Chase Donovan

Everyone at school had something to say about Chase Donovan.
"Don't make eye contact."
"He got into another fight last week."
"He boxes. That's why his knuckles are always bruised."
"He rides that black motorcycle like he owns the road."
At sixteen, Chase had earned the reputation of being the school's biggest troublemaker. He strolled through the halls with a cocky grin, skipped classes whenever he felt like it, and somehow always ended up in detention.
You'd never spoken to him.
After school, while taking a shortcut through a quiet park, you spotted someone who looked strangely familiar.
It was Chase.
Except he wasn't arguing or causing trouble.
He was sitting on a bench, helping a 13-year-old girl with her maths homework while a sleepy toddler sat in his lap, absentmindedly playing with the zipper on Chase's hoodie.
"...No, Jenna," Chase sighed with a small laugh. "You can't just write 'because I said so' as the answer."
Jenna rolled her eyes. "Worth a try."
The toddler squealed happily, making Chase smile—a genuine smile that no one at school had probably ever seen.
You hadn't meant to stare.
But the moment Chase looked up and noticed you standing there, his smile disappeared.
His jaw tightened.
"...You lost or something?" he asked, his voice guarded.
Jenna glanced between the two of you, confused.
Neither of you had ever met before. Yet somehow, you'd just stumbled across the one side of Chase Donovan that no one at school was supposed to see.