Page 34

Chapter

Twenty-Six

L ucas waited in his office, the anger that had started as a slow simmer now boiling hot in his veins.

He stalked the length of the room like a caged animal, fists clenched, muscles rigid.

Every second Miranda didn’t come to him ratcheted the tension higher.

He was used to control—mastery over himself, over every situation. But she undid him. Always had.

And Callahan? That man had been testing his limits since day one. Lucas wasn’t a saint. No one had ever accused him of being one. But somehow, he'd managed not to explode—until now.

He exhaled a long breath through his nose, forced his jaw to unclench.

His control was paper-thin, his frustration fueled not just by her father but by the helplessness of watching her stand on a crumbling foundation, refusing to move.

Torn between loyalty to a man who’d raised her and the team she was fighting so hard to save.

But it wasn’t working. It was breaking her. And it was breaking him to watch it.

He wanted to rip her out of the wreckage. Protect her. Fix it all.

But she had to choose.

The door finally opened. Miranda’s head peeked in, her voice soft. “You have a minute?”

He nodded, jaw tight, heart hammering. One look at her and the fury melted into something darker, deeper—an ache in his chest and lower still.

She stepped inside and shut the door behind her, her heels tapping softly across the floor as she walked around his desk.

The soft cling of her blouse against her curves made it hard to focus.

She leaned back against the desk, close enough that the scent of her shampoo—coconut and spice—wrapped around him like a noose.

“God, that was horrible,” she said with a shaky breath. “I don’t know what to do.”

He didn’t budge. Didn’t soften. “Seriously? You do know. You just don’t want to do it.”

Her eyes flashed. “He’s my father. And my boss. I’ve already got one person ready to walk. I don’t need you pulling that move too.”

“Maybe that should tell you something.” His voice dropped, low and sharp. “That it’s time to stop pretending things are fine. Your father’s not the only one clinging to a world that no longer exists.”

She shoved off the desk and started pacing. “You want me to stress him out more? He just had bypass surgery, Lucas. I have to keep him calm!”

He stood too, fists jammed in his pockets to keep from reaching for her, from grabbing her and making her see what this was doing to her. “And in the meantime, you’ll let this team die. The Knights will be gone, the fans will walk, and this legacy you’re trying to protect will vanish.”

She turned on him. “What do you know?”

He bit back a curse. Too much. “If the bills aren’t paid, the league can force a sale. You know that.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

His patience snapped. “You’re living in the land of denial, Miranda. And dragging me with you.”

Her voice cracked. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because I love you, dammit.” The words roared out of him before he could stop them. “I love you, and it’s killing me to watch you destroy yourself trying to keep everything together.”

She froze. Her eyes went wide, shimmering. “You love me?”

“Yeah.” He huffed out a bitter laugh. “And your father hates me. So I guess I’m the asshole in this scenario.”

She stepped forward, slow, measured, like approaching a wounded animal. Her hand grazed his chest, fingers trembling. “You’re not an asshole. You’re the only one telling me the truth.”

He swallowed hard. The feel of her fingers through his shirt was too much. Not enough.

He started to pull back. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. Just focus on?—”

She silenced him with her mouth.

Her kiss was soft, searching, but there was fire behind it. She tasted like tea and desperation, like hope and hunger. Her fingers curled in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer, until their bodies touched. The heat between them snapped taut like a live wire.

She pulled back, her breath brushing against his lips. “I love you, too. I’ve been too scared to say it. But I do. God, I do.”

His hands came up to cradle her face, thumbs brushing her cheeks, then tangled in her hair as he slanted his mouth over hers in a kiss that wasn’t soft at all. It was raw, claiming, a promise and a warning all in one.

She moaned against him, and it went straight to his gut.

He broke the kiss with effort, his lips trailing to her jaw, then the shell of her ear. “Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

He wrapped his arms around her, tugging her fully against him, anchoring them both. Her body molded to his like she belonged there. And maybe she did.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, breathing her in. “We’ll figure it out. We have to.”

She looked up at him, eyes bright, skin flushed. “Love conquers all, right?”

He stroked his thumb across her lower lip. “We’re about to find out.”

A fter one last, lingering kiss—a kiss that still burned on his lips—Miranda practically danced out of Lucas’s office, a faint smile curving her mouth, the sway of her hips impossible to ignore. For a moment, he let himself watch her go, pretending things were simple. That they could be simple.

But reality was a bastard, and it waited for him in the form of a flashing voicemail and missed call from Roger Martinelli.

Lucas’s stomach turned. He stared at the phone, a storm of dread rising in his gut.

He didn’t know what to say to Roger. Didn’t want to face the conversation he knew was inevitable.

But one thing was clear: he needed to deal with this—now—before Miranda or her father found out.

Before this all blew up in ways he couldn’t fix.

