The Secret Play (Pucking Daddies #3)

26. Gemma

Chapter 26

Gemma

I sat in the stands, heart pounding as the final seconds of the game ticked away. The arena was electric, the crowd on their feet, chanting, cheering, and roaring with every pass and block. But I barely heard it.

My focus was on him.

Casey stood behind the bench, shouting commands, his face set in a mask of intensity as he directed the team. This was where he came alive, where his passion and skill met in perfect harmony. And watching him work, a surge of pride struck so fierce that it took my breath away.

He had done it.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of the game, and the arena erupted in celebration. The Fire had won. They were going to the Cup.

I clapped and cheered along with the rest of the crowd, a smile breaking across my face despite the ache that had settled in my soul ever since he’d left my place. He wasn’t ready to let me back in—not fully, and maybe never again—but that didn’t stop me from being proud of him.

The cheering crowd began to thin as fans filed out of the arena, but I stayed rooted to my seat, my eyes fixed on the ice where the team had celebrated their victory. It was empty now, like most of the stands. They’d left to clean up and go home.

I should’ve gone home, too. I could pour myself a glass of wine, and try to distract myself from the fact that Casey and I were still in this strange, painful limbo.

But I didn’t. I wanted to be there for him—in the good times and the bad.

Before I could think it through, I was on my feet, weaving my way through the crowd and out to my car. Thankfully, this wasn’t the Cup, or I’d have to deal with tailgaters and drunken fights that inevitably followed those wins. I didn’t even remember starting the engine, my mind already racing ahead to his place.

When I knocked on his door, my heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my throat. For a moment, I thought he might not answer. Hell, he might not be home yet. Had I sped all the way here for nothing?

But then the door swung open, and there he was. He looked tired, the adrenaline of the game fading, but his blue eyes still held that sharp intensity I’d seen on the ice.

“Gemma,” he said, his surprise obvious.

“Hi,” I said softly, my hands twisting together.

He stepped aside, motioning for me to come in, and I slipped past him into the warmth of his home.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” he said, closing the door behind me.

“I know,” I said, turning to face him. “I just…I wanted to see you. To talk.”

“Talk about what?”

But before I could answer, his hands were on my waist, pulling me closer until he kissed me. He knew I wasn’t here to talk. And even if I were, I would have shoved it aside for this. All the emotions I’d been holding back—the pride, the longing, the frustration, the love—spilled out as I kissed him, my fingers tangling in his hair as he pulled me flush against him. He gripped my ass, picking me up just a little, just enough to put me on edge.

We didn’t make it far before clothes started coming off, leaving a trail from the living room to the bedroom. Our kisses weren’t slow or gentle—they were heated, desperate, like we were both trying to erase the pain of the last few days with sheer physical intensity.

And for a little while, it worked.

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered between kisses.

Those words. Those damn words. They threatened to slice right through me. “No talking.” I groped him over his boxers.

He grunted and nodded once, before he pushed me backward onto the bed. I hadn’t kept up with how naked I wasn’t, until he ripped my underwear apart before diving between my legs for a snack. That man’s tongue was a gift. My heels dug into his shoulders when I crested, and I gripped his hair to keep him on target. Not that he needed the help. Maybe I just needed something of his to hold onto when he made me come on the tip of his tongue.

When I finished, he flipped me over onto my stomach and split my legs apart right before penetrating me. The weight of him on me pinned me to the spot, and I craved the feel of him like that. Solid. Grounding.

But then he pulled me onto my knees with my head still down on the pillows, and he fucked me hard that way. Our bodies smacked together, harder and faster with every thrust. I pushed back to meet him, taking as much as he could give. Only then did he find my clit with his free hand—the other hooked around the opposite hip. When he touched me there, I rocketed into the next orgasm, too tight with tension to breathe through it. A scream pealed out of me as I came, that delicious tremor riding me like a wave.

He turned me over yet again, his wet hand hooking under my jaw as he slid back into me. Not a choking hold, but a claiming one. His wordless way of telling me that I was his.

