Page 21 of One Pucking Secret
“I tried,” I murmur, my voice faltering. “I left a message with someone on his team, but I never heard back. And then… he got drafted, and his life took off. He became famous. I thought… maybe it was for the best. Maybe he didn’t want to be part of this.” I clasp my trembling hands together, steadying myself. “But now, with everything going on in his life, I’m torn.I do think he deserves to know… but what if it just makes everything worse?”
Lainey leans in, her brow furrowing with concern. “Chloe, you’ve carried this secret for so long, but Wyatt deserves the chance to be a part of Jasper’s life. He deserves to know the truth.”
I swallow hard, my throat tightening. “I know you’re right, especially now with everything that has happened between Wyatt and me. But every time I think about telling him, the fear comes rushing back. What if it ruins things for Jasper? What if Wyatt doesn’t want him?”
Lainey reaches out, her voice soft but firm. “Chloe, you’ve done so much on your own, and you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. And Wyatt? He might surprise you. People change. He has the right to know, and Jasper deserves to know his father.”
I rake a hand through my hair, a mixture of fear and guilt swirling inside me. “It’s just… so complicated.”
“I know it is,” Lainey says gently. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”
“Maybe,” I concede, my gaze drifting out the window. The Los Angeles lights blur into a mosaic of possibilities, each one a reflection of the future I’m too afraid to face.
“Maybe starts the journey,” Lainey says, her smile soft, but with an edge of steel. “You won’t know until you take that first step.”
“First steps feel like leaps off cliffs these days,” I say with a half-hearted chuckle, trying to mask the tremor in my laugh.
“Then consider me your parachute,” she replies, her hand finding mine again, a lifeline thrown across the chasm of my doubts.
I nod, taking in Lainey’s words like a balm. “I’ll think about it—about telling him. But not yet. Not with the media circling him like sharks.”
“Timing is everything,” she agrees, squeezing my hand before letting go. “Dinner was amazing, but I’m dying to watch some trashy reality TV.”
I chuckle. “Me too. Jasper never lets me watch anything that doesn’t involve superheroes or some epic space battle.”
“You’re a soldier, Chloe. Truly.”
We laugh together as we clear the dishes, the clink of ceramic filling the space, a soothing rhythm against the backdrop of my racing thoughts. Each wipe of the counter feels like an attempt to smooth out the chaos swirling inside me.
Later that night, asI settle onto the couch alone, the glow of my phone cuts through the darkness of the room. Wyatt’s name flashes on the screen, and my heart skips a beat as I open the message.
Wyatt: The interview’s set. But let’s make a deal. Have dinner with me afterward. Call it professional curiosity.
I stare at the words, my pulse quickening. Dinner with Wyatt? The thought sends a rush of nervous energy through me. Maybe this could be my chance. A part of me knows that I can’t keep avoiding the truth forever, that eventually, I’ll have to tell him about Jasper.
But even as the thought crosses my mind, uncertainty tugs at me. Am I ready for this? For what telling him might mean?
With a deep breath, I type back.
Chloe: Deal. But Wyatt, this changes nothing.
I hit send, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. Maybe this is my chance, but the fear of what could happen next is hard to ignore. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that this dinner could be more than just another meeting.
“Wyatt Banks,” I mutter, knowing full well things between us are anything but simple. This isn’t just business anymore.
Chapter 8
Wyatt
I slide into thechair across from the reporter, a forced half-smile playing on my lips. The room is small, the walls are a sterile white that seems to press in on me, and there’s a chill that seeps into my bones despite my thick sweater. I roll my shoulders, trying to shake off the unease.
“Thanks for doing this, Wyatt, especially on a Saturday evening when you could have better things to do,” the reporter says, her voice smooth, practiced.
“Let’s just get this over with,” I mutter, leaning back as I cross my arms defensively over my chest.
She presses a button on the recorder, and its red eye winks at me—a silent sentinel between us that captures every word.
From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Chloe. She’s watching us, and this evening, she looks especially stunning. She’s chosen an outfit that accentuates herfeatures perfectly, a sleek, form-fitting outfit that’s both professional and alluring. The color complements her auburn hair, which falls in soft waves around her shoulders. It’s hard not to notice how the skirt hugs her curves, and I’m reminded that our date is looming on the horizon.
