“But other than that,” I say, cupping her hand, “please don’t worry today. Take a hot bath. Relax. Read a good book if you can. Just… try to get your mind off everything. I promise you, I’m going to take care of all of this.”
Her expression shifts, like she desperately wants to believe me but can’t get herself there. Still, she nods.
“Call me if you need anything,” I tell her. I squeeze her hand. “Are you okay? Truly?”
She scoffs tiredly. “Yes, Miles. If you’re asking if I’m going to hurt myself—no. I’m not.”
Relief shapes my entire exhale. “Okay.” I lean in and kiss her forehead, lingering for a moment. “I just had to make sure.”
Her eyes soften. “I know.”
“Please call me if you need anything,” I repeat.
“I will.”
I stand, but I can’t leave without touching her again. I cradle her cheek in my palm and place a gentle kiss on her lips.
“I love you, Miranda. It’s going to be okay.”
She watches me with a mixture of fear, hope, and exhaustion.
As I step out the door, I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to Penny, asking her to meet me at the rink before practice. I need to talk to her immediately. If anyone can help me navigate this mess, it’s her.
I might not know much about PR, but I do know this. I have resources, connections, and one hell of a secret weapon in Penny—the Crane’s brilliant, ruthless, miracle-working PR manager. If anyone can extinguish a wildfire of bad press, it’s her.
Hockey players, as a collective group, aren’t exactly saints. Between fights, bad decisions, and social media slipups, Penny has sanitized more disasters than I can count. She has rewritten narratives, shielded careers, and kept our names out of the press more times than any of us deserves.
So yeah—I feel hopeful. Because if she can handle all the stupid shit we’ve thrown at her, she can help me handle this.
When I pull into the rink parking lot, Penny and Gunner are climbing out of their SUV. I park fast and jog toward them. Gunner shoots me a glare and lets out a low growl.
“Don’t mind him.” Penny waves him off. “He’s extra grumpy when he misses a little sleep. I wanted to make sure we got here early today so we could chat. It sounds serious.”
“Yeah,” I exhale. “It’s pretty serious.”
“All right, let’s go up to my office. We’ll get it figured out.” She gives me a reassuring smile.
The three of us walk inside together. Gunner veers off toward the locker room without a word, and I follow Penny upstairs to her office. Once we’re inside and the door shuts behind us, I unload everything—every detail, every video, every sick twist of this nightmare Miranda has been thrown into.
I pull up my phone and send her link after link, clip after clip. I text her Tracey’s full name and the city Miranda thinks she’s in. Penny listens without interrupting, her expression tight with focus, pen flying across her notepad.
When I finally finish, the room feels too quiet.
“So?” I ask because if I don’t hear something soon, I swear I’ll start pacing holes in the floor.
“I can take care of it,” she says simply.
“Really?” I blink, barely trusting the relief that wants to crash through me.
“Really.” She gives me a crisp, confident smile. “You'd better get to practice before you piss off Coach Albright, but come see me afterward. I’ll update you on my progress.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Thank you. Seriously. This means more than you could possibly know.”
I turn to leave, hand on the door handle, when she calls after me.
“Miles.”
I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
