofa and stared into space while Mabel judged me from her perch at the window. She purred when my cell vibrated with a text from Robin.

I’ll meet you at the game. I’ll buy the popcorn tonight.

The game. The big game.

The Bears were playing Trinity. I was covering it.

I had to. This was a major event on campus.

We were expected to beat one of our fearsome rivals, and all eyes would be on Ty, who’d been a one-man scoring machine lately.

He’d had a hat trick against St. Mark last weekend, assisted two goals and scored against Granville.

Those had been away games, but tonight, they played at home and?—

I was unraveling at lightspeed, on the verge of a panic attack.

My hands shook, and my heart beat too fast.

I couldn’t help thinking that I’d been here before. I knew what endings felt like.

And I just wasn’t ready to let go.