Page 35

Chapter

Twenty-Seven

M iranda vanished from the office like a ghost and drove home with trembling hands, ignoring her buzzing phone and the flood of alerts pinging across her smartwatch and dashboard.

Lucas had been texting and calling until she blocked his number, but that hadn’t stopped him from trying to reach out.

Since the cell didn’t work, he showed dup at her door.

She held her breath behind the curtain, body frozen, as if she could hide from heartbreak itself.

She didn’t need to hide forever.

Just for today.

Just until the pieces of her shattered pride stopped bleeding.

She cried—loud, ugly sobs into her pillow—and hit every cliché on the heartbreak bingo card.

She spooned ice cream straight from the carton while watching reruns of Schitt’s Creek, comforting herself with the dysfunction of other people’s fictional lives.

Her favorite leggings. Oversized hoodie. Mascara stains on her sleeves.

By the time midnight crept in, her eyes were raw, her limbs heavy, her chest cracked wide open. She slipped an ice pack onto her face and passed out on the couch, swearing that tomorrow, no one would see a single trace of the ruin Lucas Wainright left behind.

He wasn’t worth her tears. Not anymore.

By the time the rest of the office arrived the next morning, Miranda was already at her desk, power suit on, makeup flawless, hair slicked into a no-nonsense ponytail that said Boss Bitch Mode: Activated.

She wore confidence like armor—sharp heels, bright lips, don’t-mess-with-me energy—but the pressure behind her eyes throbbed.

Fifteen minutes later, Stacia appeared with a hug that shattered her resolve like glass.

Miranda stiffened, tried to resist. But at the warm press of arms around her, her eyes prickled again.

“We heard you and Lucas had a blowup,” Stacia murmured, pulling back to study her face. “What happened?”

Miranda gave a brittle laugh, sharp and hollow. “Long story. But the short version? My father was right. Lucas was just here to sink his claws into the team and push us out.”

Stacia frowned, arms crossing as she leaned against the desk. “That doesn’t make sense. I thought he was helping. Wasn’t the team improving?”

“It was. Just enough to attract investors.” Miranda’s throat tightened. “Enough to make the Knights a juicy acquisition—and Lucas their golden boy president. I caught him on the phone with Roger yesterday, agreeing to it.”

Stacia’s expression twisted with disbelief. “Wait. Lucas was in on it?”

Miranda exhaled shakily, pressing her fingertips to her temple. “Not from the beginning. It was Roger’s scheme. But Lucas didn’t walk away. He listened. He considered it. That’s enough.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stacia said, gently. “Is there anything I can do?”

Miranda hesitated, then lifted her chin. “Yeah. Can you see if he’s still in the building? I told him to leave. Technically, I can’t fire him—but I want him gone.”

Stacia’s eyes sharpened with understanding. “You don’t want to see him in the halls. Or some awkward strategy meeting.”

“Exactly. If he’s still here, I need to know.”

Stacia nodded. “Want me to have Jason physically toss him out? I’d pay to watch that.”

Miranda cracked a smile. “Tempting, but no. We need to keep things... delicate. League politics and all.”

Just then, Maggie poked her head in. “Your dad wants to see you. Can you head over?”

Miranda stood, smoothing her blazer, spine steel-straight. “Thanks for the backup, Stacia. I’ll get over it.”

“Girl, if you need wine and bad-mouthing later, I’ve got you,” Stacia said with a wink.

Miranda stepped into the hallway, eyes avoiding the closed door across from her—the one Lucas had used as an office. There was no sign of him. No duffel bag. No lingering scent of his cologne. Just a hollow ache that clawed up her chest.

She wasn’t ready to find out if he was gone for good.

Not yet.

Instead, she forced herself to her father’s door, knocked once, and slipped inside.

Seamus sat alone. Relief bloomed in her chest. If Lucas had been there...

“I looked for you yesterday,” her father said gruffly, not looking up. “Maggie said you went home sick. You feeling better?”

“Just a headache,” she replied smoothly, taking the chair opposite him. “What did you need?”

“Did you handle Cole?”

“Yes, but we need to talk about the meeting. We can’t keep operating like this. You need to consider change, alternate strategies— reality . This level of stress isn’t sustainable. Not for you. Not for the team.”

He slammed his pen down. “Why the hell is everyone lecturing me? I let go of control once and woke up in a damn hospital. Now you want me to give up the only thing I have left?”

“No one wants to take the team from you, Dad.” Her voice was soft but firm. “We want to help.”

“You’ve got degrees and fancy ideas but you don’t know what I know.” He jabbed a finger on the desk. “We’re doing it my way. That’s final.”

“If we follow your way, we lose. We lose players. Coaches. Staff. Our fans. Our identity.”

“Then let them walk. If they don’t want to be here, they can leave.” He peered over his glasses. “That includes you.”

Miranda straightened. “As team president, my loyalty is to the Knights. I’m advising that we change course now or the damage will be permanent.”

He leaned back, expression cold. “Advice noted. And ignored. Bring it up again, and you’re fired. Along with your boyfriend.”

