Chapter 28
CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT
MILES
Ilie stretched across the couch, Miranda curled into me, fast asleep on my chest. She knocked out hours ago, finally succumbing to the kind of exhaustion that only comes from crying until your body gives up. The toll of emotional trauma is brutal.
I hold her, one hand stroking her hair, the other wrapped securely around her back, and I just… replay everything. Every word she said. Every detail she finally trusted me with. Every horrifying thing I saw in those videos.
My jaw clenches.
She survived all of that alone.
The thought makes something vicious stir inside me. Rage, protectiveness, grief—it all tangles together into a single, unshakable resolve.
She may not have had anyone to protect her then.
But she has me now.
I shift just enough to pull the blanket higher around her shoulders, careful not to wake her.
Her breath feathers softly against my shirt—uneven, tired, but finally peaceful—and it guts me.
All she’s ever done is fight through life on her own.
Her entire childhood, her teenage years—she stood alone against things no kid should ever face.
At the very least, I’m so glad she had Anna.
I’ve always liked Anna, but now, I love her deeply.
She, a kid herself, protected Miranda as best she could.
What a beautiful human. It just goes to show that anyone can beat anything with at least one person to love them.
I hope Anna knows how incredible she is.
I stare at the dark ceiling, heart pounding with the beginnings of a plan. I don’t know exactly how this firestorm is going to play out, but one thing is certain: I’m going to stand in front of it. Between her and anything that tries to hurt her.
If the world wants to drag her name through the mud again, they’ll have to go through me first.
And I swear—I won’t let them.
I lie on the couch all night with Miranda’s exhausted body draped over my chest. I barely move—terrified of waking her, knowing she needs every second of rest she can get.
Sometime in the early morning, her breathing changes.
She stirs, blinking up at me through tired, swollen eyes, still puffy from yesterday’s tears.
“Oh my gosh.” She pushes up off me, sitting upright. “I’ve been lying on you all night?”
“Yeah,” I say softly, rising beside her. “You needed your sleep.”
She groans, pressing a hand to her forehead. “I’m such a burden.”
“Miranda, please stop saying that.” I shake my head. “You’re not.”
She sighs, shoulders curling in tight. It’s as if she wants to speak but can’t force the words past whatever pain is gripping her.
“Listen,” I say gently, shifting toward her, “I have practice, so I need to get ready. But I’m going to take care of everything today.”
Her gaze snaps to mine—skeptical, defeated. I know trusting that anything can be fixed feels impossible to her. But I have a plan. I just need the missing pieces.
“First,” I say, “I need to clarify something. Why do you think it was that Tracey girl who started all this?”
Miranda exhales sharply. “Because some of the pictures included in those videos… they came from her. Her face was blurred out, but they were taken with her phone back in the day. I’m sure she sent the story to those wannabe influencers.
” She rubs her forehead. “She was one of my teammates in high school, a vile human being. I always thought she hated me because I played the whole game and she sat on the bench, but honestly, she was just cruel. When everything happened with my coach, she was the ringleader of the bullying. It never stopped with her. So… yeah. I know it was her. Especially after the Oscar party.”
“Okay.” I nod. “Text me her last name and anything you know about where she might be now.”
She nods numbly.
“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?”
“Tell Miranda not to worry,” she says gently. “This isn’t as bad as she thinks.”
I swallow hard. “Okay. Thank you.”
“I got you,” she assures me.
And with that, I step out of her office—hopeful.