Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 329(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“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.
CHAPTER 24
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.