Page 11 of Pucking Secret

Honestly, I haven’t had any real, long-term romantic interest in a woman since I was eighteen years old, but that’s another subject.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Gerald shrugs, giving my phone back to me. “You and Elise make a perfect couple. Attractive, successful, and she comes from a good family. The Richardsons are major players in the real estate market. A merger with them would be incredibly lucrative for our own company.”

I clench my fingers around my phone so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t crack. Of course he’s viewing this as an opportunity for his family’s company. That’s all he ever cares about. Everything he does is to push him further up the hierarchy of Weston Enterprises, while trying to beat out his two older brothers for control.

His current strategy is the most disgusting one yet. For the past few years, every situation that he’s manipulated around me has revolved around the idea of producing a grandchild for him. His true heir, basically. If I have a kid and he makes that kid into “his” grandchild, he will secure the succession, like some medieval royal bullshit. That child will inherit the whole company when they come of age. And Elise’s family’s company too, apparently.

“You can’t force me to marry someone just to push your corporate agenda,” I say through gritted teeth. “If I get married and have kids, it’s going to be with a woman I choose for myself.”

I don’t mention that I chose that woman a long time ago, but then fucked things up royally when I didn’t fight harder to stay with her or even insist on saying goodbye face-to-face. It’s been seven years since I’ve seen Stacey Dixon, but I’ve never been able to get over her. I had planned on being with her forever, so beingripped away from her as suddenly as I was has left a massive amount of unresolved baggage that I’ve been carrying around ever since.

“You are not a regular man, Owen,” Gerald insists. “You are part of the Weston family, and with that name comes certain expectations and responsibilities.”

“I’m not a Weston,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m a Scott, and that’s never going to change.”

He sighs, clearly irritated, and replies, “Legally, you are a Weston. I adopted you, so you are my son and I expect you to act like it. That means making the occasional personal sacrifice for the sake of the family.”

When I first moved to Vancouver, I didn’t know that the age of majority is actually nineteen—not eighteen, like in the States. That meant that, legally speaking, Gerald could still adopt me without it being considered an adult adoption, and he wasted no time in doing so… and with Mom’s consent.

“You’re not my father. I don’t care what a piece of paper says.” I pause to take a deep breath so I don’t lose the last of my control and do something physical that I’ll definitely regret. “However, I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me since you married my mom. I’ve maintained a certain image in public. I’ve let you have influence in my career, and I let you drag me away from my life in Wisconsin to come here. I have been the perfect Weston son, but this is too far, Gerald. I’m not doing it. I’m not marrying Elise.”

His eyes narrow and anger sparks in their depths. “Do you understand what is at stake here, Owen? My brothers have two children between them, but no grandchildren. Your cousin Marcus and his wife cannot have children, given her ovarian cancer necessitating a full hysterectomy. Your cousin Ashley seems content to party away her life and never settle down. That means the future of this family and our company rests entirelyonyourshoulders. I understand that you don’t wish to be part of the company yourself, and I’ve been supportive of your hockey career, but the Westons need a grandchild, and… regrettably, perhaps, you need to be the one to give us one. You can’t simply ignore that fact.”

The way he explains it almost seems reasonable, but I know better. If he can have the first grandchild, that means he can control the future of the company. Never mind that I’m not his biological son, that Marcus and his wife could decide to adopt, or even that Ashley could settle down one day and decide to have a family of her own. None of that will matter if his grandchild is the first. Especially a grandchild that will also secure a business merger. I can’t stand this archaic bullshit.

As for him supporting my career, I know he’s only done so to increase his appeal and put him more firmly in the spotlight. Every game I’ve played with the Vancouver Canucks, he’s been there in the stands. Watching me isn’t his priority. It’s beingseenwatching me. Playing the part of a supportive stepfather for the media. Showing off his superstar stepson with the squeaky-clean reputation.

I’m so sick of it all—of being used as a pawn in his games, of bending over backwards to keep this asshole happy so that he keeps making my mom happy.

I’m done letting him control every move I make, and soon, I’ll be so far away, out of his reach.

“How do you expect this engagement to happen when I’m about to move to the States?” I ask, switching tactics to convince him to drop the issue. “This time next month, I’ll be in Denver, starting my contract with the Night Hawks. I can’t exactly play the doting fiancé from Colorado, eh?”

Gerald’s jaw clenches. Now he looks pissed.

“There’s no reason you need to go to Colorado,” he growls. “If you didn’t insist on being so damn stubborn, you would see that it’s better for you to stay here in Vancouver with your family.”

Not my family. The only reason I’ve put up with Gerald and toed the line all this time has been for my mother’s sake. After my dad died, she wasn’t the same. She became more… fragile. Depressed and afraid of the world.

When Gerald came along, I thought he was someone who would be able to help her heal and get her spark back, but I was wrong. She became dependent on him to the point where I don’t think she knows how to be a full, independent individual anymore. Since I don’t want to upset her or send her spiraling, I’ve put up with Gerald’s shit and have been the good stepson, doing what I’m told.

I’m sick of it.

“Colorado is a great opportunity for my career,” I insist. “And the contract is only for a year.”

I throw that last bit in to try and deescalate this particular argument. Gerald is more willing to let me leave if he thinks there’s a hard deadline for my return.

“Then you and Elise will simply have a long-distance engagement,” he states matter-of-factly. “When you return, we’ll have the wedding.”

“Gerald, you’re not listening to me!”

“What’s going on?” My mother's frantic voice suddenly bounces through the foyer and Gerald and I both look up the stairs to find her standing at the landing’s railing. She’s gazing down at us with wide hazel eyes and an expression on the verge of panic. My mother is a beautiful woman, who looks much younger than her sixty years. She keeps her short hair dyed blonde to hide any encroaching grays, and she works out regularly to maintain her elegant, slim figure. Yet, as healthy and robust as she appears on the outside, she’s like a crackedporcelain doll on the inside. “Are you two fighting again? You know I hate it when you fight.”

Releasing a long breath, I shake my head and keep my voice even as I answer, “We’re not fighting, Mom. We’re just discussing some decisions Gerald has made for me that I disagree with.”

“It’s about his engagement, dear,” Gerald tells her.

Her expression shifts in an instant and her lips curl into a wide smile. “Oh, wonderful! I’m so excited, Owen. Elise is a wonderful girl.”

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