One Pucking Secret (One Pucking #1)

Chapter 21

Chloe

The faucet gushes, a frothy mountain of bubbles rises in the tub. We’re at Wyatt’s—Jasper’s makeshift overnight haven, complete with his Mario toothbrush and dinosaur PJs folded on the counter. Thankfully, Lainey was thoughtful enough to sneak into my apartment and pack an overnight bag, dropping it off for us while the paparazzi gathered outside our building. While it’s still up in the air when I’ll be able to return and gather the rest of our necessities, it’s comforting to know we have people we can depend on.

“Careful, it might be hot,” I say, voice steady as my fingers test the swirling warmth. My son’s laughter echoes off the bathroom walls, his hands sending the rubber ducks bobbing across the water.

Seeing those little ducks, the kid-sized towel Wyatt bought, and the bottle of bubble bath beside the tub—it all hits me. He was preparing for Jasper, thinking ahead in ways I hadn’t expected. There’s even a couple of kids’ books stacked on the counter. It’s a small thing, but it’s sweet. And for a moment, I can forget about everything happening outside.

“Look, Mommy, they’re racing!” Jasper chirps, eyes wide with innocent delight.

“Best duck swimmers I’ve ever seen,” I return with a smile. The chatter of hockey fans and society pages creeps into my thoughts, a relentless tide of curiosity and judgment. I watch Jasper, his small hands creating waves for his toys, oblivious to everything that’s been going on. At least that much is a relief. “Mommy, look! It’s a duck tower!” Jasper’s gleeful announcement pulls me back, and I force a chuckle at how he’s stacked his ducks in a floating pile.

“Wow, you did a good job balancing them. Make sure the bottom duck comes up for air,” I tell him, and my heart clenches, because how do I make sure Jasper does the same in a world that’s ready to label him, to judge him for my past and Wyatt’s fame?

I still have the task of telling my parents, which I plan to do first thing tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll be upset that I lied, but thrilled that I actually do know who Jasper’s father is. But there will be questions, many of which I’m not sure I have the answers to yet.

The scent of lavender soap fills the room as I kneel beside the tub, scooping warm water to help him rinse off his soapy arms. Bubbles cling to his skin, iridescent in the soft bathroom lighting.

“Can we read tonight?” Jasper asks, pulling me from my reverie.

“Of course, bud,” I assure him, reaching for the fluffy towel on the rack. “We’ll read twice as long.”

I wrap him up, his damp hair dark against the bright yellow towel. As I hold him close, the weight of his trust grounds me. Whatever decisions lie ahead, they’ll be for Jasper—his smiles, his rubber ducks. For now, that’s enough to keep the worries at bay, letting them dissolve like the bubbles fading behind us.

I dry him off and wait while he puts on his pajamas, a powder blue pair with clouds all over them. “Go ahead and brush your teeth. Just like I taught you.”

Jasper holds up his toothbrush, struggling to squeeze the minty paste onto it, the tube wobbling in his grip. “Like this?” he asks, his hands clumsy but eager to get it right .

“Almost, Jasp.” My hand guides his, gently squeezing the tube until a pea-sized amount rests on the bristles. I swipe away the excess, grinning down at him. “Just like that, bud.”

We mirror each other, brushing in tandem. My reflection—edges softened by steam and weariness—stares back. There’s fatigue in the droop of my eyelids, but the set of my jaw speaks of a resolve steeled through trials. Jasper hums contentedly, oblivious to the weight in my gaze.

“Good job, kiddo.” My hand lands gently on his back, a silent vow to shield him from the world’s harshness. “Let’s go pick out a book.”

“Is Wyatt going to read with us?”

“No, honey. Wyatt has some work calls to make.” Mostly, he’s spent the past hour on the phone with Mark. They’re still trying to figure out who’s behind the leaked photo. There’s a chance Sonia had someone tailing us.

Jasper’s feet pad ahead of me, leading us into the guest room where a makeshift library awaits. The Little Engine That Could , one of his current favorites, is waiting on the bed. I lie down next to him under the quilt Wyatt threw over the bed. I let the words flow, articulating each syllable with care, hoping their message of resilience seeps into Jasper’s dreams .

“… I think I can, I think I can…” I whisper along with the little engine, feeling the weight of our own uphill battle.

