The Secret Play (Pucking Daddies #3)

30. Gemma

Chapter 30

Gemma

T he weight of what I was about to do pressed on my chest like a stone. Writing the truth felt right in theory, but it also meant exposing everything I’d spent years trying to protect—not just for myself, but for Winnie and Casey. I wasn’t willing to let go of the fragile connection we’d only just started to rebuild.

Things were too new to survive this kind of scrutiny, and if I didn’t have absolute faith in him, I would have thought we were doomed. But everything he did showed me who he was, as a partner to me and as a father to Winnie.

He was so good with her this morning. He had no clue what he was doing, but he made sure she took her coat, even if she wasn’t going to wear it. He cut the crusts off her sandwich, looking like it was the most fun he’d ever had while she sleepily told him about her friends at daycare. The man was born to be a dad. And now, he’d get to be.

Was I getting ahead of myself? Maybe. Did I care? No.

Thinking about his impending fatherhood was more pleasant than thinking about the article. Publishing this story, of putting my dirty laundry out there for the world to see, made my stomach churn. But I couldn’t run from it anymore.

This was coming out, whether I wanted it to or not.

When Gordon had agreed to let me write the piece, I’d felt a brief surge of relief. Finally, I could get my story out there—our story—and tell it from the most genuine perspective possible. Firsthand accounts were always a good draw for readers, and there were plenty of people who had wild stories about how they got pregnant. Maybe not exactly like mine, but near enough. People would understand. I could stop covering things up. I could finally be honest with the world.

But now, staring at the blank document on my laptop, that relief was gone, replaced by what it meant to tell the truth. This was going online, which meant that one day, Winnie would learn how she came into the world. The best kind of surprise eventually but still, not necessarily ideal from a kid’s perspective.

Gordon’s voice had been matter-of-fact when I’d pitched him the idea. “You think your version will outshine the one Ian’s already working on?”

“I don’t think it will,” I’d replied firmly. “I know it will. At least, it will with some of the readers. Some will glom onto the salacious bullshit Ian will publish, there’s no doubt about that. If it bleeds it leads.” I always hated that journalistic mantra, but it was as true now as when it was coined.

“Exactly. So why will your story make an impact?”

“For anyone who has ever chosen the wrong path or made a mistake, my story will suck the air out of Ian’s. That’s most people, Gordon, and most people are going to see right through Ian’s sensationalistic hit piece. Casey has been an upstanding citizen in Atlanta for a long time, and we always love to see someone like that fall?—”

“People smell blood in the water, Gemma. The Fire has been a hot commodity for us for years, scandal after scandal. That team is cursed.”

“Believe me, I am aware of that charming rumor, too. But if we tell the real story—honest, emotional, and grounded—it’ll resonate with readers in a way the gossip can’t. We can do more than get their attention. We can make them care about the team in a way they haven’t in a long time. This isn’t just good for me or Casey or the Fire. This is good for Atlanta. Let’s give them something they can be proud of?—”

“All right, before you start singing the national anthem, give me a sec.” I could almost hear him mulling it over, debating the merits of both stories, the optics, all of it. I didn’t envy Gordon’s job. He had to make hard calls all the time and hope they paid off. Journalism was a dying artform, and he was one of the few editors who gave a damn about integrity. “Okay, fine. You’ve got until five. With the Cup match looming, there’s only so much time. Get me something good I can run with.”

“I’m on it.”

Except that I wasn’t on it.

The call had ended, and I’d felt the full weight of the task settle on me. I didn’t have much time. As I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the blinking cursor on my screen, the words didn’t come. Or maybe that was just me.

For years, I’d told myself that keeping Casey out of the picture was the right thing to do, even when I didn’t know he was Winnie’s dad—for him, for me, and for Winnie. I’d convinced myself that I was protecting her from disappointment, from a father who might not want to be involved. Apathy was the worst thing imaginable at the time.

I knew what that was like, thanks to my father’s stroke. He had lost so much of himself in it, so much of me and Nico. His memories of us were cloudy or missing completely. The first time I visited Dad in the nursing home, there was no recognition. No hint that he knew who I was. To him, I could have been just another nurse, coming for his bedpan. It was that apathy that drove home what I was dealing with. It was why I had to leave Atlanta, if I was honest with myself. I couldn’t stand seeing that apathy in his eyes.

So, I refused to expose Winnie to that. I had to protect her from even the possibility of it.

But was that really the truth? Had I kept her from him to protect her, or had I been protecting myself?

The wind had been knocked from my lungs by that thought. I didn’t want to dig deeper, but I had to. So, I forced myself to think about it. No more avoiding the messy shit. I owed them this much.

I’d made the decision for Casey, deciding he didn’t need to know about Winnie, didn’t deserve to know. After all, he was just a man, and they were all disappointments. And in doing so, I’d taken away his chance to be a father, to be there for Winnie in the way she deserved.

Winnie.

I glanced toward the living room, where her toys were scattered across the floor. Last night, as poor Casey waited in my room, we had played Princess Knight, a story she had made up last year. She loved making up stories for her toys, as much as I loved helping her do it. Princess Knight had been her favorite for a long time.