Maybe not forever. But for now, at least.

His body went stiff, and his cock swelled inside of me. It almost triggered another one for me, and just as he gasped from his own, that look on his face tipped me into it. As primal as this had been, his face was nothing but loving as he came inside of me. It shattered me, and I came so hard I thought I might pass out.

I may have.

The next thing I knew, he was spooning me. We lay snuggled in the sheets, the room quiet except for the sound of our rapid breathing. My head rested on his arm as my mind raced.

“Why did you come here, Gemma?”

I hesitated, turning around to look at him. His expression was calm, but there was something in his eyes—something guarded, almost wary—that made my chest tighten. The guilt I’d carried promised to suffocate me. But he deserved answers. “I wanted to talk. But we…skipped to the part we’re good at.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, we’re good at that.” He sighed. “If you wanted to talk, you could have said no to this.”

In theory, sure. But how do you say no to this kind of sex? The kind that tears you apart and puts you back together, the kind people go to war for. This connection was too important. It overrode my good sense.

Eventually, I said, “I know I could. Probably. One day, when I have some self-restraint around you. But I didn’t want to say no to this.”

He silently nodded.

I sat up, pulling the sheet around me as I searched for the right words. “I came here because I wanted to tell you how proud I am of you. Of what you’ve done with the team, what you’ve done for them. It’s amazing, Casey. They’re that good because of you.”

He sat up too, leaning back against the headboard with a weighty sigh. “Thanks.”

“But that’s not all.”

He glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “What else, Gemma? What is there to say?”

I bit my lip, my chest tightening. “So much.”

“Like what?” he asked, his voice hardening. “Like how you didn’t think I was worth being a father back then? How you decided for me that I didn’t deserve to know my daughter? What has changed since then?” His words stung, but I couldn’t blame him. He was right to be angry.

“Everything has changed since then, and you know it.”

He shrugged. “Do I?”

“I was wrong about you,” I said quietly, my voice trembling. “I was scared, Casey. I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t even know your name! And by the time I figured it out, I thought it was too late. But everything’s changed now. You have changed everything.”

He stared at me for a long moment, his jaw tight. “You think that makes it better?”

“No. It makes it worse,” I admitted, tears stinging my eyes. “But I’m trying, Casey. I’m trying to make it right.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his silver hair. “Gemma, I can’t…I can’t do this right now.”

I froze. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I need time,” he said, his voice tired. “Time to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life, with my career, with you.”

“I understand.” I did and I didn’t. He was hurting, and I wanted to do anything I could to fix it. But when someone asked for time, that meant they were figuring a way out, not a way in. My heart stuttered to a stop from grief. But I refused to make it his problem. I swallowed my tears down and vowed not to make him feel badly about this.

“It’s not just my career on the line. I know you used your position as Nico’s sister to secure your new job, so this puts your career at risk, too. I can’t have that. You’re a hell of a journalist, Gemma. You deserve more than what I?—”

I pressed a finger to his lips. If he had, I would have lost it right then and there. “Don’t finish that sentence. Please.”

He reached out, his hand brushing mine. “It’s not about not wanting you. It’s about not knowing how to have you without losing everything else. I can’t think around you. All I want to do is more of…well, this. Because we’re good at this, and the other stuff…I haven’t figured it out yet. I have to ask you to leave.”

Tears blurred my vision as I stood, clutching the sheet around me like a shield. “Okay.” I grabbed my clothes and some of his on my way out. Dressing while casually fleeing was not a skill I had, so I pulled on his T-shirt and my heavy sweater over it, and I did not care whatsoever if I looked undignified. My jeans went on next, followed by his socks and my shoes. By the time I was dressed, I must have looked exactly like a woman who had the hell fucked out of her and back into her.

He walked me to the door, his hand lingering on the knob as he opened it. “Take care of yourself, Gemma.”

“You too,” I said, my voice breaking.

And then I was gone, stepping out into the cool night air with my heart burning to ashes in my chest.