Page 37

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

A fter hanging up with Roger, Lucas sat in the silence of his office, staring at the walls that had never quite felt like his. He reached for the cardboard box on the floor and began the familiar ritual: pack, move, vanish.

Normally, it would have taken him five minutes flat. He never let himself get comfortable in these temporary postings—never hung art, never brought in personal effects. It made it easier to walk away.

But this time?

This time was different.

He wrapped his fingers around the Knights coffee mug—black ceramic, the team logo starting to fade from too many dishwasher cycles. He hesitated, then tucked it in the box.

Next came the photo of him on Opening Day, dressed as the mascot, armor askew and helmet tilted as kids clung to his legs like he was a TikTok celebrity. He smiled faintly. That had been a good day. A weird one. But good.

Then he picked up the one thing he should have left behind—the photo of him and Miranda. Taken just before the anthem, her hand tucked into the crook of his arm, both of them laughing about something no one else could hear. Her eyes had been shining that day. Hopeful. Unarmored.

He stared at it too long before gently lowering it into the box, face down.

The team merch he technically no longer had claim to—a personalized jersey, a branded water bottle, a lapel pin from the league—should have stayed behind. But he packed them too. Not out of entitlement.

Out of mourning.

He wasn’t part of the family anymore. Maybe he never had been.

He looked up to find Cole Hammonds lingering in the doorway, hands in his pockets, expression tight.

“What, here to make sure I don’t swipe the good stapler?” Lucas asked, managing a wry smile.

Cole stepped inside and shut the door quietly behind him. “No. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For how it all went down. I wasn’t your biggest fan at first, but you stayed true to your word. That earned something.”

Lucas leaned against the desk. “You buttering me up for when I take over as president? Because spoiler alert: that’s not happening. Not here.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Cole’s face. “Yeah, I figured. This place has too many ghosts for you now.”

Lucas nodded once. “Then you’re the only one who gets it.”

He hefted the box, muscles tightening under the strain of something heavier than cardboard. “If you ever get sick of carrying the weight here, call me. I know people.”

Cole opened the door, pausing. “Thanks. Don’t think my contract’s getting renewed anyway.”

“You had a solid plan, Cole. Trust your gut. It’s better than most people’s spreadsheets.”

Cole gave a small nod. “Want me to tell the others?”

Lucas looked toward the hallway. “Yeah. Tell them goodbye for me. Quiet exits are more my style.”

Cole gave him a long look—part respect, part regret—before slipping out and closing the door behind him.

Lucas stood for a moment, just listening to the quiet hum of the HVAC, the faint tap of footsteps in the hall, and the ache pressing in at the center of his chest.

Then he took a breath, picked up the box, and stepped into the hallway.

There was one last thing to do before he left this place for good.

Let go of the past.

And hope, somehow, it would let go of him too.

I t was after hours, and the building had taken on that eerie stillness only empty office spaces could summon.

The team was on the road, most of the staff long gone, and the energy that usually pulsed through the hallways of Knights headquarters had faded to silence.

The overhead fluorescents buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across polished floors.

Lucas moved slowly, each step echoing off the tile.

He set the cardboard box down at the foot of the wall and looked up at the portrait of his father.

Jacob Wainright. Team founder. Visionary. Titan. And to Lucas, once upon a time, a god.

He braced his hands on his hips and stared at the image, waiting for the usual punch of guilt, resentment, grief.

But it didn’t come.

The anger was gone. The ache had dulled into something quieter. Something like acceptance.

“I tried, Dad,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “It just wasn’t meant to be. I did my best. I’m sorry.”

He exhaled, half-laughing at himself. What was he waiting for? A sign? A ghost in the frame?

“He loved you,” a voice said quietly from behind him.

Lucas jumped, heart lurching in his chest. He spun, half-expecting the hallway to be empty—just his own thoughts talking back to him.

But it wasn’t.

Seamus Callahan stood a few feet away, hands folded behind his back, his gaze fixed on the same portrait. The expression on his face was unreadable. Not anger. Not smugness. Something else. Something harder to name.

