Page 75 of The Secret Play

“You’re a journalist, Gemma. You know how this is done,” Whitney said. “Call your editor. Write the story yourself. Make it personal, make it honest. Tell the truth—about how Casey didn’t know, about how you’ve both been navigating this together. In this situation, the truth is the best defense.”

“That’s a lot to ask,” Gemma said hesitantly.

Whitney looked at me. “Casey, are you willing to put yourself out there for this?”

I looked at Gemma, at the way she was watching me with equal parts hope and fear, and I knew there was only one answer. “Whatever it takes.”

Gemma nodded slowly, her resolve hardening. “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Whitney smiled faintly, giving Gemma’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’ve got this. And you’re not alone in this, either of you.”

After Whitney left, the house was quiet again. Gemma and I sat on the couch, her laptop open on the coffee table between us. “Are you scared?”

“Terrified that I’ll lose my job,” I admitted. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it. Winnie’s worth it. Come what may, you’re stuck with me.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she reached for my hand, squeezing it tightly. “We’ll figure this out. Together.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Chapter 30

Gemma

The 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.

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