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She paused, then turned to him. “I was out of line earlier. Thank you… for being here. For helping my mom. And me.”

“You were under a lot of pressure. I shouldn’t have snapped either. My momma would’ve smacked me upside the head.”

A real smile broke across her face. “How is your mom?”

His expression softened, a shadow falling across his features.

“She’s a force. When my dad got sick, I was away at Georgetown.

She wouldn’t let me come home, said she had everything under control.

My siblings were still in high school. She handled it all on her own.

I felt useless. She’s in Florida now. Pilates twice a week.

She has a group chat with her mahjong girls and probably more dates than I do. ”

Miranda chuckled. “Tell her hi from me next time.”

The ICU doors opened and a doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand.

Everyone rose as if tugged by the same invisible string.

Miranda reached for her mother’s hand, and Gwen clutched it like a lifeline.

Lucas stepped up beside her, his hand finding the small of her back again, grounding her with that subtle, silent strength she hadn’t realized she needed.

The doctor offered a practiced smile. “We completed the angioplasty and placed a stent. He’s stable, resting now.”

They all sat, breath held.

“But,” he continued, “he has significant damage to his heart. He’s going to need bypass surgery—likely a quadruple.”

“Why not now?” Miranda asked, heart pounding.

“He needs time to recover from the heart attack. The bypass will follow in a few days. It’s the best course.”

Lucas leaned forward. “Doesn’t a stent sometimes achieve the same outcome?”

The doctor gave him a measured look. “In milder cases, yes. But Mr. Callahan’s damage is extensive. A stent alone won’t be sufficient long term.”

He stepped back. “You can visit briefly. He needs rest.”

Lucas’s hand remained on her back as he leaned in. “I’ll wait out here.”

Miranda nodded, then helped her mother follow the doctor through the maze of the ICU. Machines beeped and soft voices murmured in the background like solemn prayers. The air smelled of antiseptic and weariness. Gwen leaned into her as they walked.

Inside the room, Seamus looked pale and diminished, wires and tubes connecting him to monitors. Miranda’s throat closed.

Gwen choked on a sob.

Miranda reacted instantly, turning her mother toward her. “Don’t fall apart. If you want to stay, you have to hold it together.”

Her voice was sharp, cruel even—but necessary.

Gwen wiped her eyes, gathered herself, and approached the bed. “You were strong for me once. It’s my turn.”

She took his hand, stroking it. “Seamus…”

His eyes opened. “Why the hell do you all look like you’re planning my funeral? I’m not dead.”

Miranda moved closer. “You’re lucky. That’s all.”

“Where’s that vulture Wainright? I bet he’s out there waiting to hear if I croaked. He’s the reason I’m in this damn bed.”

“No,” she snapped. “Your eating habits, your refusal to let go of control, and your ego put you here.”

He ignored her. “Get Cole. I need to give him instructions.”

“Only family allowed,” she reminded him gently.

“Cole’s my right hand. The team can’t function without me.”

“And whose fault is that?” she asked, heat rising.

He looked at Gwen. “You hear her? Turning on me already.”

“She’s right,” Gwen said, firm but loving. “I’ve told you for years to slow down. You didn’t. Now look where that got you.”

“If I die, I’ll come back and haunt you,” he said with a smirk.

Gwen smiled faintly. “Not if I beat you there.”

Seamus turned his attention back to Miranda. “You’ve got to stop Wainright. He’ll steal the team out from under you if you’re not careful. This team is your inheritance, Randi. If he gets control, it’s all gone.”

Miranda tugged her hand free, steeling herself. “I hear you, Daddy. I’ll be careful.”

“Good,” he murmured, eyes fluttering closed. “Don’t screw it up.”

The doctor returned to usher them out. Gwen remained behind. Miranda exited, weaving through the corridor until she reached the waiting room. Lucas stood instantly when he saw her.

She collapsed into a chair, the emotional weight finally knocking the air from her lungs. Thoughts swirled—contracts, media response, opening day, the board, and the looming presence of Lucas himself.

Then she rose, breath steady, spine straight.

“My father won’t be back for a while,” she said, voice clear. “I’m in charge until then.”

Lucas moved closer. “I can help—ease the burden.”

His hand touched her elbow, grounding, firm. Warm. Dangerous.

Her father’s warning echoed in her mind. He’ll take everything .

“I’ve got this, Lucas. Report to the commissioner that we’re stable.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I can’t lie to him. You’re stuck with me. And you can’t make any big moves without my sign-off.”

She slipped her arm from his grasp, lifted her chin, and gave him her fiercest pageant smile. “We’ll see about that. It’s still my team.”

Then she turned, hips swaying, stride confident.

She had a franchise to run. And maybe, a wolf at her door.