He was already on thin ice with the Knights. Seamus could slam the door in his face. The league could pressure and threaten, but at the end of the day, Callahan could say no. Flat-out, irrevocably no.

And Roger? He wouldn’t keep Lucas idle, not when he had an asset sitting on the sidelines, wasting his potential. Roger would redeploy him—back into the fire. Back into the Knights.

Roger had always wanted to send him home, crown him president of the team like it was some full-circle redemption story. Lucas Wainright, son of a legend, savior of Savannah. A tidy narrative. One the investors loved.

Only Lucas couldn’t do it.

Not now. Not after everything. Miranda would never forgive him. And worse, she’d never believe it hadn’t been a setup from the start. The team would see him as a traitor. A vulture circling, waiting to feast.

Damn it. Roger had him boxed in so tight he could barely breathe.

Lucas reached for the door, needing to find Miranda, to talk to her, to fix this before it shattered. But the phone rang again. He stared at the screen.

Roger Martinelli.

Of course.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. Maybe it was better this way. He’d tell Roger his answer. Then he’d go to Miranda. Explain. Beg, if he had to.

He picked up. “Roger. I was going to call you later today.”

“Things are going better than I could’ve hoped for, Lucas,” Roger boomed, practically vibrating with satisfaction. “Nice job!”

Lucas winced at the enthusiasm. “Glad you’re in a good mood.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? Dysfunctional team, check. Financial instability, check. A franchise ripe for the taking. It's the American dream, baby.”

Lucas sat heavily in his chair, the weight of everything pressing on his shoulders. “Roger, I didn’t orchestrate this.”

“Even better! You didn’t have to. You’re squeaky clean. No fingerprints, just a clear path. Once the season wraps, the sale goes through. And you? You take over as president. Just like your old man wanted.”

Lucas’s gut twisted. “They could still turn it around. I’m not recommending a sale.”

“They won’t. Not with Callahan running the show like it’s still 1995. Face it, Lucas. You laid out a winning strategy and they ignored it. You tried. No one could blame you for moving on. Hell, you’d be honoring your father’s legacy.”

Roger’s voice slipped into that silky, persuasive tone. The one that always found the crack in Lucas’s resolve and pried it open.

And damn it, it worked. Lucas was tired. Tired of fighting a battle he wasn’t sure he could win. Maybe Roger was right. Maybe the only way to save the Knights was to let them go. Take the reins. Do it his way.

“Miranda made the changes,” he muttered. “I just advised.”

“That’s exactly why the investors want you. They know you can stabilize this mess. We’re talking serious money. Serious power. Think about it.”

Lucas exhaled slowly. “Maybe I should.” The words tasted like ash. “I hate doing this to them, but if it’s the only way to save the Knights… better me than someone like Seamus.”

A small, strangled sound made him freeze.

He looked up.

Miranda.

Standing in the doorway, motionless, her expression shattered. Eyes wide. Face pale. Her body tense with shock and betrayal.

She didn’t say a word—just turned and bolted.

“Shit.” Lucas nearly dropped the phone. “Roger, I have to go.”

“Lucas—”

He hung up and tore out of the office, catching up just as she slammed her hand against the elevator button.

She was shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps, tears brimming. “Damn this elevator,” she cursed, slamming the button again.

“Miranda—wait. How much did you hear?”

She turned slowly, and the look on her face gutted him. “Is it true?” Her voice was hollow. “Were you offered the presidency if the team’s sold?”

“Yes, but—” He reached for her, but she recoiled, pressing herself against the wall as though trying to escape him entirely.

“You bastard.” Her voice cracked on the word. “I trusted you. I defended you. I told everyone you were honorable, that you’d never betray us. Never use us to claw your way back to the top. I said you loved me.”

“I do love you!” His hands closed around her upper arms, holding her gently but firmly. “You have to believe me, Miranda. This wasn’t my plan. This was Roger’s scheme from the beginning.”

She stared up at him, breath shaky. “Can you honestly tell me you never wanted it? Never fantasized about taking back the Knights? Sitting in that corner office like your father always wanted?”

Lucas’s throat worked. Silence stretched between them like a chasm.

“Yes. I wanted it,” he said at last. “The Knights were everything to my father. And I let him down. I said no. He got sick, sold the team, and it broke him. I wanted to bring it back to him. To honor him. But not like this.” His voice dropped, rough. “Not at the cost of you.”

The elevator dinged. The doors slid open.

Miranda stepped back, breaking his grip.

He didn’t stop her.

“How can I believe you?” she whispered. She straightened and met his gaze levelly. “I think it’s time you left. Go back to Chicago, or whatever hole you crawled out of. We’ll save our team without you. Goodbye, Lucas.”

She stepped into the elevator, and the doors slid closed.

And just like that, she was gone.

Along with everything that mattered.