Page 32 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

TY

The highly anticipated playoff game was off to a good start.

Not great, but good. We’d been quick to the puck, strong on defense, and our passing was on point.

The Bears looked like the well-oiled machine we’d worked our asses off to become this season.

Unfortunately, we couldn’t fucking score.

Neither could Trinity, so…we had that going for us.

But we were gassed. Totally, utterly, completely spent.

Trinity was known for their speed, and we’d matched them stride for stride for two and a half periods.

I’d quit wiping sweat from my brow and let it drip unchecked.

I couldn’t afford to waste precious energy.

My quads were on fire, and though I’d deny it all night long, the rough shove against the boards their asshole D-man had delivered two minutes ago probably bruised a rib, ’cause it hurt like a motherfucker.

I didn’t dare poke at the wound, though. The last thing I wanted was to sit this out. So I gulped water and studied the ice, hoping our opponent would reveal a weakness. If my gaze strayed to the press section and wandered the arena, well…that was just curiosity.

Where the fuck was Walker?

He’d come to most of our home games this season.

Why would he miss this one? The whole damn town was here.

I spotted a slew of teachers, friends and acquaintances, Shar from Bear Depot, Vincento Junior and his family, and Jett and Malcolm, sitting with a few burly dudes who were teammates of Jett’s from the Syracuse Spiders.

Robin sat alone with a huge bag of popcorn next to the guy who wrote for the Smithton Times .

But no Walker.

I was pretty sure he was feeling okay. He’d been in a great mood this morning.

So good that I’d purposely ignored Toby’s phone calls and text messages.

Walker had quirked a brow and assured me he wouldn’t be offended if I had to speak to my agent.

I’d shrugged and said it could wait. The truth was that it would only lead to some serious conversation I didn’t want to have before a big game.

And we’d talked about this game. Naked. In bed.

He’d traced the outline of my biceps while I’d admired the streaks of sunlight in his hair.

Walker had a paper due, and he’d wanted to stop by his professor’s office to discuss an assigned group project.

We’d commiserated about how terribly those always went and grumbled over past experiences. Then he’d asked about the game.

I’d told him I was ready. We were going to crush Trinity…no doubt about it. And afterward, I’d tell him what Toby was freaking out about. He needed to know.

But I could not be fucking thinking about that shit now. We had a game to win.

We were tied at zero in the third period with three minutes and a handful of seconds left on the clock. Brady was scrapping for the puck with Trinity’s star forward in no man’s land. I loved the guy, but he wasn’t great at judging when to dump and chase. I had to get in there.

Coach called for a line change and I bolted into action, reinvigorated and reenergized. I tapped my stick to Langley’s and skated with him to the face-off circle, bumping into that asshole D-man along the way.

“Heard you’ve got a boyfriend, Czerniak.”

I did a double take and almost laughed. Really? This was how they were going to rattle our offense?

“Oh, yeah? Are you jealous?” I taunted.

“Not my thing, man. I wouldn’t let a guy suck my dick,” he scoffed.

“Well…I don’t think you’d have any takers anyway.” I made a “too small” gesture and winked, sliding into position as the whistle blew.

Nothing like a little smack talk to get the ol’ spirits up, I mused, skating like the wind, ready for Gus’s pass. I hustled into the right lane, deking around a forward with some fancy stick handling. I could feel the shit-talker hot on my heels.

“Chicks love me. Not my problem if you can’t get a hot girl and had to switch teams.”

He’d amped up his chatter, but I just grinned.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’d found the weak link.

I passed to Pritchard, then pivoted to my new best friend and inched my fingers together. I might have winked again. Sue me. The turd D-man was so easy, it was embarrassing. I called for the puck even though I was covered. Gus knew exactly what I had in mind.

“Super-duper small, huh? One-inch willy? Poor guy. You probably need a microscope to find it, huh? That’s a rough one.

” The puck connected with my stick just as Trinity’s resident brain trust checked me against the boards.

Hard. My already aching rib was on fire.

White lights danced in my periphery and if I hadn’t been pushed to the ice, I might have fallen anyway.

But it was worth it.

A whistle blew, and he was sent to the sin bin.

We had our power play and with it, our best opportunity to put this game away. Gus faked a pass to Pritchard, slinging it to me instead. My angle was off, but with one less defender on me, I had my shot. Boom! Score!

Two minutes and ten seconds later, the Bears won. 1-0.

The postgame melee was more chaotic than usual. The Smithton Times wanted an interview, Coach gave his usual speech, and of course Gus was having a party…after we all stopped by Bear Depot to celebrate with the town.

They’d decked out the diner with blue and red streamers.

Kids showed up in our jerseys, asking for autographs while their parents took pics.

Shakes and fries were on the house and every booth was packed to maximum capacity.

The celebratory mood had turned everyone into a hockey fan.

Girls I’d never met flocked to our booths, wanting to know everything about us.

I’d called Walker and had sent a fuckload of texts, but I hadn’t heard from him.

Honestly, I was worried and I couldn’t just leave. This was a team event, a community event, and damn it, he should have been here. Everyone knew it. I lost count of how many people asked where he was. I didn’t fucking know.

Someone passed me a beer and another. I pasted a smile on my face, nibbled fries, and plotted my escape.

An incoming call from my agent saved the day. I didn’t question his timing. Toby said he had business in California this week, so maybe he didn’t realize it was almost eleven p.m. here.

“Hi, Toby. What’s up?”

“It’s time to cut ties with the influencer, kid. Do it now.”

I dug my keys from my pocket as I crossed the parking lot. “What are you talking about?”

“The free promo has been nice, but it’s too personal now.