Jasper’s eyelids flutter, his trust in this simple bedtime ritual anchoring us amid swirling uncertainties. How will we climb our own steep hills? With every word, I weave belief into the fabric of his consciousness, because if he believes he can, then maybe, just maybe, we’ll make it over the peak.

The final word of the story lingers—a hopeful echo. I close the book, glancing down at Jasper’s serene face. His chest rises and falls with a rhythm that sings of innocence and trust. I press a gentle kiss to his forehead; my lips linger, savoring the moment of quiet. “Goodnight, my little engine,” I murmur, the words barely a whisper.

I rise and stretch, struggling to pull my eyes away from my sleeping boy. The hallway is dark except for a sliver of light leading me toward Wyatt’s room. My fingers push the door wider, revealing an oasis carved from the night.

“Wow,” slips from me as I enter. Candles flicker, their flames dancing a waltz of shadows across Wyatt’s strong features. “I thought you were on the phone. ”

“I just finished. Figured I would do something for you while you got Jasper to sleep.”

“Wyatt, you didn’t have to,” I say.

Wyatt’s arms wrap around me, pulling me close. The warmth of his body envelops me, and for a moment, the world fades. I breathe in his familiar scent—something earthy and woodsy, tinged with the faintest hint of cologne. It’s grounding, reminding me that despite the chaos swirling around us, we’re here together.

“It meant the world to me that you and Jasper came to the game tonight,” he murmurs into my hair. “Thank you.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, and it sends a shiver down my spine. Gratitude pours from him like an open tap.

I pull back slightly to look into his eyes, searching for something—understanding, reassurance, maybe even a glimpse of the man I used to know. “I wanted to be there for him… for you.” My voice trembles just a little as I admit it. It’s true. Seeing him on that ice, surrounded by all those people who adore him, reminded me of how incredible he is beneath the headlines.

He chuckles softly, but there’s an edge to it. “Even with the paparazzi hunting us down?” His brows furrow slightly at the memory of that wild scene post-game when flashes erupted around us like fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

“Even then. Plus, we’ll be old news soon enough, and they’ll move on to someone else,” I say, trying to sound upbeat. “But Jasper had fun today. That’s what matters.”

His expression softens again as he considers my words. “You’re giving us a chance, Chloe.” The sincerity in his tone makes my heart flutter and ache at the same time.

“Maybe I am,” I say slowly. It feels monumental—both exciting and terrifying all at once. We stand there in this dimly lit room, caught between what was and what could be.

As Wyatt leans closer, I notice how his jaw tightens momentarily before he relaxes again. “I appreciate it more than you know.” He pulls me in again. This time his grip feels firmer, as if anchoring both of us to this moment.

In that embrace, uncertainty mingles with hope. The closeness stirs something deep within me—a desire to trust again, but tempered by caution after everything we’ve been through together.

“I want to make things right,” he adds softly, sincerity etched in his gaze as he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes again. Each word wraps around me like a promise—or maybe just another weight on my shoulders.

“Let’s take it one step at a time,” I suggest cautiously.

Wyatt nods slowly. “Follow me.”

We head into his master bathroom, where we’re greeted with the bath he’s drawn. The water’s surface mirrors a quiet reflection of shared desire for some kind of peace.

“Come on, get in,” he urges. It’s not just an offer—it’s permission to let go, if only for a while.

I nod, feeling the weight of the day begin to dissolve in the promise of those steam-filled swirls.

As I inch closer, Wyatt’s hands are gentle, easing away each layer of fabric between me and the warm embrace of the water waiting below. Each brush of his fingers raises goosebumps, his touch a mixture of comfort and anticipation.

“Are you going to assist me the whole way?” I quip lightly as he steadies me.

A smirk tugs at his lips, eyes lighting up with a playful spark. “Actually, I was thinking of joining you.” His words send a different warmth through me, one not born of the steam in the room. “If that’s okay with you? ”

“So it’s that kind of bath,” I reply, a soft smile spreading despite the weariness of the day—a silent thank you for his thoughtfulness.

Wyatt nods, holding my gaze as I lower myself into the water, letting the heat envelop me in its soothing caress. I close my eyes, allowing the lavender scent to sink into my senses.

The soft sound of fabric hitting the floor pulls my attention, and I open my eyes to see Wyatt, his form a study in strength and quiet intensity. He slips into the water opposite me, the liquid rising around us in a gentle wave.

