chapter 26

Emma stared at her laptop screen, the words of her capstone project blurring as exhaustion set in. The digital clock in the corner read 2:37 AM—another late night in what had become her new normal over the past eight months. Her Harvard Executive MBA program had proven even more demanding than anticipated. Combined with running the Blades through playoff season and monitoring her grandfather’s declining health, Emma had pushed herself to limits she hadn’t known existed. She rubbed her eyes, determined to finish this section before allowing herself sleep. The project analyzed innovative revenue models for professional sports franchises during economic downturns—directly applicable to her work, yet requiring academic rigor that stretched even her considerable intellect. Her phone buzzed with a text. Only one person would message at this hour. Still awake? Alek’s text read. Unfortunately. This section on alternative revenue streams is fighting me. Want company? I’m just leaving the arena after west coast game reviews. Emma smiled despite her fatigue. Yes please. Door’s unlocked. Twenty minutes later, she heard Alek’s key in the door—he’d had one for months now, though they maintained separate residences. Their relationship had evolved into something steady and supportive despite the chaos of her schedule. He appeared in her study doorway, tie loosened, carrying take-out containers. “Thought you might need brain food.” “You’re a lifesaver.” Emma stretched, wincing as her back protested hours of hunching over her laptop. “How was the Vancouver game analysis?” “Promising. Their defense has exploitable patterns.” Alek set the food on her desk, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “More importantly, how’s the project?” “Getting there. Three more sections, then revisions.” Emma opened a container, inhaling the aroma of pad thai. “Two weeks until submission deadline.” “And three weeks until graduation.” Alek settled in the chair across from her desk. “The light at the end of this very long tunnel.” Emma nodded, taking a bite of noodles. For months, her life had been meticulously compartmentalized—team responsibilities from 8 AM to 6 PM, MBA work from 7 PM until exhaustion claimed her, weekends consumed by intensive courses and study groups. Time with Alek had been squeezed into margins—late-night meals, occasional mornings, professional collaboration during work hours. “How was your grandfather today?” Alek asked, the routine question carrying more weight recently. “Stubborn.” Emma smiled faintly. “Refused his afternoon medications until I promised he could attend graduation.” Franklin’s congestive heart failure had worsened over the winter. Though stabilized with aggressive treatment, his doctors had recommended reduced activities and stress—advice the Mitchell patriarch routinely ignored when it conflicted with supporting his granddaughter. “Will he be well enough?” “Doctor says yes, with precautions.” Emma pushed food around her container. “He’s determined to see this through with me.” “Like grandfather, like granddaughter.” Alek’s expression softened. “You Mitchell’s don’t do anything halfway.” “Speaking of not doing things halfway,” Emma set down her fork, “Wilson cornered me before the Board meeting today.” Alek’s expression sharpened. “And?” “Apparently, my presentation last month on international market expansion ‘demonstrated impressive strategic thinking.‘” Emma’s voice carried amused disbelief. “He actually asked my opinion on his son’s sports management graduate program applications.” “Vindication.” Alek raised his water glass in toast. “Though hardly necessary given your performance metrics this season.” Emma hadn’t just maintained the team’s operations during her academic pursuits—she’d excelled. Under her leadership, the Blades had secured a playoff spot, increased merchandise sales by twenty-three percent, and launched an innovative community engagement program that had become a league-wide model. “The MBA wasn’t just about proving myself to Wilson,” Emma reminded him. “It was about finishing something I started years ago. Reclaiming a part of myself I surrendered during my marriage.” “I know.” Alek reached across the desk for her hand. “And I couldn’t be more proud of how you’ve handled everything these past months.” Emma laced her fingers with his, grateful for his unwavering support. Unlike Jack, who had viewed her ambitions as competition for attention, Alek had consistently encouraged her growth—even when it meant less time together. “Two more weeks of academic insanity, then I’m all yours again,” she promised. “Well, yours and the team’s.” “I’ve managed to share you this long.” Alek’s smile held something beyond his usual warmth. “I can wait a little longer.” Graduation day dawned bright and clear, Cambridge’s historic buildings gleaming in May sunshine. Emma stood before her bedroom mirror, adjusting her dress beneath the ceremonial robe, excitement mingling with a profound sense of accomplishment. “You look like your mother.” Emma turned to find Franklin in her doorway, dapper despite the oxygen tube and walking cane that had become his constants. His eyes shimmered with uncharacteristic emotion. “She would be so proud of you today, Emmy. As am I.” Emma crossed to embrace him carefully. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Grandpa.” “Nonsense. You’re a Mitchell. We accomplish whatever we set our minds to.” Franklin patted her back. “Though I admit, watching you balance team leadership, academics, and that oversized Russian boyfriend has been particularly impressive.” Emma laughed. “Alek isn’t oversized. You’re just shrinking.” “Humph. Still built like a refrigerator.” Franklin’s attempt at gruffness couldn’t hide his approval. “He’s meeting us at the ceremony?” “Already there, saving seats.” Emma gathered her cap. “He insisted on handling all the logistics today so I could focus on enjoying the moment.” “Keeper,” Franklin declared. “Now, shall we go make Harvard remember the Mitchell name?” The graduation ceremony passed in a blur of speeches, applause, and tradition. Emma spotted Alek’s tall frame immediately in the family section, his proud smile visible even from the graduates’ seating. Beside him sat Mia, who had flown in from Chicago specifically for the ceremony, and several key Blades executives who had become Emma’s supporters rather than skeptics over the past year. When her name was called—“Emma Mitchell, with highest distinction”—the hockey contingent erupted in cheers loud enough to draw amused glances from academic officials. Emma accepted her diploma with professional poise, but couldn’t suppress a grin at her grandfather’s distinctive whistle cutting through the formal atmosphere. Later, at the reception, Emma found herself surrounded by well-wishers—classmates, professors, team personnel. She navigated the social waters with practiced ease until Alek appeared at her elbow. “Your grandfather needs a break,” he murmured. “Getting tired but won’t admit it.” Emma immediately excused herself, following Alek to where Franklin sat in a corner, oxygen flow increased but expression defiant. “I’m fine,” he insisted before she could speak. “Just resting momentarily.” “Of course you are.” Emma sat beside him. “And I could use a moment away from the crowd myself.” Franklin harrumphed but didn’t argue. “Did you see Wilson’s face when your distinction was announced? Looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.” “Grandpa...” Emma admonished, though she’d noticed the same thing. “Just appreciating justice when I see it.” Franklin patted her hand. “You’ve earned this, Emmy. Every accolade, every success—through your own merit.” “Agreed,” Alek said, joining them with water for Franklin. “Though I’m selfishly glad to have my girlfriend back from the academic abyss.” “Poor neglected boy,” Franklin teased. “Eight whole months of limited attention.” Their good-natured banter continued until Franklin’s color improved enough for Emma’s concern to ease. As guests began departing, Alek suggested moving to the celebration dinner he’d arranged at Franklin’s favorite restaurant. “Actually,” Franklin said, “I think I’ll take a rain check. These old bones need rest before tonight’s game.” “You don’t have to attend, Grandpa,” Emma reminded him. “Doctor Stevens said—” “Doctor Stevens can watch from his luxury condo. I’ll be in my box.” Franklin’s tone brooked no argument. “It’s Game Five of the conference semifinals. The team needs all the support it can get.” Emma exchanged resigned glances with Alek. Franklin’s stubborn independence was simultaneously inspiring and terrifying given his condition.