Page 36 of One Pucking Secret
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 itwasimportant.”
“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, shekept 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?”
