Page 75 of Dump Tackle My Heart
“Doesn’t matter,” Tank growls.
His arm tightens around my waist like a shield.
“I handled it.”
Another Rover snarls low in his throat.
Someone else stomps once, twice, the sound echoing like war drums.
Before I know it, the entire forward pack is stamping and growling, falling into a loose haka stance.
Not a full performance—just that spine-straightening, chest-pounding energy.
Their eyes are on me, then on Tank.
A wordless show of solidarity.
It’s ridiculous. An overreaction for sure.
But it’s also—well, it’s terrifying. And it’s beautiful.
My chest swells.
I’ve worked with these men for months, coached them on captions and hashtags and posing for the camera.
But right now? They’re not a content team.
They’re a family.My family.
I don’t even realize I’m tearing up until Finley shoves a tissue into my hand, muttering under her breath.
“Okay, okay, everybody stop stomping before someone sues us.”
Then she looks up and past me, and her face goes pale.
“Oh God. Mitchell.”
I turn, and there he is—Mitchell Knight, billionaire owner of the Carolina Rovers, in a tailored charcoal suit that probably costs more than my car.
He’s not smiling.
In fact, he looks like a man who just decided to buy the entire playing field and burn it down for fun.
“Where’s Ellie Vance?” he asks, voice like a blade.
“She—uh—she left,” Finley stammers. “I was just about to?—”
Mitchell raises a hand.
“No need. My media group finalized the acquisition ofPowerPlayandSportsNationas of ten minutes ago. Papers signed and sent.”
The locker room goes dead silent.
“Vance is already fired,” Mitchell continues smoothly. “Effective immediately. Security is escorting her from the building as we speak. And the segment she attempted to film today will never air.”
I blink. “Wait, you bought the network?”
Mitchell finally looks at me, his expression softening a fraction. “It was already in motion, Ms. McNally. Consider thisconvenient timing.”
