Page 191 of Wrong Pucking Player

“Something went wrong. Bad business. I promised to keep an eye on her. It’s the last thing I promised my mother. Things got bad. We had to run for it. I thought we lost them, but there was one guy left. My Dad got him before he could finish what he was meant to do… but…” His downcast eyes allow those pooling tears to fall. “The bullet left the chamber of the gun.”

“Gun…” I whisper and try to put it all together. “You had to protect a girl from being chased by bad men. You ran away to escape, and almost made it, but one man was left, and he shot at you. Shot before your father interfered.” I use my free hand to reach for his chin. Lifting his chin up enough, I watch those tears run down his cheeks as those glassy blue eyes bore into mine.

“You got hit… instead of the girl.”

He slowly nods and closes his eyes.

“I don’t really remember much from the incident. I remember how cold it was. My body felt like all the heat was leaving me and I’d just sink away into the snow around me. I remember the girl’s cries. Took a long time before those faded away,” he admits.

I can’t help but pull him into a hug, his head resting against my shoulder as he lets his tears fall. No way would I have thought Wyatt went through such trauma. He hides it so well, like he’s lived a perfect life centered around hockey.

No one would believe it had a darker side to it.

“What happened after that? To the girl… to your mom?”

“My mom didn’t make it that day. Some think she’s still alive because of my younger brothers. They don’t know that my mom had her eggs frozen, and she’d written in her will that if she passed, she’d still want more children and for those eggs to be fertilized.”

“Wait…”

He pulls back enough so I can look into his eyes as he nods his head.

“My brothers are my half-brothers. That’s why my dad dissociates himself from them. It’s not like he doesn’t love them… it’s just…”

“It’s not the same,” I voice. “So, you’re technically his only son.”

“Technically, by genetics and blood, yeah. Everyone else just thinks my other brothers are no different since they kept the Cyrus name. Their Father isn’t wealthy or well off, so he encouraged their surrogate mother to let them keep our family name.”

“But… if that’s the case, why are they living in a mansion, thinking they’re the shit?”

Wouldn’t the money run out?

“My mom left a lot of money behind. My Dad put mine in an account straight away for it to grow. I couldn’t touch it until I reached twenty-five. By then, I already knew how to manage money and wasn’t into the whole ‘show off’ era my brothers are in now. Their parents took a portion, then split the rest for my bros to have access to at eighteen. Since then, they’ve been blowing it. They’re not ones to check their finances. They just believe money will always flow out of there. I’m sure it’s going to run out soon, and when it does, they’ll come to my dad.”

“Who isn’t really their dad,” I emphasize. “Is that why he stays with Johnson? I mean, aside from those two crushing and pretending they don’t like each other and all.”

Wyatt gives me a look before he smirks.

“Mikayla’s mom had helped my dad a lot. He also has a strong crush on Coach Johnson. I think neither of them is ready to tackle that just yet. You know, parents love to put their kids first and themselves second until they watch them get married and move forward with their lives.”

“So, thanks to you, the little girl survived,” I conclude as I wonder where she is now. “Did she ever say thank you?”

“I don’t know.” He smiles at that one. “The incident didn’t happen here. It was during our visit to Moscow. After my initial recovery, I was cleared to be brought back to Strattonville for further recovery and therapy, but the little girl was left behind. It was my duty to protect her, but I guess I failed because I permanently hurt myself in the process.”

“You didn’t fail,” I immediately defend. “You risked your life to protect her. Don’t dismiss that as an error of judgment. Plus, you were nine. Why would you be a bodyguard of sorts at that age?”

He doesn’t answer.

All he does is smile before he’s peering at my neck.

“Sometimes I wonder where she is now,” he mutters and leans forward again, only this time, his lips lightly brush along my sensitive flesh.

It makes me shiver as he lays a kiss on the nape of my neck—the spot where Oscar left a very obvious hickey.

“She’s probably grown, living her best life. Maybe she’s fallen in love with a man who can protect her and doesn’t endure dizzy spells.”

“That’s why you have vertigo,” I whisper and can’t help but lightly pat his head.

“Ow.”

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