Page 33 of Something to Prove (Smithton Bears #2)

TY

The weird thing about your life falling apart was that no one seemed to notice.

The quad was bustling with students in varying modes of stress—hanging out in small groups, smoking and laughing, or racing to classes as if the fate of the world depended on their attendance.

Me? I moved like a ghost with my chin down, cutting through the sludgy bits of grass peeking from the thin layer of snow still covering the lawn.

I wasn’t avoiding anyone. I just didn’t want to talk. I’d done enough of that over the weekend.

The Ketchum Clomsky-Walker Woodrow floodgates had opened last Saturday morning.

A popular sports podcaster had done a story featuring Internet darling, Walker Woodrow and his connection to hockey legend Ketchum Clomsky on his regular weekly morning show.

The LA Times , New York Times , and Florida Times had run similar stories with a “where is he now?” angle.

None of them mentioned his father’s battle with early onset dementia or their relationship, so… not so bad.

Another publication joined the bandwagon Monday morning and focused on his famous mother.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Walker Woodrow, Deanna Woodrow, Smithton, and Ketchum Clomsky were trending, but Walker was the main event.

Memes sprang up about his hair, his Union Jack-topped Mini Cooper, Mabel, and his abiding affection for plain M&M’s and Coffee Cave’s double espresso lattes.

I didn’t check, but I’d bet he’d gained another few hundred thousand followers and a fuckton of subscribers to his channel. It was strange to know that he wasn’t enjoying a single second of the attention. I knew he was worried about his family and…me.

As far as I could tell, Walker hadn’t engaged with the press at all.

Don’t quote me, though. I hadn’t checked.

I’d kept busy with practice, classes…and I’d had an away game Tuesday.

In between, I’d texted or called to check in and see how he was doing.

Walker didn’t respond and since the nature of the media attention was relatively favorable, I wondered if he’d overreacted.

Yes, it was a lot, but it seemed to be good for his business.

Until an Internet sleuth dug up the Valentine Day story that outed Jett and his boyfriend. And someone else suggested Walker was a miserable hypocrite because wasn’t he dating a hockey player, too? Yep, my name hit the Internet, and the pendulum began to swing in a negative direction.

“Walker’s been seen with Ty Czerniak, a hottie who plays for the Smithton Bears and…” Blah, blah, blah.

“You see what I was fucking talking about now?” Toby stormed on the phone. “Gotta know when to ride the coattails and when to let go. Don’t sweat this, kid. If anyone asks, you’re single, you love Smithton, but you’re looking forward to being a Jackal next season. End of story.”

No one asked.

Okay, that wasn’t true. Vincento asked.

“Where is the redheaded boy? I haven’t seen him lately. Bring him in,” the old man chided the evening I stopped in to pick up my pizza order.

Oh, and Shar at Bear Depot. “My heart goes out to him. I adore Walker. He’s a good soul with a sweet heart. All that media nonsense about him leaking news about his father for publicity is ridiculous. He needs his friends right now. I’m glad he has you.”

I tripled my effort to get in touch. I called, texted, and even stopped by his house. If he was there, he didn’t answer the door.

Thursday afternoon, he posted a video.

“Hi, there. I’m usually filming from a fun locale in town, but have you noticed how strange this week has been?

I’m going to answer a few questions that have been posted on my site and give my own statement.

Yes, my father is Ketchum Clomsky. I didn’t leak that information.

It’s public record. As for my relationship with him…

I saw him during the holidays, so…there you have it.

The Valentine incident two years ago devastated me.

I addressed it at the time and formally apologized to all parties who, by the way, are living their happily ever after together.

By the way, I sat with them at a hockey game last month.

We’re friends. Last but not least…I’m single.

Stop harassing the hunky Bears. None of them are my boyfriend.

But I do have a cat. Say hello, Mabel.” Walker picked up the Himalayan beauty and held her to the camera.

“That’s what’s new with me in Smithton. I’ll be back with more interesting content next week.

I’m learning yoga. OMG. Sheila from Tranquil Fitness has promised to turn me into a pretzel. Be sure to tune in!”

I watched the video twice and read through the comments. His fans supported him, sympathized with him, said hello to Mabel, and gave tips for beginner’s yoga.

I called again.

Nothing.

My mood plummeted.

I went through the motions of a normal day.

I woke up, went to practice, went to class, worked out…

rinse and repeat. My teammates had given me a wide berth.

We were all under a lot of pressure, and no, it wasn’t like me to clam up, but they probably figured I’d snap out of it eventually.