Some jerkwad has been calling here asking if I knew you and the Smithton guy were boyfriends.

I told him no, obviously. And if that’s not true, I don’t want to know.

This is hockey and you’re a fucking rookie. Keep your dick in your pants, got it?”

“Uh…yeah, but?—”

“No buts. I’m not kidding, Ty. Be done with him. He’s no longer useful to us, so if there’s something between you, end it.”

Toby hung up before I could get another word in.

Something must have happened .

Shit.

Walker’s house was dark.

I parked out front, well past caring who might see, and jogged to his porch, knocking and ringing the bell like a lunatic. After what felt like ten minutes, the lock clicked and the door inched open.

“Holy shit, I was really fucking worried about you. Are you okay?” I pushed by him, scooping Mabel into my arms to avoid shaking Walker.

I was equal parts pissed off and relieved…

and yes, worried. I was still reeling from my brief conversation with Toby too, but I focused on Walker, who if I was being honest, didn’t look good.

“I’m fine.” Walker closed the door, hugging his arms around his stomach protectively. “Did you win?”

For the record, he wasn’t fine. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was paler than usual. I wasn’t always great at reading signals off the ice, but Walker’s were obvious. He was closed, detached, cut off. Had Toby called him too? No…he would have told me.

“Yeah, we won.”

“Congratulations.” He smiled softly. “You should be celebrating.”

“I tried, but I was a little too fucking worried about you to enjoy it.” I set Mabel down and raked a hand through my hair. “What’s going on?”

His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. “I…”

Fuck, he was shaking. “Baby, what is it? I just got off the phone with Toby, so I know it’s something. Talk to me.”

Walker didn’t reply. He moved to the living room and burrowed into the nest of blankets in the corner of the sofa.

“I’ve been getting interview requests all day. From big publications and news media. So has my aunt. They say they want a story about my dad, which means everyone knows we’re related. Which is…okay, I guess.”

“Okay…” There had to be more.

“They’re asking about you too.”

“Me.”

“You and me.”

Okay, I was a few steps behind here.

I sat on the edge of the coffee table and leaned forward, my elbows propped on my knees. “There’s more. What is it?”

He bit his bottom lip. “I’m not good publicity for you. Not now.”

That was eerily similar to what Toby had just said.

I bristled stubbornly. “Why not?”

“I don’t have a pretty story. It’s why I ask other people for theirs.

My parents had a toxic relationship that reads like a reality TV drama.

I don’t know all the details. My aunt and uncle can ask for privacy, and maybe they’ll get it, but I won’t.

No one gives privacy to someone with a million followers who makes money by smiling in front of a camera.

I’m right and you know it. You have to”—he circled his hands wildly as if grasping for the right word—“disassociate.”

“Disassociate.”

“Yes. You’re not my boyfriend, and you don’t know Ketchum Clomsky. You play hockey, Ty. That’s what you do. That’s your story. You’re going to the AHL and maybe someday, the NHL.”

I felt like I’d been smacked upside the head with a two by four. Dingy and out of breath. “But?—”

“I’m sorry. I thought we’d have till summer. Maybe longer. I thought—it doesn’t matter.” More tears spilled…and spilled. “This is your chance. This is your shot. You can’t get caught up in this mess with me.”

“How am I supposed to…disassociate?”

“We’ll be friends. We are friends.”

His defeated tone indicated that it was the last thing he wanted, and I clung to it.

“You don’t want that,” I said.

“Of course I do. And that’s all we can be.”

“No, we can be more,” I insisted irritably. “Even if it’s just…”

“A secret?”

The lump in my throat hurt like a motherfucker. “Look, I’m tired and you’re upset. Let’s go to sleep and?—”

“No, Ty. You have to go.”

You know that feeling when you’ve had a long, stressful day—it’s been up and down, and you’ve jumped every hurdle only to find that the last one left was perched on the edge of a cliff? That was me.

I was sitting on a coffee table, free-falling, and everything hurt. My ribs, my head…and now my fucking heart was cracking in my chest.

“You want me to leave?” I whispered in a shaky voice.

“Yes.” He didn’t.

And I didn’t want to go, but the sobering truth was that I had nothing better to offer than my body…in private.

That couldn’t be it. There had to be another way.

Don’t ask. I had no clue. I was one person. A hockey player.

Hockey was all I knew, all I’d ever cared about.

Until now.

I leaned in to kiss his forehead, brushing hair from his eyes. “I know you think you have to do everything alone. You don’t. I’m on your side. We’ll get through this.”

“I wish it were that easy.” His smile was totally off. A jagged slice across chapped lips that hurt to look at. “I’m sorry. I don’t like good-byes, but?—”

“Don’t say it then.” I shot to my feet, restless and agitated. “Just…let me figure this out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I don’t know anything, but I know I don’t want to lose you.”

Walker stood then and opened his arms.

I swallowed hard, and on an exhale, I crushed him against my chest in a rough embrace. We didn’t move for a long moment, and we didn’t speak. I was grateful for the silence until I realized it was too heavy, too final.

The walls were up. He was shutting me out.

I stepped aside and wiped a tear from his cheek. He wanted me to leave before I made promises I didn’t know how to keep. Too many people had let Walker down. How was I any different?

I was a bi athlete with prospects, but I hadn’t done shit yet. What had I proved? Nothing.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe this thing between us had run its course, and the good-bye had come sooner than we thought it would.

Maybe we’d forgotten the ending was inevitable.

Maybe it was always going to feel like a gut punch and I was always going to be the one standing on his doorstep, repeating, “I don’t want to lose you. ”

That didn’t explain the bone-deep sorrow.

And it didn’t explain why it felt as if I’d left a piece of myself behind.