Her heart jerked. “You don’t need to worry about Lucas. He’s gone. Or will be soon.”

Seamus leaned back in satisfaction. “I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not. Good riddance.”

She blinked, stunned. “Aren’t you even going to ask what happened?”

“You finally figured out he was here to steal the team.”

Her lips parted in disbelief. “How did you know?”

“I knew he wanted it. And I know Roger. He’s been after my job since I nearly had him ousted for that train wreck of a union deal years ago. Lucas was just the latest pawn.”

Miranda’s voice trembled. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He set his pen down and folded his hands over his belly. “I needed to see what you were made of. Whether you could handle this business. Turns out, you’re too naive. Too trusting. And now, I don’t trust your instincts.”

Her vision blurred—but not from tears. From fury.

“Then judge the results. Ticket sales. Merch. Wins. All up since I brought in Lucas. Since you came back, they’ve dropped.”

Seamus’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying I’m the problem?”

She stood, stepping closer. “I’m saying this job is killing you. And the team. Let me help. Please.”

He yanked his arm from under her touch. “He poisoned you. Turned you against me.”

“No.” She stood firm, even as her insides trembled. “I’ve defended you. Protected you. Covered for your outbursts and damage control every day. But I won’t watch you burn down everything we’ve built.”

His voice turned ice-cold. “If you won’t follow orders, you can walk.”

She circled the desk and faced him squarely. “You won’t even listen?”

“No.”

“Then I quit. Effective immediately.”

He blinked. But only once. “Fine. I’ll expect your resignation in an hour.”

She nodded, turned on her heel, and walked out. The door shut with a soft click behind her.

Miranda leaned against the wall, legs trembling, stomach hollow. He’d called her bluff. No hesitation. No remorse.

Now she knew where she stood.

Beneath the team. Beneath his pride.

So be it.

She straightened her spine, wiped a hand beneath her eye—no tears, not again—and walked toward her office.

“Maggie? Can you bring me some boxes?”

She had a resignation to write.

“ T ell me it isn’t true?” Cole’s voice boomed as he barreled into her office, his jaw tight, eyes stormy. “What the hell is going on around here? First Lucas, now you?”

Miranda looked up from behind her desk, caught mid-motion as she lowered a stack of folders into a box. Her hands stilled. “I gave him an ultimatum,” she said softly. “He called it.”

Cole let out a rough sound and dragged a hand through his hair, pacing in front of her desk like a caged tiger. “Unbelievable. And you had the nerve to convince me to stay. Well, forget it. I can’t do this anymore. I’m out.”

Miranda exhaled, frustration and sadness knotting in her chest. “You can’t quit, Cole.

You’re the only one he still listens to—barely, but it’s something.

Maybe without me and Lucas in the picture, he’ll actually pay attention to your ideas.

You could still make changes—quietly, like before.

You’re good at that. Please, Cole. The Knights need you. ”

He stared at her for a long moment before slumping into a chair, elbows braced on his knees, his fingers pressing into the back of his neck like he could physically squeeze out the stress. “He’s imploding, Miranda,” he muttered. “He just fired his daughter. His daughter, for God’s sake.”

She cracked a wry smile, the corners of her mouth tugging upward despite the tight ache in her chest. “I know. I’m his daughter, remember? And he didn’t fire me—I quit. Very dramatic. Very on-brand.”

Cole looked up, his expression shifting with a flicker of hope. “So… you think he’ll change his mind? Bring you back?”

She held his gaze, the air between them thick with something unspoken.

“You know my father,” she said finally, voice low.

“He’ll never admit he was wrong. No do-overs.

No backsies. He doesn’t play like that.” Her shoulders sagged as the truth settled over her like a weighted blanket.

“Which means I need a new job. Oh my God.”

The panic cracked her calm facade, and she sank into her chair, hands flailing briefly in the air. “I need a new job. Where do I even start?”

Cole chuckled, the sound warm and real, grounding her. “You’re just now figuring that out?” He raised a brow. “You didn’t think this all the way through, did you?”

She shot him a glare, her eyes narrowing—but there was no heat behind it. “I was trying to help all of you. Trying to keep this team afloat. Maybe even save my dad from himself.”

Cole leaned back in his chair, the tension in his body easing as his gaze drifted over her face, softened by something like admiration—or maybe something else. Something deeper. “How’d that work out?”

Miranda gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. “It blew up in my face. Just like you warned me it might.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry. Seriously. What’s next?”

She stood, brushing imaginary lint from her blazer like she could also dust off the pain. “What’s next is you do what you do best. Keep things running, even when it’s chaos. Help him. Keep the Knights breathing.”

Cole stood too, but Miranda didn’t meet his eyes. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the questions he wasn’t asking, the concern that lingered too long. The air between them had shifted —thicker now, charged with things she didn’t want to examine. Not here. Not today.

Her pulse ticked in her throat, too fast. Too raw.

She swallowed hard, turned away, and reached for the last box.

With the grace drilled into her from years of pageants and press conferences, she lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and walked out of the office like nothing inside her had broken.

She didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

Because if she did, she might unravel all over again.