Page 60 of The Secret Play

I needed that ring. It was a part of me as much as the hand that was now unbearably naked. The ring was the last part of my father, a symbol that meant he wasn’t truly gone. As long as I had that, I had him.

My father had been a truly stand-up guy. He was kind to strangers, went to church every Sunday, and loved my mother fiercely. For years, I held myself to that standard, and now…now who the hell was I?

A man in love. No, scratch that. An idiot in love.

Maybe love makes you stupid. Dad always said so.

I couldn’t focus, not with the thought of that ring sitting on Gemma’s counter. It wasn’t just a piece of jewelry, and I needed it back. What if she knocked it into the sink? Or what if Winnie took it to play with and lost it?

I shot off a text to Gemma. No matter how awkward things were between us, I had to get my ring back. She wouldn’t hold it hostage. She wasn’t that type of woman. Even still, I didn’t want to see her yet. I wasn’t ready to face the mess we’d made, to have the conversations I knew we needed to have.

But this wasn’t about that. It was just about the ring.

Her response came quickly.Of course. I’ll be home after 7.

That was it. Simple. Neutral. Nothing about Winnie, nothing about the tension that had hung between us since the night I left. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

By the time I pulled up outside her house, my nerves were beyond frayed. I’d told myself this was just a quick visit, nothing more. I’d get the ring, thank her, and leave. Simple.

But as I walked up to the door, my heart pounded in my chest. What if she wanted to talk? Was I ready for that? For any of this? What if?—

She opened it before I could knock, and the sight of her made my brain fuzz out. A loose sweater and leggings, her pretty red hair pulled back into a messy bun. No makeup, no pretense—just Gemma, exactly as she was. Perfect.

“Hi,” she said softly, her brown eyes searching mine.

“Hi,” I replied, my voice rougher than I intended.

She stepped aside, letting me in, and the familiar warmth of her home wrapped around me like a blanket. The smell of something faintly floral lingered in the air, and I caught a glimpse of Winnie’s toys scattered in the corner of the living room.

“Your ring’s in the kitchen.”

“Thanks. Is Winnie here?”

She shook her head. “Thought it would be easier if she weren’t.”

I nodded once as we hooked a turn into the kitchen. Dad’s ring was exactly where I’d left it, sitting on the edge of the sink. I picked it up, turning it over in my fingers, and a wave of guilt crashed over me.

I’d left a piece of my father here. A piece of my past. A piece of myself. All because things had turned between me and the woman I loved. The woman who kept my daughter from me for five years.

That conflict warred in my head as I slipped the ring back onto my thumb. At least my hand felt whole again. “Thank you.”

She nodded, leaning against the counter. Her arms were crossed over her chest, but there was something vulnerable in her expression, something that made my chest lock up. “Casey?—”

“Gemma, don’t. I didn’t come here to talk.”

“Then why did you come here?”

“For the ring,” I said, though the words felt hollow.

“Is that really the only reason?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could say anything, she closed the distance between us and slanted her mouth up to mine. The first touch of her lips was soft, tentative, but it was enough to unravel the fragile thread of control I’d been clinging to. No one had ever kissed me the way she did. Like she needed me.

I kissed her back, hard, my hands finding her waist and pulling her tight against me. The world burned away—Nico, the rumors, the playoffs—disappearing in the heat of the moment.

“Gemma,” I murmured against her lips, my voice raw. Her name was a plea, but I didn’t know what I begged for. Mercy? Absolution?

She didn’t respond, her fingers threading through my hair as she deepened the kiss. When she moaned in my mouth, I was done. We stumbled toward the counter, my hands roaming over her back, her waist, the curve of her hips. She tugged at my jacket, pulling it off and tossing it aside before reaching for the hem of my shirt.

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