One Pucking Secret (One Pucking #1)

Chapter 18

Wyatt

Chloe’s back is a gentle slope against my chest as I wake, delicate against the bulk of my hockey-worn muscles. I tighten my arms around her, and the thought flickers through me that this feels right.

Her skin is bathed in morning gold, turning her into something ethereal, a dream made of flesh. While a small part of me is still having trouble letting go of the lies and secrecy, an even bigger part harbors the urge to protect her and hold her like this forever. I give in to a tight squeeze, my fingers pressing just enough to feel her stir.

“Good morning,” Chloe murmurs, voice husky with sleep as she turns to face me. A lazy smile plays on her lips, her green eyes still clouded from dreams.

“Morning.” My voice feels thick, laced with an emotion I’m not ready to name out loud .

Slipping free from my embrace, she stretches like a cat, arms reaching for the ceiling, every line of her body speaking of languid grace. “I’m so tired,” she admits with a yawn.

“We did stay up late,” I tease, letting my arms find their way back to her. She nestles into me, smiling at the memory.

“Want some breakfast?” I ask, already picturing her sitting at the kitchen island, sunlight catching in her auburn hair.

“That sounds wonderful.” She pushes herself up, looking back at me with a spark in her gaze. “But this time, let me help.”

We untangle ourselves from the sheets and get dressed. Chloe puts on my shirt, oversized on her smaller frame. I change into a clean T-shirt and joggers, leading the way into the kitchen with Chloe following behind.

“Let’s get some energy back into you.” I chuckle, setting the ingredients on the counter with a soft thud, a package of apple sausages and a few eggs. My next step is to pop some bread into the toaster.

Chloe moves to the coffeemaker. “Still a black coffee drinker?” she asks, albeit a bit awkwardly. It’s as if we’re still navigating this new version of us .

“Always have been, always will be,” I affirm as I crack eggs into a bowl. The hiss of the pan greets the sausages, the air quickly filling with the smell of sizzling apples and spices.

“But I did buy some creamer for you. It’s in the refrigerator.” I gesture with my chin, unable to suppress the hint of pride at my foresight.

“You did?” Her voice carries the shock of a pleasant surprise, and when she opens the fridge, her soft exhale tells me all I need to know. “My favorite flavor too.”

“Guess I got lucky.” Seeing how much it means to her makes me smile.

The omelet takes shape under my spatula, with the eggs and herbs melding into a smooth, golden layer. Together, we set the table, cutlery clinking, a duet of domesticity that sings of shared moments yet to come.

Forks scrape against plates, the sound mingling with the morning bustle outside. I chase the last bite of omelet with a gulp of black coffee, its bitterness a welcome jolt to my senses. Across the table, Chloe sips from her cup, the steam curling like a figurative question mark into the air between us.

“So, what’s on your agenda today?” she asks, tucking a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear .

“Rest,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Gotta recharge for practice tomorrow.” My muscles hum in agreement, yearning for nothing more than an easy day.

Chloe nods, her spoon clinking as she stirs creamer into her coffee, a little vortex of routine and comfort. “I’m picking up Jasper soon. He’s always hyped up after a sleepover, and then we’re going shopping for some new clothes.”

I can’t help but smile at the thought of Jasper, his shy grin so much like Chloe’s. “Sounds like a full day.”

She laughs, and it’s a melody that has become my favorite tune. “Never a dull moment with a seven-year-old.”

The conversation meanders, easing into a silence that feels like home. I watch her, this woman who’s mastered the art of motherhood and career with an effortless grace that leaves me in awe. The idea of doing this—breakfast, small talk, shared glances—every single day with Chloe sends a warmth through my chest that rivals the sunbeams spilling across our table. The only thing that could make this better is if Jasper was here with us .

“Hey, don’t worry about cleaning up,” I say as we finish, standing to collect our dishes. “I’ve got it covered.”

“Are you sure?” She bites her lip, a hint of guilt in her green eyes.

“Positive. You should go so you can get ready and pick up Jasper. Besides, I want to visit the center today.” I usher her gently toward responsibility. “I’ll call an Uber for you.”

“Thank you, Wyatt.” Her gratitude is a soft whisper followed by the press of her lips to mine, a thank you note written in the language of touch.

“Anytime,” I murmur against her mouth. And I mean it. Anytime, anything, for her.

Chloe retreats to the bedroom to get dressed in her own clothes, so I take out my phone and secure a ride for her on the app. Her ride will be here in only a few minutes. Perfect.

When Chloe returns, it appears she’s tamed the wild strands of hair and freshened up with a swipe of coral lipstick. My heart melts at the sight of her. Suddenly, all the hesitancy and doubt I’ve been clinging to dissipates.

“Well, if you look like that, then I can’t let you leave,” I tease, bringing my lips to hers .

Her playful smirk says it all as she glances at me, not even bothering to respond. Instead, she adjusts her bag on her shoulder, ready to go.

“Your ride will be downstairs any minute.”

She nods, turning toward the door, but before she makes it, I catch her wrist, pulling her back for one more kiss. It’s deep and lingering, wiping away the lipstick as it seals the unspoken promise between us.

I’m falling, not just for Chloe, but for the possibility—the hope—of us, a makeshift family unit with Jasper at its heart.

“See you later,” she whispers, her voice carrying the weight of uncharted futures.

“Later,” I echo, watching her silhouette blend with the light as she steps out, leaving me alone with the ghost of her presence and a heart full of intentions.

Just then, my phone buzzes again in my pocket, and I pull it out to see Mark’s name flashing on the screen. I swipe to answer, my voice taut. “You’re going to want to take a look at social media right now,” he says, his tone curt and foreboding.

“What now?” I reply, pressing the speaker button and scroll through the feeds.

“Sonia’s latest stunt,” Mark says, voice edged with frustration. “The team’s already working to dispute it and see if we can get the article taken down, but it’s spreading fast.”

As I scroll down, I see it—an image of Jasper and me at the rink, caught in a private, candid moment that was never meant for public consumption. Jasper’s wide smile, his eyes bright with joy, and me, grinning right back at him. And there, slapped under it, is the headline: “Wyatt Banks: From Ice King to Daddy Cool?”

Mark sighs. “They’re trying to paint you as some ‘doting dad’ looking for a redemption arc. And Sonia’s adding fuel, telling anyone who’ll listen that you’d threatened her over kids.”

I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles white. They don’t know Jasper, his laugh, his love for sports, the way he scrunches his nose in concentration, or how he shyly tucks his hair behind his ear—just like Chloe. He’s not just a headline or some tool for their clickbait. He’s more than that. He’s my son.

“Fuck,” I whisper. “I can’t believe she’s dragged him into this.”

Mark’s voice softens. “Look, man, take a minute to cool off. We’re handling it from our end, but I wanted you to hear it straight from me before it gets worse. ”

“Thanks, Mark,” I mutter, swallowing the rage. I end the call, feeling the weight of anger and protectiveness twist inside me. My heart hammers as I look down at the screen, Jasper’s face filling it, smiling up at me, unaware of the storm swirling around him.

My phone lights up again, and this time it’s Zach. I ignore the call and, instead, pull up Chloe’s contact. “Pick up, please,” I murmur, but the line keeps ringing, indifferent to my plea.

A decision crystallizes amid the turmoil. I can’t let this fester, can’t wait for digital judgments to cement into something uglier. I need to see her and make sure she’s okay.

The door slams behind me more forcefully than I intended, my resolve propelling me toward Chloe’s apartment. Each step is weighted with the gravity of what’s at stake—our future, our family unit that’s barely begun to take shape.