Page 44 of One Pucking Secret
We reach Wyatt’s luxury SUV, a sleek machine that seems almost out of place in the lot full of family minivans. With natural ease, Wyatt secures Jasper in the backseat, ensuring his small form is snug and safe in the booster seat.
The door closes with a soft click, and I slide into the passenger seat, my body sinking into the plush leather. As Wyatt starts the engine, the hum of the vehicle melds with the quiet evening air, wrapping us in a cocoon as we leave behind the lights of Disneyland.
I’m roused from my half-sleep by a gentle nudge, Wyatt’s touch tentative, but firm.
“Chloe, we’re here,” he says softly.
Blinking awake, I turn to see Jasper, fast asleep in the backseat. The soft light of the stars filters through the window, casting a faint glow over his midnight black hair. His small chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, completely at peace.
Wyatt’s already outside, circling the vehicle to Jasper’s door. The click of the seatbelt sounds sharp in the quiet night, and Wyatt gently lifts him out, careful not to wake him. Jasper shifts slightly in Wyatt’s arms but stays asleep, his head resting on Wyatt’s shoulder.
“Want to come up?” I ask as I stretch my legs, shaking off the stiffness from the drive. “It’s been a long day. You can join us for dinner before heading back.”
Wyatt hesitates, the lines of indecision playing across his face—a face that’s softened since this morning. “Yeah, alright,” he finallyanswers, the reluctance in his voice battling with something else, maybe the echo of our laughter spilling down Main Street hours earlier.
We head inside, our shadows elongating on the pavement, blending together like watercolors at dusk.
The scent of stirfry lingers in the air as I clear away the remnants of our hasty meal. The kitchen feels cozy, a soft glow from the overhead light bathing us in warmth.
“Wyatt, can you help me get ready for bed?” Jasper’s small voice breaks the comfortable quiet.
“Sure, kiddo,” Wyatt responds with an easy smile that reaches his blue eyes, making them twinkle like stars above Tomorrowland.
“Jasper, can you take Wyatt to your bedroom and pick out something to wear tonight?”
He nods. “Okay, Mommy.” He gestures for Wyatt to follow him. “My room is this way.”
“Let’s find you some nice pajamas, yeah?” Wyatt’s tone is gentle, an adorable change from the commanding presence I’m used to on theice rink. He and Jasper disappear into Jasper’s room, their voices a muted hum down the hall.
I exhale slowly, picking up the last plate and sliding it into the dishwasher with a clink. Moving to the bathroom, I turn knobs until the water runs warm but not too hot, just how Jasper likes it. The steam rises in soft curls, fogging up the mirror above the sink.
Jasper pads into the bathroom, his steps muffled by the thick bath mat.
“I can take over from here,” I tell Wyatt, who stands in the doorway, a silent guardian. His arms are crossed, but there’s a softness in his demeanor that wasn’t there this morning.
“We’ll make it quick tonight,” I say to Jasper, who nods agreeably, already tugging off his shirt with little hands. Wyatt lingers for a moment longer before retreating shutting the door behind him, his shadow slipping away from the sliver of light under the door.
Later, in Jasper’s bedroom, my boy sits cross-legged on his bed, freshly bathed, pajama-clad, and breath minty.
“What book did you pick out with Wyatt?” I ask, brushing a damp lock of hair from his forehead.
“Star Wars,” Jasper declares, holding up the book with a grandeur worthy of a Jedi knight presenting his lightsaber.
“Mommy, you can take a break while Wyatt and I read. It’s important to take breaks.” There’s a seriousness in Jasper’s tone that belies his seven years, a mimicry so accurate it brings a laugh bubbling out of me.
Wyatt chuckles, ruffling Jasper’s hair affectionately. “I taught him that today.”
“Did you now?” I tease, standing up from the bed. “Well, if you’re sure you both have it covered without me, I’ll come to say goodnight in a bit.”
I step out of the room, the low cadence of Wyatt’s reading drifting after me. I head to the living room, straight for the bookshelf at the far end of the room. I slide the heavy scrapbook from the shelf, its cover worn from years of tracing fingers over embossed letters.
The spine creaks as I open it to the first page—a sonogram picture, a tiny inkblot that held the promise of Jasper’s life. Across the apartment, Wyatt’s voice dips and swells with the rhythm of the story, each word a gentle tug on the heartstrings of childhood dreams.
“Goodnight, little Jedi,” I hear him murmur, and see him closing the book with soft reverence as I step back into Jasper’s bedroom.
In the dim light of Jasper’s room, I lean over and brush my lips against his forehead, his breaths even and deep in the realm of sleep. “Sweet dreams, my love.”
I turn to Wyatt, who rises.