Our eyes meet across the expanse of the bath, and the rest of the world—with its chaos and demands—falls away, leaving just the two of us in this tranquil space.

Wyatt’s hands glide over my arms, the soapy lather mingling with water, leaving trails of warmth in its wake. I return the gesture, my hands skimming across his chest, feeling the solidness beneath a light layer of bubbles. We share quiet chuckles, his low and resonant, mine light and soft—a duet to the gentle splashes surrounding us.

“Missed a spot,” he murmurs, brushing a stray bubble from my nose. Our laughter fades, leaving a charged silence between us, an invitation unspoken. I lean in, drawn to the warmth of his steady flame, and our mouths meet, tender at first, then deepening as urgency takes over.

I press closer, the water buoying us, creating a sensation like floating in a place where only touch and taste exist. His hands roam with intent, tracing every curve, and as I shift above him, our shared gasp fills the air as he slides into me, anchoring us in this moment.

A soft moan slips from my lips as heat envelops me, his hands cradling me with strength and tenderness. Each movement stirs the water, sending ripples that lap against our skin, drawing us closer with each wave.

“God, you’re perfect, Chloe,” he breathes, his voice a low, velvet rumble that vibrates through every fiber of me.

His lips trail a path down my neck, igniting my damp skin with every kiss. I close my eyes, savoring the pull of his mouth, each gentle tug sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. My fingers dig into his shoulders, using him as my anchor as I move with purpose, seeking that peak of bliss.

“More,” I breathe into the steam, and he answers with action, his desire clear in every touch .

The water sloshes around us in a rhythm that matches our own, and for these moments, everything else—the worries, the whispers, the world—fades away. It’s just us, here and now, lost in the depths of each other.

“Chloe,” he whispers, his voice hushed and thick with need. His hands grip my hips, his strength reverberating across my skin, guiding me deeper into this dance of flesh and water. I brace my hands on the tub’s edge, the cool porcelain a sharp contrast to the heat between us, grounding me as his body drives me toward that final, frenzied edge.

“Is this how you want to come, beautiful?” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear.

“Fuck, yes,” I gasp, the words barely forming as my mind frays with pleasure. His affirmation comes not in words but in action—a surge of power from his hips, his thrusts deepening, driving me toward that edge.

“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs, and it’s as if he speaks directly to my soul, commanding it to unravel. Then it does, and my climax crashes over me, obliterating thought in a wave of light and sensation.

He doesn’t stop. His movements carry us higher, unyielding, until he shudders, a low groan muffled against my neck as he reaches his release. We tremble together, our bodies molded into one by shared ecstasy, his slowing pace lulling me toward a profound sense of calm.

Finally, stillness settles over us like dew on morning grass. I collapse against his chest, his heartbeat a steady, grounding lullaby after the storm of our passion.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, pressing his lips to my neck.

I exhale slowly, a mix of exhaustion and contentment. “Drained. Partly from the media whirlwind, and partly… because of you.”

He laughs. “Today was a lot.” Wyatt’s arms tighten around me, the water’s gentle ripples a reminder of the day’s turbulence. Yet here, in his embrace, there’s a sense of calm.

“Mark and I were on the phone for over an hour, and I still feel like we’re barely scratching the surface of who might be behind all this.”

“The truth will come out eventually,” I say, trying to sound as steady as I feel in his arms. “I have faith.”

“And in the meantime? How do we handle it?” he asks, a hint of frustration lacing his voice.

I shift slightly, the slickness of our skin a contrast to the emotional rawness that has marked the hours before. “You’re forgetting I have media training too,” I reply, trying to match his steady tone while my heart still races from earlier passions and worries. “Although it is a lot easier when your client isn’t… you.”

“I can only imagine,” he admits, and I feel the vibration of his words as his lips press against my forehead. It’s a simple touch, but it holds the weight of unspoken promises and shared struggles.

“Thank you for this,” I murmur into the space between us, my gratitude mingling with the lavender-scented steam that lingers around us.

“Anything for you,” he says, pulling me tighter. His heartbeat is a steady drum beneath my ear, a rhythm that speaks of resilience and comfort. “We’re in this together. Always.”

Though the warmth of his arms and the soothing fragrance envelop us now, a whisper of hope stirs within me. Whatever the future holds, I want to believe this serenity we’ve found in each other’s arms can withstand what’s ahead.