Page 67 of Pucking Secret

“Hey,” I finally reply, choking on the word as conflicting emotions swirl through me. She looks so pretty in her thrown-together outfit. I want to grab her, kiss her, rip those clothes off, and slam the door in her face — all at once. I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I ask, “What are you doing here?”

She hesitates a moment, her eyes darting around nervously, before asking, “Can I come in? I… think we should talk.”

Swallow, I nod and step to the side to give her room to come through the door.

“All right.”

With tentative steps, she walks inside. I shut the door behind us and we silently make our way to the living room. Sitting on opposite ends of the couch, the quiet stretches between us, the tension thick and awkward. I don’t know what to feel right now, let alone say.

At length, I murmur, “How’s your grandma?”

She blinks, seemingly caught off-guard by the question.

“She’s doing well,” she assures me. “I stopped in to see her before I came here. She’s exhausted and weak, but the doctor says she should be just fine. She had surgery to put a stent in, and that went well.”

Relief washes over me. “I’m really glad to hear that.”

“Thank you.”

Silence settles between us again, and this time I don’t break it. I wait to see how she wants to begin the real conversation we need to have.

At length, she clears her throat and murmurs, “I needed to come over and… and explain, um… everything.”

“Okay,” I nod, but I don’t say anything more, letting her continue to take the lead.

She gazes down at her hands, her fingers twisting together nervously in her lap.

“I wanted to tell you about Millie,” she says softly. “Really… ever since you came to Denver. I’ve just been so scared that you would take her away, or that you wouldn’t want anything to do with her, and?—”

“Why would you think that?” I ask, stunned by her words. They hit me like a physical blow. Does she really think that little of me? Why?

She tilts her head and appears thoughtful. She doesn’t say anything. Her silence is more than I can bear, especially after what she just confessed to thinking about me, so I blurt out my feelings.

“Why didn’t you tell me when you found out you were pregnant?” I say. “Why keep this from me for so long to begin with?”

To my surprise, she jerks her gaze up to meet mine, her eyes blazing with sudden anger.

“I tried!” she exclaims. “I called you that day I took the test. I left you a voicemail telling you how much I needed you.Younever called me back. I’m assuming you didn’t even listen to it, or didn’t get it somehow, because it’s obvious now you had no idea about Millie. All these years, though… for all these years I thought youdidhear it and had just left me behind to raise our baby, without a word. And the next day after I tried to call you, you weren’t at school and I went to your house, but you were gone! I tried to call and text you, but your phone was off for so long, and don’t even get me started on that fucking letter…”

Suddenly, it clicks. Son of a bitch! I know exactly why I didn’t get her voicemail.

“I swear to you, Stacey, I didn’t get your message,” I say, my anger toward her beginning to drain. “I didn’t even know you called.”

Her jaw tightens, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Can you tell me how you missed it, exactly? I want to believe you, but I left you a voicemail, Owen. I told you I was pregnant. I told you everything. And then… nothing. Not a word from you. If it wasn’t for how you’ve been since you’ve been back, frankly, I wouldn’t believe you.”

I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. I picture Gerald holding my phone away from me. What did that fucker say, when he stole my future away?

“New life, new phone.”Those were the words.

Rage burns through me, scorching my veins as it heats my blood. All these years, a single fucking voicemail would’ve changed everything for me and Stacey. If I had only taken my phone with me when I went upstairs the night Gerald and Mom told me they were getting married. That fucker would never have gotten his hands on it.

The audacity of that asshole. The entitlement. He really thought he could lie to me, control me, and keep me away from my child and the woman I love.

I sigh. “Listen, Gerald took my phone before he dragged my ass to Canada. When I finally did get it back, there were no message. All I can say is that he must have seen the voicemail and deleted it. Then, when I tried to call you, your number was disconnected. I thought you had blocked me.”

She blinks, her brow furrowing in confusion. Her lips part but she doesn’t say anything. Maybe she’s too shocked. It seems like everything we thought about each other back then is evaporating into thin air.

“My life was hell back then,” I continue, my voice thick. “Gerald controlled everything—where I went, who I talked to, what I did. I hated him. I hated what my life became. I had no say, no control. The only thing I could do was put on a show.Pretend I was happy, pretend I was okay, just to keep my mom from falling apart.”

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