Page 16 of One Pucking Secret
There’s a gravity to his words as he speaks to the teens, a sincerity that draws a silent circle around them. I feel the truth of it settle in the space between us, an unexpected bridge.
“Plus,” a boy with a crew cut interjects, “everyone knows Wyatt’s one of the least penalized players. You hardly ever fight on the ice, right?”
“Only when the other guy starts it,” Wyatt replies with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Exactly.” The boy nods, looking around at the others, as if this settles everything.
I make a mental note to verify Wyatt’s penalty stats. My PR instinct twitches. There’s more to this story, layers I’m only now beginning to peel back.
“Alright, everyone, time to head out,” Wyatt announces, his voice echoing through the gymnasium.
The sound of laughter and chatter fills the air as the kids begin to gather their belongings, a flurry of activity marking the end of the day’s events. They move like a small, energetic wave toward the lobby and then out into theparking lot. The gym gradually empties, the noise dissipating into the cool evening air, though a few kids still linger.
“These kids really look up to you, don’t they?” I comment, genuinely impressed. Wyatt’s connection with them is clear—he’s more than just a coach or mentor, he’s a significant presence in their lives.
“I’ve made a point of getting to know each of them since I started volunteering here. Malik’s a senior, headed to Long Beach on a basketball scholarship,” Wyatt replies with a hint of pride.
He nods toward a girl still tying her shoelaces by the bleachers. “That’s Emily. Lost her dad a couple of years ago, but she’s one of the toughest kids I know. She’s got a hell of a shot too.”
It’s touching, really, to see this side of him—a side that’s not just about hockey or his public image. He’s invested in these kids, their lives, their futures.
I can’t help but feel a newfound respect for Wyatt. It’s a side of him the media doesn’t see, a contrast to the persona often portrayed. “Hey, need a hand?” I offer, stepping forward to help clean up the remnants of the day.
“Sure,” he answers without turning, gathering basketballs into a bin. I grab a dry mop to run over the court.
“So, why volunteer work? You could be doing anything with your free time,” I probe, watching as he stacks cones with meticulous care.
He shrugs, a motion that seems too casual for the weight of his words. “Places like this… they were my refuge growing up. Every city I’ve lived in, I try to give back.”
“Because of hockey?” I venture, leaning on the mop.
“Because of life,” he corrects me, meeting my gaze squarely. “Hockey was just a part of it.”
There’s a story there, written in the lines of his face, in the way he handles each piece of equipment—a respect for humble beginnings. I find myself recalibrating, the sharp edges I assigned to Wyatt Banks blurring into softer shades of gray.
“Thanks for helping today. Ready to head out?”
“Sure,” I reply, echoing his earlier response, and realizing with a jolt that there’s more to Wyatt Banks than I thought—more than I was prepared for.
The evening chill bites at my skin as we step out of the community center, the sky a canvas of deep indigo. Wyatt’s presence beside me is a solid heat, an unspoken challenge to the night’s cold whisper.
“Still playing the stranger game, Chloe?” he murmurs, his voice low in the quiet that wraps around us as he joins me at my side.
I pull my jacket tighter, feigning indifference. “What do you mean?”
He moves closer, and I catch the faint scent of his cologne—a soothing blend of pine and something indefinably warm. The proximity sends a shiver down my spine, one not born of the cold. “Need a reminder?” His tone is teasing, but there’s something serious beneath it.
My heart stumbles, traitorous and frantic. I should push him away, make some snarky remark, but the way his gaze locks onto mine makes the words dissolve before they can form. “There’s nothing to remember—”
Before I can finish, his lips are on mine. It’s a collision of heat and sensation, a kiss I shouldn’t want but can’t resist. My resolve crumbles, and in that split second, all I can think is how much I want this. His hand slides to the small of my back, pulling me closer, and instead of pushinghim away, I lean into him, drawn by the force of what’s always been there between us.
But just as quickly as it started, he pulls back, leaving me swaying in the sudden absence of his touch. He opens my car door with a gentle nudge, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Goodnight, Chloe.”
My name falls from his lips like a velvet caress, and the sound unravels something inside me—something I thought I’d buried a long time ago. Flushed and breathless, I slide into the driver’s seat, but I can’t escape the way he said it, like it was a promise, a memory, a secret only we share.
It takes me back to a time when I let myself believe we could be something more. But that was eight years ago. A different world. A different me. And a different Wyatt—one who disappeared, leaving me to pick up the pieces.
But now?