I had to. We were in the fucking playoffs.

I should have been excited, pumped up, and ready to kick ass. Instead, I felt as if I were floating…there in body, but not in spirit. I couldn’t stop thinking about Walker.

I missed my friend. I missed the sound of his voice and his laughter.

I missed his clever mind and twinkling eyes.

I missed touching him, holding him, kissing him.

The thought of “us” being over hurt like hell.

I’d told him I’d figure it out, but he’d done that himself.

He didn’t need me. And maybe that was for the best ’cause I was fucking useless.

Unlocking my front door, I dumped my backpack in the foyer and furrowed my brow at the big lug sprawled on my sofa. “What are you doing here?”

Gus stretched his arms above his head and yawned. “I think my roommate hates me.”

I scoffed. “He does. What did you do now?”

“I accidentally drank his orange juice…again.”

“Buy more.”

“I’m on my way.” He grunted as he stood, rubbing his belly. “This was just a quick pit stop to help Brady demolish the cinnamon rolls his mom sent.”

“Oh.” I glanced at the box on the counter and unzipped my jacket.

“Oh? Gooey, cinnamony, sugary deliciousness, and all you got is, ‘oh’? You love those fuckin’ cinnamon rolls. The last time she sent them, you mowed two in under five minutes, and you wouldn’t shut up about how awesome they were.”

“He licked his fingers a lot too,” Brady piped up from the hallway. He fell onto the space Langley vacated.

“True. It was gross.” Langley narrowed his eyes. “Out with it, Czerniak. What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

My friends shared a look that clearly said one of them was going to have to deal with me.

Gus blew out a rush of air and sucked it in again. “Okay. Fine. If you don’t want to talk, we’ll eat cinnamon rolls.”

Brady growled. “No, you’re done, Langley.” Finished , I corrected in my head. “Grow a pair and deal with your roomie. I’m not sharing anymore.”

“That’s good. I’m stuffed anyway,” Gus groused.

“Party at my place tonight, and don’t even think about not coming, Czerniak.

You need to get laid, pronto. I’m gonna introduce you to this girl from that terrible statistics class I had to retake last year.

Her name is Hannah and she’s a fucking knockout—big tits, great personality. ”

“Thanks, but?—”

“No buts.” Gus squeezed my elbow as he stepped around me. “I say this in the nicest way possible…you gotta let it go. Move on. Maybe the timing was wrong or something.”

My heart lurched into my throat. I swallowed my protests.

There was no point in pretending I didn’t know what he meant.

Just like there was no point in pretending I wanted to meet someone new.

The thought made me sick. Literally. Bile rose in my throat.

The sickly, sweet smell of cinnamon and sugar didn’t mix well with fear and sorrow.

Brady waited till Gus closed the door to speak, shifting his gaze from the video game he was playing on the flat-screen to me. “You’re gonna be okay, Ty.”

This time my eyes welled ’cause I wasn’t so sure.

The wall I’d erected over this past week wasn’t holding up.

I’d been thinking about the future, weighing obstacles, and wondering if Walker had given up on me the second I’d walked out the door. Everyone left him. In this case, he’d pushed me out the door, but…still.

I couldn’t let it go, and I wondered why I couldn’t walk away. I couldn’t fix him. I couldn’t make his life easier. I couldn’t erase his painful past. All I could do was love him and?—

Holy shit.

I loved him.

The debilitating, soul-crushing, panicky angst I’d been carrying for a week wasn’t just confusion laced with concern and a healthy dose of fear. It was so much more. It was me sticking to a path I’d outgrown, too fucking paralyzed by expectation to realize I had power too. This was my life.

And I fucking loved him.

Maybe that wasn’t enough. Maybe we were too different.

It didn’t matter. He needed to know.

“I…I gotta go.” I rezipped my jacket, grabbed my keys, and bolted.

“Walker’s not here.”

I leaned on the doorjamb and whipped my sunglasses off, leveling Robin with my best work-with-me-here look. “Any idea where I can find him? It’s important.”

I wasn’t above using my height and broader frame to intimidate. Desperate times and all that.

Robin fiddled with his glasses, his freckled nose twitching as he fixed me with a suspicious once-over. “Why?”

“Because…I need to talk to him,” I replied irritably. “Please.”

He studied me for a long moment. “Sorry. I can’t tell you. I promised confidence, and I always keep my word.”

I dropped my head and knocked it against the door. Patience, Ty. Patience.

“Okay, I respect that. Could you… take me to him?”