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)
“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—”