Page 21 of Knot Your Pucking Secret

But that doesn’t mean that I didn’t come with some…concessions. If the board wants me to buy back the team, which they very clearly do, I want them to do something good. I want them to pull their heads out of their asses and see the damage their previous leaders caused their families since the media turned into a fucking shark pool.

They’ve spent decades celebrating championships, hanging banners from rafters and immortalizing men who could score goals, throw punches and fill arenas. But somewhere along the way, they stopped asking what happened after those men went home. They stopped asking who paid the price behind closed doors when crowds disappeared and the cameras stoppedrolling. When I was exiled, because, let’s call it what it was, there were children who paid the price too. Wives paid the price. Just because players made the decision to walk, sign other contracts, secure a more steady future for themselves, doesn’t excuse the actions leadership showed throughout that whole situation. One of the conditions to my return is that they are to be compensated for any damages caused in their transfer.

But that’s not the only condition I stipulated.

I want the franchise to fully fund non-profit charities and safe houses for children that have suffered parental abuse. I want scholarships established for disadvantaged children. Discreet mental health programs for the players, their families, and others across the country. Literacy initiatives. Organizations where kids can simply be kids without homes due to family violence, instead of surviving the adults who were supposed to love and protect them.

They were hesitant at first, but after I informed them it was something I would not sway away from, they really had no choice. If they wanted my family’s money, they were going to honor my family’s values. The negotiations dragged on for days, every clause scrutinized, every condition questioned, every attempt at compromise swiftly shut down. They tested my resolve more than once. They learned very quickly that my resolve wasn’t the thing that would break. I am not the same Omega who left this place.

For so long I’d spent my life reacting to the decisions of powerful men. Patrick, even if he played the role of doting father well. Brett. The board. My old job. Men who believed they had the right to dictate the direction of my life because they possessed more influence than I did. Not anymore. This time, they sat across the table from me, and for the first time in my life, I held every card that mattered.

After receiving the exorbitant amount of funds from my parents’ estate, combined with the amount I had received from Patrick, the process of purchasing back the team was fairly simple. Money may have opened the door, but my surname gave me every reason to walk through it. And I’m not talking about the Gilmore name.

I’m talking about the Welsh name.

A name built on integrity long before I was born. A name my grandfather spent six years protecting because he refused to believe I was gone. A name myrealfather proudly carried onto the ice every single time he stepped onto it. Until recently, Welsh had been little more than another surname in a stack of legal jargon. Now it feels different when I think it. Heavier. Warmer. Like every sacrifice my family made has somehow settled onto my shoulders, not as a burden, but as a responsibility. One I will gladly take on.

For years I thought I was fighting to earn my place within this world. This organization. I was wrong. I wasn’t earning my place. I was on a journey to find my way home. My real home. The real me.

My father died loving hockey just as much as I do, perhaps even more. It was enough for him to fight my grandfather and to chase his dream to play in the NHL over becoming a lawyer at my family’s firm. Julian had been kind enough to tell me the story of how my dad loved hockey in the first place. Apparently, it started long before the NHL ever came calling. Before the contracts. Before the roaring crowds and television cameras. It started in frozen ponds, at community rinks and in the stands beside my grandfather, who somehow managed to be both his biggest supporter and his fiercest critic. Julian told me they argued constantly about hockey, yet my grandfather never missed a game. He’d complain the entire drive there, mutter about wasted potential from the stands, then spend the drivehome dissecting every shift as though he were the team’s head coach.

It made me smile knowing that. Knowing the man I never had the chance to meet wasn’t just a hockey player. He was someone’s hero. His father’s.

It felt bittersweet to see the money transfer out as quickly as it did from my accounts, but I know it's worth it. The string of numbers disappeared from my screen in a matter of seconds, enough money to change thousands of lives, and yet I didn’t hesitate. Not once. Money had been used as a weapon in my career as a lawyer. I’ve seen families torn apart over it. But me, I wanted to use it in the way I feel like my family would have wanted me to. To take back what my father loved. What I love.