“He was a good man,” Seamus continued. “Your father. Knew how to talk to people. How to get the best out of them. I’ve always been more of a... three-hundred-pound linebacker at a ladies’ tea. Just bulldoze everything in sight.”

Lucas didn’t respond. Part of him wanted to walk away, to end the conversation before it unraveled something inside him. But another part—deeper, more wounded—kept him rooted in place.

So he stayed. And listened.

“He never wanted you trapped here, you know,” Seamus said. “He hoped you’d fall in love with the game, with the team, but he knew you needed your own path. He told me that once.”

Lucas cleared his throat. “My siblings never cared about sports. Mom tolerated it for Dad’s sake.

I was the one who came with him to the office.

Sat in on practices. Played ball in the tunnels.

I thought this place was magic.” He let out a breath.

“Then I told him I didn’t want to be him.

Didn’t want the job. Honestly, I don’t even remember what I did want.

I just didn’t want to disappoint him by becoming him. ”

Seamus gave a short, rough laugh. “He was disappointed, yeah. But he thought you’d come around.

Then when he got sick, he asked me to buy him out.

Said he didn’t want to saddle your family with a legacy none of you wanted.

He wanted you free—to go to college, find your path, chase something that made you feel alive. ”

He turned to Lucas. “I didn’t steal the team from your family.”

Lucas nodded slowly. “I think I always knew that. But it was easier to blame you than admit the truth—that he gave it up for me. And I couldn’t even honor it.”

Seamus’s mouth twisted, almost wistful. “The team wasn’t his dream, Lucas. You were. His family was his everything. That’s something I didn’t get for a long time.”

Lucas looked away, throat thickening.

“I made a lot of mistakes,” Seamus said after a moment. “Most of them in the last few weeks. Especially with Miranda.”

Lucas’s jaw tensed. “You sure as hell did. She was the best thing that ever happened to you—or the Knights.”

“And to you,” Seamus added softly.

Lucas’s chest went tight. He couldn’t even form the words. He just nodded, the ache in his throat spreading through his ribs like wildfire.

“I’ve been rechecking her numbers,” Seamus continued. “She knew what she was doing.”

“She didn’t just know,” Lucas said hoarsely. “She saved your ass.”

Seamus let out a tired breath and walked a few feet down the hall to a bench tucked against the wall, one usually reserved for waiting interns or nervous media interns. He sat heavily, shoulders rounded, like the weight of the world had finally settled into his bones.

“My wife came by,” he said. “Tore me a new one. Something about trying to kill myself, sabotage our marriage, and, oh yeah, being a complete jackass to my daughter.”

Lucas smirked slightly. “Sounds about right.”

“My doctor says I need to step back. Says I’m running out of second chances.” He rubbed his chest absently. “I just hate feeling like I’m not in control. Like my body gets the final say now.”

Lucas joined him on the bench, setting the box down at his feet. “Maybe it’s time to make room for the next generation.”

Seamus glanced at him. “You think she’d come back? Take over the team?”

Lucas stared ahead. “Maybe. If it was her choice. If it was clean. She loves the Knights. They’re in her blood.”

Seamus was quiet a moment, then asked, “What about you? Where are you going?”

Lucas let out a low laugh. “Far away. Seattle, actually. Got an offer to consult out there. No strings. No ghosts.”

Seamus nodded slowly, hands braced on his knees. Then, quietly: “I’ve got an idea. Might work. But I’ll need help pulling it off. Can I count on you?”

Lucas turned to him, brow raised. “You’re not worried I’ll steal the team?”

Seamus gave a huff of laughter. “You had plenty of chances. You didn’t take them. You helped Miranda instead. No, you’re the only one I trust to do this. Help me fix what I broke. Help her.”

Lucas considered it for a beat, then nodded. “I’ve got a few weeks before I have to be in Seattle.”

Seamus stood. “Then let’s get to work.”

Lucas rose beside him, following the man who had once been his enemy—now maybe something closer to an ally—into the owner’s office.

It wasn’t redemption yet.

But it was a start.