The princess was a secret knight, and her kingdom was under attack from a dragon. But the queen had forbidden the princess from slaying the dragon because it was too dangerous, so she had to hide in a metal suit—Winnie’s term for a suit of armor—and sneak out of the castle to hunt the dragon. I played the dragon, and I changed up my part of the story each time.

Last night, I’d made the dragon a vegetarian who wasn’t really attacking people—he just needed someone to get a splinter out of his foot. Winnie had giggled and helped him, even though she didn’t like touching someone else’s foot. Peace in the kingdom at last.

She deserved better than her own father hiding out in my bedroom. She deserved to have him in her life all the time. And Casey deserved to play Princess Knight.

The thought of how happy she’d been since we moved back to Atlanta only made the guilt worse. She’d taken to Casey immediately, their connection effortless and genuine. And I’d kept that from them for years.

Tears pricked at my eyes, and I wiped them away quickly. This wasn’t the time for self-pity. I couldn’t rewrite the past, but I could take responsibility for my mistakes and make things right now.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t hear Winnie approach until she was standing beside me, her little hand tugging on my sleeve. She had come home from daycare early—a lice outbreak. She was clean, but I’d have her during the day for the rest of the week.

“Mommy, what’s wrong?” she asked.

I forced a smile, pulling her onto my lap. “Nothing, sweetheart. I’m just thinking.”

“You look sad.”

I hugged her tightly. She had always been too observant. I always tried to pretend everything was fine. Sometimes, I got away with it. More often than not, I didn’t. But I had to try. “I’m okay.”

“Is it about Casey?” she asked, tilting her head.

I blinked, unsure why she had figured things out so easily. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because you look upset, but you always smile when he’s around.” Her childlike logic was both sweet and piercing. “Is it because he’s not around?”

“You’re too smart for your own good, you know that?”

She grinned, but her smile quickly faded. “If he made you upset, I don’t like him anymore. If you don’t like him, then I don’t like him either.” She folded her arms and tried to look tough. “He’s a bad man.”

Her words sent a fresh wave of guilt crashing over me, and I hugged her tightly again. “Oh, honey. That’s very sweet of you, but Casey didn’t make me upset. He’s a good man. That’s not why I’m asking.”

“Then why?” she pressed, her small brow furrowing. Right then, she looked so much like him that my thoughts dried up.

How had I not seen it before? Didn’t matter now. I had to put my thoughts back together. “What do you think about Casey?”

“I told you. I like him if you like him.”

“I need your opinion, Winnie. Me aside, what do you think of him?”

She took a deep breath, brow still furrowed, still looking like her father. But then she looked guilty, like the time she spilled her orange juice on the couch and tried to hide it by covering it with her blankie. “I like daycare. But he’s my favorite part about Lanta.”

Lanta. Her word for Atlanta.

It was a relief to hear that she liked him that much. I took a deep breath, as I prepared myself for what I was about to say. “Winnie, there’s something very important I need to tell you.”

Her expression turned even more serious, and she nodded for me to continue.

“You know how you’ve always asked about your dad, and how I told you he lived very far away when we were in Los Angeles?”

Her eyes widened slightly, and she nodded again, her small hands clutching at my sweater.

“Well,” I said, my voice trembling, “the truth is…Casey is your dad.”

She blinked, her mouth falling open as she processed my words. “He’s my dad?”

“Yes. He didn’t know before we came here, but now he does. And he cares about you very much.”

She was quiet for a long moment, her little face scrunched in thought. “Is he going to live with us? Martina’s dad lives with her.”

“She’s the friend you’ve been telling me about?”

“Uh huh,” she said, nodding. “She lives with a mom and a dad and a buela.”

“I think you mean she lives with an abuela.”

“That’s what I said. So, will Mr. Casey live with us?”

“Maybe one day,” I said, my throat tightening. “If we’re lucky. And you can still call him Casey, if you want. But I think he’d like you to call him Dad.”

Her expression brightened, and a small smile spread across her face. “I like that idea.”

Tears blurred my vision as I pulled her into another hug, relief and guilt warring in my chest. Seeing her so happy at the thought of having her dad around made my heart ache in a whole new way.

As Winnie scampered off to play, her excitement clear in the bounce of her step, I sat back down at the table as a searing guilt crowded my heart. There had been so many moments Casey had missed. The birthdays, the scraped knees, the bedtime stories, the bath times. Princess Knight. He hadn’t been there for any of it, and that was my fault.

I’d convinced myself that I was protecting Winnie, but the truth was, I’d been protecting myself from the fear of rejection, from the possibility that Casey might not want to be a father. But he did. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, the way he lit up when she laughed, the way he melted whenever she called him Casey.

I couldn’t change the years they’d lost, but I could do everything in my power to make sure they didn’t lose any more. I turned back to my laptop, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. It was time to tell the truth. All of it, good, bad, or ugly.

And I was the ugly part of the equation.