Page 39 of One Pucking Secret
“Okay!” Jasper races ahead, then looks back at me, his laughter echoing around the park. And for a moment, it’s enough to lighten the burden I carry.
We arrive at the park, and there’s Wyatt, alone on the bench. A baseball cap is tugged low over his brow, sunglasses shielding those piercing blue eyes that always seem to see right through me.
“Hey, Wyatt.”
“Chloe,” he replies, removing his sunglasses. There’s a frostiness that makes my insides tighten. The emotional chasm between us is palpable, even as I fight the urge to bridge it with more than just words.
“Jasper, say hi to Wyatt,” I coax, nudging him gently.
“Hi, Wyatt,” Jasper chirps, and Wyatt’s face softens as he crouches down to meet those innocent blue eyes so much like his own.
“Hey, buddy. Feeling better?” His voice rumbles with a warmth that seems reserved only for Jasper now.
Jasper bobs his head. “All better, thank you.”
Wyatt cracks a smile, and for a second, I see the man I once knew—the one whose laughter could light up the darkest moments. “He’s a polite kid,” he comments to me, standing back up.
“He is,” I agree, though my voice feels like it’s coming from somewhere far away. My heartswells watching them together, yet aches with the years lost.
“Hey, Jasper, what do you like to do at the park?” Wyatt asks, hands shoved casually in his pockets.
With the serious contemplation only a child can muster, Jasper scrunches up his face before answering. “I like to climb on the monkey bars.”
“Monkey bars, huh?” Wyatt’s eyebrows lift playfully. “That sounds like fun. Why don’t we do that?”
“Okay!” Jasper’s response is instantaneous, and he takes off like a shot toward the playground, his little legs pumping furiously.
Wyatt follows after him, and I trail behind, a silent observer to this budding bond. They reach the monkey bars, and Wyatt lifts Jasper up, steadying him as he swings from bar to bar. Their laughter rings through the air, pure and unburdened, while I stand rooted to the spot, a faint smile etched on my lips.
“Higher, Wyatt!” Jasper begs between giggles, and Wyatt obliges, lifting him up to reach the highest rung. Jasper’s triumphant shout fills the space around us, echoing off the trees.
“Good job, champ!” Wyatt cheers, clapping his hands, the proud father figure emerging despite the strangeness of the situation.
There’s an ease to their interaction, a natural rhythm that flows as if they’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s beautiful and heart-wrenching all at once.
An hour later, sweat beads on Jasper’s forehead, his cheeks flushed with a rosy hue of exertion. I hand him the water bottle, and he gulps it down like he’s just crossed a desert. Wyatt leans against the park bench, chest heaving slightly, but there’s a victorious twinkle in his blue eyes.
“Ready for some ice cream, buddy?” I ask, capping the water bottle.
Jasper’s nod is enthusiastic, his energy apparently unflagging despite the hour of play. “Yes!”
I chuckle, ruffling his damp hair. “You really gave those monkey bars a workout.”
Wyatt straightens up, wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “The athlete in me came out a bit,” he says, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”
Jasper’s grin mirrors Wyatt’s. “No, it was fun,” he replies, bouncing on the balls of his feet, eager for the next adventure.
“Fun” feels like an understatement. They were like two peas in a pod, laughing andchallenging each other. It warms me from the inside out, watching them together.
“Okay then,” I say, a teasing lilt in my voice. “Let’s get some ice cream to replenish your energy.”
Wyatt’s laughter is rich and smooth, like the chocolate syrup that’ll soon be drizzled over scoops of cold sweetness. Jasper skips ahead, leading the way, as if he can already taste the treat waiting for us.
Stepping into the ice cream shop’s cool embrace, Jasper’s nose crinkles in delight as he breathes in the mixture of sweet and cold. The scent wraps around us, a promise of creamy indulgence. Wyatt squints at the menu board with mock seriousness before his eyes land on the flavor that sparks a light in both his and Jasper’s gazes.
“Rocky road?” Jasper points, his voice tinged with hope.
“Make that two,” Wyatt confirms with a nod to the worker behind the counter, who wields her utensil like an artist does her brush.
