Page 32

Chapter

Twenty-Four

M iranda’s hand trembled in Lucas’s grasp, her skin clammy with stress.

He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to. Her tension radiated through every muscle, every breath.

They walked in silence, slipping through the stadium's side exit and down the block to the small park across the street, tucked in the shadow of the ballpark.

The swings stood still in the empty space, the usual sound of kids replaced by the distant hum of traffic. School was in session. No little leaguers or strollers or parents on the bench today—just them. Blessedly out of sight from anyone inside the office.

She eased onto a swing and rocked slowly back and forth, the worn rubber groaning beneath her. Lucas took the one next to her, the edges digging into his slacks—not that he cared. They swayed in silence, the chains creaking and clanking in a rhythm that felt almost like breath.

After a few minutes, she exhaled hard—a deep, shuddering breath that sounded like it had been trapped in her chest for hours.

“He’s going to change everything,” she said, her voice brittle with rage. “He wants to trade Prosser. Maybe anyone he can. Just to get his damn big-name player. Wins don’t matter. Ticket sales don’t matter. Nothing matters unless it fits his narrative.”

She looked over at him, her eyes shining with frustration, jaw tight. “I’m so damn mad I could scream. We’ve worked so hard. Everything we’ve accomplished—he doesn’t care.”

Lucas kept his tone even, trying not to stoke the flames too high. “You knew this was coming. He wasn’t going to walk back in and praise your changes. Did he give you a reason?”

“He says the fans need someone big to root for. Some superstar. But you know what our top jersey sales are? Prosser. Patterson. Not some overhyped media darling. But he can’t see it. He only sees what he wants—someone with flash, with headlines. Not the people who got us here. Not me.”

Her voice cracked at the last sentence. Lucas reached over and took her hand gently, threading his fingers through hers. “That part hurt the most, didn’t it?”

She nodded, eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete.

“I guess I had this fantasy. That he’d come back, see the numbers, see the wins—and just once, be proud of me.

” She gave a hollow laugh. “But my father doesn’t hand out praise.

I already got the presidency. What else was there to earn?

I don’t even know why I thought it would change anything. ”

Lucas stood abruptly and pulled her to her feet. “You really think all this was for nothing? That all the work, the long hours, the sacrifice was just for him?”

She flinched at the truth in his words. “No... I did it for the team.”

“Exactly.” He stepped in, hands firm on her waist. “You did it for them. For the players, the staff, the fans who show up every game wearing Knights jerseys. That’s who you fight for. Not him.”

She sighed, defeated. “You’re right. I know you are. But he’s still my father. And my boss. I don’t want to risk his health on top of everything else. I want to protect him, even if he doesn’t make it easy.”

Lucas moved in behind her, his body heat wrapping around her like a blanket. “You can only protect him from what he’ll let you protect him from. You’re not responsible for his stubbornness.”

She turned, the chain twisting slightly, eyes locked on his. “So how do I get him to listen? He thinks he knows everything about baseball. Maybe you could talk to him—use your connection to the league as leverage?”

Lucas hesitated, shaking his head. “I wish I could. But I’m only a consultant. I advise, I report. I can’t strong-arm him. Not unless he misses the payment, and we both know that’s a nuclear option.”

“And you heard what he said,” she whispered, her voice laced with shame. “That he wants you gone.”

“I heard it,” Lucas said quietly. Then added, with a smirk, “But it was nice to hear you go to bat for me.”

She squared her shoulders. “I meant every word. He doesn’t get to dictate who I’m with.”

Lucas leaned in, brushing her lips with his. The kiss was soft, tinged with gratitude, but she didn’t melt into it.

Instead, she pulled back, eyes searching his. “So... are you trying to break up with me?”

He blinked, then laughed. “No. This isn’t high school. I’m not dumping you by the monkey bars.” He cupped her face gently. “I’m saying maybe we should cool it—publicly. At work. Around your dad. It would take some of the heat off you, too.”

He hated saying it. Hated the way her eyes dimmed. But it was the best play for now—if they wanted to keep the upper hand.

She looked away, lips pressing into a line. He could see the war on her face—logic versus emotion.

Finally, she turned back to him. “I deserve happiness, too. And if being with you is part of that, he’ll have to deal.”

Lucas exhaled, equal parts relief and admiration. He brushed at his pants, eyeing the swing’s grime, then held out his hand.

“Stay the course, Miranda. You’ve done something incredible with the Knights. I’ll see you tonight?”

She hesitated for a beat, then nodded, her voice quiet but resolute. “Yeah. I’ll come up with a plan. Or something.”

