One Pucking Secret (One Pucking #1)

Chapter 12

Wyatt

The air crackles with my fury as I stomp into Chloe’s bedroom, the door slamming against the wall like a warning shot. My hands tremble, not from the chill of the room, but from the ice in my veins.

“Wyatt, just let me explain,” she pleads, her voice trailing after me like the lapels of the robe she clutches at her chest.

“You hid a child from me. My child,” I spit out, my words slicing through the tension.

“Please,” Chloe begs, reaching out to me, her arm a desperate bridge I have no intention of crossing.

I’m grabbing my phone and wallet from the dresser with jerky, uncoordinated movements. Each action feels rough, fueled by a betrayal that robs me of grace. Her presence is an itch under my skin, and I can’t stand to be near her, to breathe the same air laced with lies.

“Wyatt— ”

“Is Jasper mine?” The question comes out in a quiet roar, a dangerous undertone that suggests the calm before a storm.

She nods, her eyes wide, green pools of guilt. “He is.”

It’s like a punch to the gut, a physical blow that knocks the wind out of me. I feel the sting behind my eyes, the taste of copper in my mouth, and I swallow the burgeoning emotion like shards of glass.

“I can’t even look at you right now,” I tell her, my voice reduced to a venomous whisper. “I need to go.”

As I stride toward the door, defeat hangs heavy on her shoulders, a cloak that cannot shield her from my contempt. But there, wrapped in a blanket, is Jasper. His innocent blue eyes, so much like mine, call to me in my sea of rage.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, forcing warmth into my voice. “Hope you feel better soon, okay?”

His small nod is enough to fracture the last of my resolve, but I mend the cracks quickly, for his sake. With one last look at Jasper, I leave, the absence of a backward glance at Chloe a silent testament to the chasm between us now.

I slam the car door shut, my hands still trembling as I fumble for my phone. The screen lights up, and I dial Mark’s number, trying to steady my breathing.

“Mark, come over,” I rasp, a command more than a request. “It’s an emergency.”

“Everything okay?”

“I’ll explain when you get here. Please, just come now.”

“Give me fifteen,” he says, and the line goes dead.

The silence that follows is suffocating. I drop the phone into the passenger seat and start the car, the engine’s low hum the only sound cutting through the weight of the moment. Jasper. I have a son. The thought rewires everything, sending shockwaves through my mind. I pull out onto the road, the enormity of what just happened pressing down on me. Everything has changed.

How could she? Vulnerability has always been a luxury I couldn’t afford, but with Chloe, I’d let my guard down. And for what? To be blindsided?

Chloe’s laughter, her touch, the way she looked at me—was it all a masquerade? The past weeks with her flash before my eyes, a montage of deceit. She had every chance to tell me, and she chose silence .

I grip the steering wheel tightly as I drive, my mind racing. Chloe’s face lingers in my thoughts—her eyes filled with guilt, her body tense with anxiety. How did we get here? She kept Jasper from me all these years, and now that truth sits heavy in my gut like a stone.

Pulling into the driveway of my apartment building, I catch sight of Mark’s car already parked. He steps out, his brow furrowed with worry as he makes his way toward me.

“What’s going on?” Mark asks.

“Just come inside,” I reply sharply. The urgency propels me forward, though inside I feel like I’m spiraling.

Once we’re inside, I turn to face him. “Sit.”

He raises an eyebrow but complies, taking a seat on the edge of my couch, looking ready to spring into action if needed. His eyes dart around the room as if searching for clues to this mystery.

I pace for a moment before facing him again. “Chloe… she has a son.”

Mark’s expression shifts from confusion to realization. “You mean—”

“Yeah.” My jaw clenches. “I have a son.”

Mark opens his mouth to respond but stops short, digesting the weight of it all. “How? ”

I recount everything—Chloe, Jasper, my years of ignorance, and her deceit. While Mark listens, his expression turns stony, like a cliff face weathered by relentless waves. When I finish, silence festers between us, a living thing that feeds off our shock.

Finally, Mark breaks it, raking his hand through his brown hair. He leans back, his gaze lost somewhere between sympathy and regret. “I think I fucked up.”

“Fucked up?” I ask, confused.

“There was this young woman who called me, right after the draft,” he starts, hesitant. “It might have been Chloe.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. “She told me there was an urgent matter. She didn’t say what it was. I told her I’d relay the message.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I snap, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.

