Page 71 of The Secret Play

I sighed at myself and rolled my eyes. I didn’t believe in destiny or a higher power. All of that was just a fairytale we told ourselves to feel better about our bad choices, and I wasn’t a child, so I didn’t believe in fairytales.

Was love a fairytale, too?

I was so caught up in my thoughts that I almost didn’t hear the knock at the door. Frowning, I set my laptop aside and padded to the entryway, glancing through the peephole. My breath caught when I saw him.

Casey stood on the porch, looking more nervous than I’d ever seen him. He held a bouquet of roses in one hand, a box of chocolates in the other, and had a bottle of wine tucked under his arm.

What the hell is going on?

I opened the door slowly, my heart pounding.

“Hi,” he said, his voice soft.

I slowly said, “Hey.”

His eyes flicked over me, taking in my oversized sweatshirt that hung just above my knees, the messy bun I’d given up on straightening out, and my bare feet. For a moment, he just stared, his blue eyes softening, and whatever he’d planned to say seemed to vanish. “Can I come in?”

I hesitated, then stepped aside, watching as he shuffled in awkwardly, his hands full of gifts. I closed the door behind him. “What’s going on?”

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, setting everything on the table before turning to face me. “I had this whole speech prepared.”

I raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “A speech?”

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand through his silver hair. “Something about how I’m sorry for being an ass, and how I don’t deserve you, and how I’m probably going to screw this up again, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to try, but there was more…”

I held my breath, afraid if I took another, I’d wake up.

“But then I saw you,” he continued, his voice dropping. “And my brain went blank.” He stepped closer, his gaze locking on mine. “You’re so beautiful, Gemma.”

I let out a shaky laugh, trying not to cry as I motioned to my huge sweatshirt. “Like this?”

“Especially like this,” he said, his voice rough.

Before I could respond, he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, soft and slow at first, then deeper, more urgently. I let myself get lost in it for a moment, my hands curling into his shirt.

No. Not again.

I pulled back, placing a hand on his chest to stop him. My voice still shook as I told him, “Casey, we can’t keep doing this.”

He frowned, his hands dropping to his sides. “Doing what?”

“This,” I said, motioning between us. “Coming to get a ring or visiting to celebrate a win or showing up with flowers and wine, and expecting sex to fix everything, and then hurting each other all over again. I’m not strong enough for that.”

His face fell, and for a moment, I thought he might leave. But then he straightened, his jaw tightening with determination. “You’re right,” he said. “Presents don’t fix this, and sex doesn’t either. I just got caught up. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Then why are you here?” I asked, crossing my arms.

“Because I want to give this a real shot. If you still want to.”

I stared at him, my heart pounding. Did he even know what that meant? Did I? I cleared my throat to stop from crying or laughing or some other hysterical reaction from coming out of me. “A real shot? And what does that look like to you, exactly?”

“It looks like me trying.”

“I don’t…know what that means. And what about the team?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “What about the rules? What about your career?”

“I’ll talk to the owner. I’ll explain everything. If that means stepping down, I’ll do it.”

He’d give up his job? But he loves his job. Does that mean he loves me?

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