It will be worth honoring my family's name. Not the man who took it from me. The Gilmore name is lost to me now. As soon as I could change it to Welsh, I did. Well, technically, it had always been Welsh. Though everything had been tied to who I thought I was, it took me days to switch everything over. The first time I saw my new driver’s licence, I couldn’t stop staring at it. Welsh. Six letters that somehow felt both unfamiliar and as though they had belonged to me all along. I traced them with my thumb more than once in disbelief, letting the reality settle beneath my skin.

I refuse to be tied to a man who did so much damage. A man who used greed and jealousy to take the things that never belonged to him. Patrick raised me to believe my surname was something to be grateful for. Now I understand it was never a gift. It was another thing he’d stolen. The biggest burden I hadn’t known I’d carried.

My path was always destined to end at the Cardinals, but it feels tainted having been tied to him. It should have remained in the Welsh family. Just like my grandfather had desired. Standing here now, I can’t help but wonder how many times my grandfather walked these same corridors waiting for myfather. How many times he walked these corridors reliving the unimaginable. Wondering if he’d find me. My small body.

But I was never gone.

And now he is.

Reclaiming the Cardinals is me taking it all back in the only way I know how.

The team will be inherited through blood, bearing the Welsh name, no matter the circumstances. I won’t let it be sold off or stolen. Handed to men that only want to destroy. For nearly three decades, this club had been owned by someone who saw it as a means to an end. To hide in plain sight. A bargaining chip in case someone came knocking for answers. Asking questions. A symbol of power. Never again. The team was originally built on sacrifice, loyalty and family, and that’s exactly what it will return to.

On top of the concessions I requested, I had one a little bit smaller than that. I wanted my purchasing of the team to remain quiet. I wanted to make the announcement to my new employees myself. Then eventually, the team. Or what’s left of them. I’ll be sure to inform those who walked out when I did on the off chance they’d return. I wouldn’t be upset if they didn’t. But they deserve to know all the same. If they decided that distance would be easier than the impending scrutiny that will happen in the media, I’d understand. They mourned the team they loved. They could see the downfall play out as I did, and they deserved safety. For their careers and their families. They stuck by me, even the ones that remained and I want them to know that this time, I’m not going anywhere.

Things will be different this time.

Everythingwill be different this time.

I take a deep, steadying breath, pausing at the door to the conference room where the entire team and staff are waitingwith Clive, who has been giving them all a speech, informing them of their new buyer.

The polished timber beneath my shoes creaks softly as I shift my weight. The air smells faintly of sweat and something savory, masking the lingering bite of disinfectant. It tugs at the memories I hadn’t realized I’d avoided. Somewhere further down the hallway a phone rings before being silenced. A photocopier hums to life. Beyond the heavy door, voices rise and fall in quiet speculation, followed by the scrape of chairs across the floor and the occasional nervous laugh.

I can picture every face waiting on the other side without even opening the door. The trainers. The analysts. The front office staff. The people who kept this place running long after I walked away.

The players…

My chest tightens and I can feel my blood pumping loudly in my ears. I shouldn’t be nervous. The last time I introduced myself, I had wanted these people to believe I’d earned my place, just as those who came before me did. To prove I was more than my designation. And I am. It was the biggest moment in my career, however brief it may have been. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. This time, everything is on my terms. No one is introducing me. No one ishandingme an opportunity they can take away again. I am the one in control and fuckass Alphas aren’t going to stand in my way this time.

I spent years believing I needed to fight to belong inside these walls. After all, I am a woman. An Omega. That was one of the reasons I pursued a career in law. I could fight it out in a courtroom and force people who hid behind wealth, influence and carefully drafted contracts to answer for the damage they’d caused. Justice wasn’t always guaranteed, but accountability was something I could fight for. They had to respect me there otherwise they’d lose.

But now, I know the truth.