She slid her hand into his, gripping it like she might never let go.

Like it was the only solid thing in a world tilting beneath her feet.

S everal hours later, Ruth poked her head into Lucas’s office. “Mr. Wainright? Mr. Callahan would like to see you. Now.”

Lucas nodded, unsurprised. He’d expected this summons all day. Of course Seamus had saved him for last—saved him for late. So much for working part-time. He rose, buttoned his blazer, and made the climb to the executive floor.

He knocked once on Seamus’s door.

“Come in,” came the gruff reply.

Lucas stepped inside.

“Wainright. Sit.” Seamus leaned back in his leather chair, pale-faced and drawn despite the stiffness in his tone. Fatigue haunted the corners of his eyes, though he tried to mask it with the usual bluster.

Lucas didn’t comment. He sat.

“We’ve got ourselves a pickle,” Seamus said, steepling his fingers. “I don’t want you here. I’d bet you don’t want to be here either, working under someone who can’t stand the sight of you.”

Lucas met his gaze coolly. “Miranda wants me here. Roger wants me here. That’s enough.”

The names hit their mark. Seamus’s mouth thinned.

“I called Roger this morning,” he said with faux casualness. “Told him it’s time you packed up. We’re doing just fine now. No more need for outside advisors.”

Lucas crossed one ankle over his knee and let the silence stretch a beat.

“Funny. From what I’ve heard, your plans for the team run counter to every system that’s currently working.

That kind of whiplash isn’t just reckless—it’s dangerous.

You destabilize morale, you tank your win percentage, and suddenly those packed stands become empty seats.

You start bleeding money. That’s why I’m here.

To make sure you don’t screw it all up.”

“You’ve poisoned the well,” Seamus snapped, voice rising. “Turned my daughter against me. Undermined my leadership. My GM won’t even look me in the eye. You came here to drive me out of my team.”

Lucas stood slowly, blood pounding behind his temples.

“No, I came here to save your team. Your daughter? She’s been fighting tooth and nail to rebuild what you almost buried.

She and Cole and every other member of your staff have been doing the hard work.

And all you’re doing is pissing on it from your throne like a toddler denied his favorite toy. ”

Seamus surged to his feet, face reddening. “How dare you speak to me that way!”

“I don’t work for you. And I don’t owe you deference just because your name’s on the deed. You want to keep your team? Then get out of your own damn way.” Lucas’s voice dropped, harder than steel. “Let Miranda do what you clearly can’t anymore. Let her save you from yourself.”

Seamus trembled with fury. Lucas didn’t flinch.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he added. “Not until the debt is paid. So get used to me.”

He turned?—

And stopped cold at the sight of Miranda in the doorway. Her expression was a mask of shock and betrayal.

“Miranda,” he said, trying to explain.

“Not here.” Her voice was a whipcrack. She strode into the office and grabbed his arm. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re in for it now, boyo,” Seamus muttered behind them, clearly delighted.

Miranda turned back, eyes burning. “I’ll deal with you later.”

She yanked Lucas into the conference room and slammed the door shut. The sound echoed.

“What the hell was that?” she hissed, pinning him with a glare that could have melted steel. “He just got back from major heart surgery, and you’re provoking him like it’s a bar fight?”

Lucas threw up his hands. “I was defending you. Defending everything we’ve built. A little gratitude wouldn’t kill you.”

The anger drained from her all at once, leaving her deflated, visibly sagging. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I heard shouting and... I panicked. I thought something had happened.”

“I get it,” he said, softening. “But if he’s healthy enough to throw power plays and bark orders, then he’s healthy enough to hear the truth.”

She folded her arms. “You told me earlier you couldn’t get involved. That it was my problem.”

“It is your problem. But you also asked for my help. I’m trying, Miranda. But I have a job to do, too. And I can’t stand by while he undoes all of our progress.”

“I have a plan. One that involves keeping him calm and keeping the team on track.” She stepped toward him, hands on her hips, fire returning to her eyes. “But I can’t do that if you’re tossing grenades in my strategy meetings!”

He leaned into her space, not backing down. “I won’t stay quiet if it puts the team at risk. That’s not who I am.”

She recoiled slightly, jaw tightening. “Then fine. Do what you need to do. Just leave me out of it. I’m not a chess piece in your battle with my father.”

“Fine.” His tone flattened. Then, after a breath: “Why don’t we talk about it over dinner tonight?”

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Guess I’ll talk to you later, then.”

She walked out without another word, her shoulders rigid, and it felt like she was leaving more than just the room.

It felt like she was walking away from him.