Page 43 of Pucking Secret

“I don’t mind staying,” Owen interjects in a calm tone, glancing between the two of us. “If it’ll help her feel even a little bit better, I can hang out for a bit.”

I meet his gaze and sigh. “Owen, you don’t have to…”

“Come on, Owen!” Millie says, grabbing his hands and pulling him into the house. “This way.”

He steps through the door and moves past me as Millie drags him to the stairs.

“You go on and get cleaned up,” he says over his shoulder. “I’ll get a bath started for Millie.”

“Woah, hey!” I exclaim, shutting the front door and hurrying after him. “You don’t need to do that.”

He pauses on the stairs and gives me a half-grin. “I know I don’t need to. I want to. Go change, and then come find us, okay?”

Owen doesn’t wait for me to answer and bounds up the stairs. I watch him, dumbfounded, until he disappears around the corner into the hallway. Releasing a long sigh of defeat, I trudge up the stairs myself. and head to my bedroom.

“Let me at least grab a swimsuit for her,” I say when I reach them just outside the bathroom door.

“Sure thing,” Owen nods. I take Millie’s hand and walk her to her bedroom, quickly changing her into a one-piece before taking her back to Owen. For some reason, I have no concerns about leaving Millie alone with him. Even though he doesn’t know she’s his daughter, I know he’ll be good with her. I trust him with Millie, which is kind of ironic since I can’t seem to trust him with the truth just yet.

He’s got the tub filling with warm water and bubbles.

“I got this,” he assures me. “Now, seriously, go and get cleaned up yourself. We’ll be right here when you’re done.”

“All right,” I say, glancing down at Millie. “You be good, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“I will, Mommy!” she replies.

I leave them to it and go to my room to make myself feel a little more human. A few minutes later, I step out of the bedroom in fresh clothes, my hair pulled back and neat, and my nerves still on edge. I sigh, rubbing my temples as I make my way to the bathroom. The door is slightly ajar, warm lightspilling out into the dim hallway. I push it open, and the sight that greets me stops me in my tracks.

Owen is kneeling by the bathtub, his sleeves rolled up, his hair a little disheveled. Millie sits in the water, her tiny frame dwarfed by bubbles. She’s resting her head against the side of the tub, her eyes half-closed as Owen gently runs a washcloth over her face.

“She’s almost done,” he says softly, not even glancing back at me. “I didn’t make the water too warm. Figured it’d help bring her fever down a bit.”

I lean against the doorframe. I don’t say anything. Seeing him like this—with Millie, with that care and focus—it’s something I wasn’t prepared for.

“She was fussy at first,” he says, turning back to her, “but the bubbles distracted her.” He smiles. It’s tender and makes my heart ache. “Classic kid move.”

I blink, trying to figure out what to say. “You didn’t have to go this far. I told you I had it.”

He nods, still calm. “I know you did, Stace, but you’ve been doing it alone all night. Let me help.”

I’ve been doing it alone for seven years, except for Gram. Nights like this one were easier when she was around. She was as much a comfort to me as she was to Millie. Tonight has only made me fully realize how much I miss her. How much I’ve depended on her support in raising Millie. Honestly, I’m terrified to do this alone. I thought I could do it, no problem, but having Owen here, taking on some of the stress and care is more of a relief than I really want to admit.

“She’s burning up,” he adds, wringing out the washcloth before gently running it over Millie’s forehead. “Reminds me of when I’d get sick as a kid. My dad always did this.”

Something about the way he says it, low and reflective, makes me take a step closer. “Your dad?”

He nods, his hands never stopping their careful movements. “Yeah. You remember that he was a doctor, right? He’d be the one who took care of me whenever I got sick as a kid. He’d give me baths, stay up at night with me, and make sure I took my medicine.”

I smile. “I hear that.”

Owen never talked much about his dad after he passed. Losing him was too painful. His mom really didn’t take it well and never fully recovered from his loss.

After his dad passed, it seemed as though Owen took care of his mom more than she took care of him. He was always careful not to upset her and to make her happy. I even got the sense that he was afraid to upset her, as if she was made of porcelain that would crack if put under too much pressure. As a result, I don’t think he ever got to properly grieve his father, and I know how awful it was for him to go through losing him. I was there and saw the toll it took on him.

Millie finishes her bath, so I help her get dried off, and dress her in pink Barbie pajamas while Owen waits outside in the hall. When he comes back in, Owen grabs a glass of water sitting on the counter by the sink and kneels in front of Millie, coaxing her to take a few sips. I tried earlier, but she refused, turning her head away with a stubborn pout. She’s happy to take it from her favorite hockey player, though.

“Just a bit more, bug,” he says softly, his voice warm and patient. “You’ll feel better, I promise.”

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