Mark lowers his hands, his expression heavy with regret. “I figured it was a fan just trying to get to you. You were on the rise, Wyatt—people were coming at you from every angle. I didn’t want to add more noise to the chaos unless it was important. ”

I stare at him, the words hitting me like a punch to the gut. “But it was important.”

“I know that now,” he says, his voice heavy with guilt. “Shit. I’m sorry, Wyatt. I was just trying to protect you. I thought I was doing the right thing. She didn’t call again, so I assumed I was right. I didn’t want to pile more onto your plate when your life was already chaotic.”

His admission hangs in the air, and I can see how much it’s costing him. “I screwed up, Wyatt. If I’d known, I would’ve told you. I should’ve told you.”

I nod, but the anger in me flares, not just at Mark but at the whole damn situation. “My life was a mess back then,” I say. “I get why you did what you did. But you should have told me. That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“You’re right,” he says, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I made a mistake. But now, you need to talk to Chloe. Let her know this was my fault. That call could’ve changed everything, and she deserves to know that.”

His words hit hard, but my frustration won’t let up. I’m angry at Mark, yes, but I’m just as furious with Chloe. She could have told me the moment we saw each other again. Instead, she kept Jasper from me. It’s a betrayal that cuts just as deep.

Mark looks at me, his eyes carrying the weight of the only real father figure I’ve known. “Don’t let this sit between you and Chloe. I can talk to her too if you need me to. But you need to fix this.”

“I know,” I grind out, my jaw clenched. “But this isn’t all on you, Mark. She had plenty of chances to tell me, and she didn’t.”

Mark’s gaze softens, but his tone remains firm. “You’re right. But you need to start somewhere. You need to give her that chance to explain. And Jasper… he’s your responsibility now.”

The thought grips me, a cold hand around my heart. Responsibility. Jasper. A son. The images flicker in my mind: throwing a ball in the backyard, teaching him to skate, watching him score his first goal. But darker visions loom—yelling, disappointment, the shadow of my own father’s failings.

“Being a parent terrifies me,” I admit, the confession slipping out like a plea for help. “What if I’m just like him?”

Mark’s gaze softens. “You’re not your father, Wyatt. You’re your own man. And if you and Chloe decide to co-parent, you’ll be a great dad, I know it.”

His reassurance is definitely welcome, but doubt is a persistent weed, tough to root out completely. My thoughts churn like water at the edge of a waterfall, teetering on the brink of decision.

“Thanks, Mark,” I say, grateful for this man who has stood by me through every high stick and body check life has thrown my way. “I’ll… I’ll talk to Chloe once I’ve calmed down.” I’m sure as hell not ready. Not yet.

“Good,” he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder, the impact a solid reminder of his unwavering support. “Nothing worth having comes easy, kid. Remember that. Again, I’m sorry.”

I nod, absorbing the truth of his words. Fear and resolve collide within me, a chaotic dance of potential futures.

Mark rises from the couch, his movements slow, like he’s carrying the weight of my world on his shoulders. “No matter what happens, remember, don’t let it throw you off your game, okay? We’ll keep this under wraps until it all gets sorted out.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. A secret son. Exactly the kind of information Sonia and the media would love to get their hands on.

I nod, the motion stiff. Mark’s always been a fortress of confidentiality, his integrity as solid as ice beneath my skates.

“For now, let’s just work on getting your mind clear. I’ll fix you up some breakfast.”

“Okay,” I agree, grateful that he’s willing to ride this rollercoaster with me today. I watch as he crosses into the kitchen, the morning light from my windows framing him in a stark silhouette.

I rub my face, trying to scrub away the disbelief, the anger. Then I pivot, heading into the kitchen to join Mark. My stomach growls—a primal reminder that life goes on, even when your world’s upended.

Mark’s already grabbing some eggs and bacon from the fridge that promises a sizzle of comfort. The bread he’s already placed into the toaster pops up, crisp and golden. Every clink and clatter, every whisk of a fork against a bowl is a soundtrack to the chaos of my thoughts.

The rich aroma of coffee fills the space, promising clarity, or at least a momentary shield against exhaustion. I retrieve two mugs and pour—black as a puck—and take a scalding gulp .

The sharp tang of the coffee cuts through the lingering taste of betrayal. I set the mug down, my hand steady despite the tumult inside. This is just another challenge, another shot on goal. I can handle this—I have to. For Jasper.