Page 37 of The Secret Play

Gemma snickered. “And I’m sure dinner was a plate of broccoli and carrots.”

“She asked for seconds,” Megan baldly lied as she passed Gemma a small bag. “Right now, I think she’s out for the count.”

Gemma smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Winnie’s face. “Thanks, Megan. I owe you.”

“Don’t even play like that,” Megan said, waving her off. As her best friend left, I shifted Winnie slightly, my gaze falling on her bare shoulder. My breath caught in my throat.

There was a faint café-au-lait birthmark. It wasn’t an exact match for mine—it wasn’t shaped like Italy—but it was long, thin, and oddly familiar. What a weird coincidence.

“Casey?” Gemma’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just…thinking.”

She didn’t press, but her eyes lingered on mine for a moment before she turned her attention back to Winnie. “Would you mind carrying her to bed for me?”

“Of course not. Lead the way.” I followed behind, happy for the view of her ass, but that felt wrong to think about while carrying Winnie. Once I tucked her into her princess bed, Gemma drew the curtains to let her sleep. “Slumber party hangovers are the worst. She’ll be out for another few hours.”

“What makes them so bad?”

“Because at some point, you had to choose sleep over fun. What kid wants to do that?”

I chuckled, and as we left her bedroom, the sheer domesticity of tucking a child in struck me in the chest. That birthmark, her propensity for not wearing a jacket in the cold, her great big heart, it was almost enough for me to slide Winnie into that daughter-shaped hole in my heart.

I had always wanted a daughter. And a son. And a few more. A team of my own, so to speak. And Gemma would make the perfect mom to a fleet of kids. The way she didn’t stress the small stuff, the way she loved her family, I knew she’d knock it out of the park. I wondered whether I could convince her of that, too.

Chapter 14

Gemma

Work had been amazing lately. No, amazing didn’t even cover it—it was transformative. Every day felt like I was finally doing what I was meant to do. My articles about the Atlanta Fire had resonated with readers, and my editor was practically glowing with every new piece I submitted.

I was on Fire.

Okay, terrible pun, but it was true. Today, I was on the ice for interviews. The players were coming off a grueling practice, their jerseys soaked with sweat and their faces flushed from exertion. The air inside the rink was cold enough to sting my cheeks, but the energy from the team warmed the space. It was the kind of scene sportswriters dream of—easy camaraderie, great quotes, and just enough chaos to make things interesting.

Hudson, center, had pulled some ridiculously skilled moves on the ice, and no one was sure how he accomplished them. How he did backflips on hockey skates was beyond me. It was one thing to do them on figure skating skates. They had toe picks that made stunts a lot less dangerous because they offered more control. Hockey skates were made for speed and hard stops, not acrobatic moves. As I was pondering this, he jumped and spun almost horizontally in the air to avoid a player charging at him, and I laughed out loud in shock. I wasn’t the only one.

“That is not regulation,” Sergei said, his Russian accent drawing my attention.

Hudson laughed easily. “No, it’s not. But it looked cool, right?”

Sergei grumbled, and he and the team’s other Russians huddled off together to gripe in their mother tongue.

Jesper high-fived Hudson as they both skated toward me on the bench. “Dude, how come you never do that shit when we’re playing for real?”

“Ees not regulation,” Hudson said in a mock Russian accent.

“Yeah, sure, but they’ll never see it coming.”

I interjected, “So, what was that? Were you a figure skater before coming onto the Fire?”

Hudson smiled at me and gently elbowed Jesper to pay attention. “Before making it onto the Fire, I was a choreographer.”

“Who did you train?”

The unmistakable look of pride filled his deep, dark eyes. “Probably half of your workout playlists.”

I blinked, unsure what he meant by that. “Um?—”

---