1. Weston #2
“There’s been an incident—” She locks her wide eyes directly on mine. “And it’s not great. Publicity wise.”
Is she talking about the loss in the playoffs? Because all of this seems extreme.
“What are we talking about here? Sure, we lost in game five, but it happens to teams every year.” I fold my arms across my chest, leveling my gaze on her.
She swallows hard, straightening her shoulders. “We’re not talking about the playoffs. You’re going to hear it eventually, so I’ll tell you all now. Coach Evans had, um, sexual relations with Mrs. Prince. He’s also currently under league investigation for illicit gambling involving the team. ”
Another gasp from the room and more side conversations break out.
I can’t believe this. Coach was banging the owner’s wife? And worse—may have been betting on his own team?
Mind spinning, I glance at Prince and his clenched fists, the stony gaze. Dude’s usually uptight, but he seems more stressed than normal. Guess now I know why.
Harbor waves her hand through the air, silencing the chatter. “As upsetting as all this is, we need to come together as a team right now. Close the gates and shut down the rumor mill.”
Max nods, agreeing with her plan. Then he steps forward.
“The performance in the playoffs, plus the gambling investigation, has sponsors nervous. To cut losses, I’m relocating the team.
We’re moving the franchise to Florida, effective this upcoming season.
It will be a fresh start for this team. Everyone will be given a moving stipend and off-season practice with the new coach begins in one month. ”
Damn.
This keeps getting better. Florida? Great for Spring Break, but moving an entire professional hockey team there?
“Oh, hell no.” Vic shoves upright from his spot on the wall. “I’m not moving to Florida! I got kids here.”
Murmurs break out around the table and Max waves his hand through the air.
“Enough! You’re free to make your own decisions. You’ll break your contract, making you a free agent. But that’s your choice. I’ll need it all in writing by the end of the weekend. ”
More mumbling and grumbling rolls around the room. Harbor leans over, whispering in Max’s ear.
“The team will reimburse everyone for the move, plus provide relocation assistance to secure new living arrangements. I ask that you not speak to the media at this time. Ms. Hayes will be the spokesperson for this team. Only the two of us will address the press. We’ll hold the official press conference announcing the relocation in forty-eight hours.
Until then, I expect complete media silence from everyone in this room.
Additionally, Ms. Hayes will be spearheading a team rebranding campaign, helping rehab our image. ”
Rehab? Nothing’s wrong with the team’s image, outside of Mrs. Prince fucking around and Coach maybe making a few bets.
“Right. I have a few PR strategies up my sleeve, percolating, and I’m excited to be on board!” Harbor flashes a bright smile around the room, and I grimace.
I don’t like this one little bit.
Not the new coach. The relocation. Not the rebranding, the bogus PR campaign. And I sure as hell don’t like the sprightly blonde, flipping her hair and shining bright as the North fucking star up there.
“Thanks for coming!” Harbor waves like a damn theme park greeter, and I roll my eyes so hard the sockets hurt.
“What in the actual fuck?” Bennett grumbles, pushing off the wall. “Evans screwed Prince’s wife? When? Where?”
“Really, Benny? That’s what you’re hung up on?” Callum elbows Bennett. “Not the fact that Coach may have thrown the playoffs? Or that we’re all moving to Florida and getting a new coach? You’re over here thinking about the lewd and lascivious acts of Mrs. Prince and Coach Evans?”
“Hell, yeah, I am. That was the interesting part of the story.” Bennett runs his fingers through his hair. “Wes, you didn’t know anything about this? I thought you and Coach were tight.”
So did I.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to dull the sudden throbbing in my head. Change always knocks me sideways and this is a shit ton all at once.
“No. I knew nothing.” I take a deep breath, people already filing out of the room. Harbor and Max field questions and shake hands as players shuffle by.
Simmering anger bubbles up inside me. Why didn’t Max call me? I’m the captain of this team. He should have at least given me the courtesy heads-up, so I’d be prepared.
Squaring my shoulders, I march over to Max and Harbor. Max is deep in conversation with the team doctor, leaving me alone with PR Barbie.
Who, upsettingly, is far more gorgeous up close. And she smells good too, like some kind of exotic fruit.
“Hello, I’m Harbor. You’re Weston Steele, right? I ran into you this morning. Sorry I didn’t properly introduce myself.” She thrusts her hand in my direction and I give her open palm a withering stare, leaving her hanging.
“Yes, I’m Weston. The team captain and forward.”
She retracts her hand, the bright smile faltering slightly. “How can I help you, Weston?”
“I don’t think you can. You know nothing about this team, and probably less about hockey. How you’re going to be an asset I have no idea.”
“I assure you I have everything under control and it will all be fine. Better than fine. Eventually. This team’s going to come out on the other side of this scandal stronger than ever.”
“Maybe. Although I don’t believe we have an image problem.”
Harbor clears her throat, her cheeks staining a bright pink. “Um, trust me, we do. The story hasn’t broken yet. But when it does, you’ll be happy to be out of here.”
A pit yawns open in my gut, but I forge ahead.
“I doubt someone like you can claw us out of trouble.” I rake a cold, assessing gaze up and down her body.
She can’t be more than a few years out of college.
Under more favorable circumstances, I’d consider her attractive, with high cheekbones and glossy, full lips. But right now I’m just pissed off.
I lock eyes with her. “Like you know anything about hockey.”
Straightening her shoulders, she doesn’t break my gaze. “I appreciate that you’re upset right now, probably knocked off-kilter a little.”
I cross my arms over my chest and frown, swallowing hard. “You have no idea how I feel right now. I’ve given my all to this game. This team. This city. And now your big plan is to up and leave?”
“Trust me, Weston. It will be for the best.”
“Ms. Hayes, with all due respect, I doubt you know what’s best. For me or this team.”
She lifts her chin, matching my glare. And damn if it doesn’t spark something low in my gut. That blaze in her eyes? It should piss me off. Instead, I’m standing here thinking about how I can stoke it.
Not fucking ideal.
I spin on my heel and stalk toward the door.
“My dad was a hockey coach for twenty years. ”
I freeze.
“He always said a team that can’t protect each other on the ice is defeated before the puck drops. You have a choice here, Weston. Protect the team or be defeated. You choose, Captain.”
Gone is the soft-spoken, slightly shy woman from the hallway. Her tone’s sharp, icy even. Hot anger ripples through me, pricking at my scalp and burning my neck.
Dammit.
She has a good fucking point.
But I’ll never admit that.
Instead, I stalk out of the room without looking back. Pissed off that she’s absolutely correct in her assessment—and she’s already under my skin.