2. Harbor
HARBOR
A ll things considered, the emergency team meeting went about as well as could be expected. I figured most of the players would be shocked and upset, especially considering they just lost their coach in the scandal.
I hadn’t counted on the team captain being all rage and jawline. He’s very good-looking. Tall, dark, and handsome—also extremely pissed off. I’m going to have to thaw that frosty demeanor stat, though, because I need him on my side for this rebrand to be successful.
And it needs to be successful. If I kill this campaign, I’ll be well on my way to being a force in the sports PR world. On my own terms, working for myself as a freelance consultant. This could be my big break, the one that catapults my career.
I kick off my heels as soon as I walk through the door of my tiny apartment and hurry over to the kitchen table.
Setting up my laptop for the rescheduled meeting with Mr. Prince and the team, I ignore the churning in my stomach from my jangly nerves and all the leftover adrenaline from the world’s longest day.
This is the final meeting with the team to review the new campaign and negotiate the terms of my contract.
If everything goes to plan, I’ll seal the deal and land the biggest client of my career.
I’m sliding into a chair when a text pops up on the screen.
Dad: Florida? What the hell?
Oh shit. How’d he find out about this already? I haven’t told anyone—not even my sister, Piper—and we’ve purposefully kept absolute silence on the media front.
I stare out the window and debate how to respond. I don’t have time to get into it with him right now—Mr. Prince will be joining the call any second and I need to focus on getting the job before I worry about traversing the fallout with my father.
Harbor: It’s a great opportunity
Dad: Some piss-ass town in the swamp state? How, exactly, is that a great opportunity, Harbor? I can get you a call with F1 today
Frowning at the screen, my stomach twists into a tight knot. Of course he’s critical of a potential relocation. He never wanted me to work in sports, period. Let alone hockey, his one true love.
Harbor: Thanks, but n o
Short, to the point. The less ammo I give him, the better.
No sense reiterating that I want—no, need —to succeed on my own.
Not take whatever golden ticket the great Coach Doug Hayes manages to score for his daughter.
We’ve had that argument roughly one kazillion times over the last decade.
He just doesn’t understand and now’s not the time to try to change his mind.
Dad: This is a terrible fucking idea, Harbor
Wow, I appreciate the support.
Ring, ring.
Plastering a wide smile on my face, I accept the video call and forget about my dad for now. Mr. Prince pops up, along with the GM, and several key sponsors.
“Hello, Harbor. The gang’s all here.” Prince chuckles at his joke, and I keep smiling.
“Evening, gentlemen. Let me pull my slides up for you.” I open the document as another text pings in the corner.
Dad: Let me make a few calls. I’ll get back to you ASAP. DON’T SIGN ANYTHING
I audibly groan, and Prince raises a brow. Coughing, I attempt to cover up my moan.
“Please refer to slide one. That’s the overview of the rebrand.” I begin walking everyone through the slides, going over the reasons for the relocation and the myriad of benefits to sponsors.
Dad: Got you an interview tomorrow at 10 AM EST with Los Angeles
I bite the inside of my cheek and hit the X on the text box, closing the message and concentrating on my pitch.
“We’re going to focus on charity and community. Hockey with Heart will be the campaign slogan and we can use that on merchandise, really integrate it into all of our marketing efforts.” I highlight the words on the slide with my mouse as the sponsors nod in agreement. They’re into the pitch.
Dad: The PR girl for the basketball team’s going on maternity leave. You can take her position. She probably won’t come back anyway
Good grief. My dad’s an HR nightmare. And there’s probably a 100% chance she’s coming back—has he seen the housing costs in L.A.?
“Harbor, the deck is great, we love all the fresh ideas for the team.” Mr. Prince nods enthusiastically and my chest lightens a touch.
“Thanks, Mr. Prince. I’m enthused about the opportunity for growth and believe the team and the organization can add real value to the community. That’s important to me, and I know it’s tantamount to your beliefs as well.” I smile and try to throw as much enthusiasm into my voice as possible.
Dad: If you want to play with the big boys, you need to be in a major city. Not some backwater pit stop
Dad: You’re a Hayes. Hayes = Greatness
Dad: With a fucking capital G, Harbor
The messages flash on my screen in quick succession, each one a sharp stab to the gut. I clasp my shaking hands together in my lap and pretend to be fine, happy even. Inside, though, I’m seething.
My dad’s such a fucking asshole.
Smoothing my hair over my shoulder, I answer each and every question thrown at me flawlessly and shove away the simmering anger.
Dad: I raised you better than this
It’s always about him.
Every. Single. Time.
Well, not today.
“We’re prepared to offer you a one-year contract, with full relocation coverage, plus health and benefits. Double what we previously offered because we see the value in your plan.” Prince leans toward the camera, giving me a close-up of his salt-and-pepper hair, the deep etches on his forehead.
Excitement fizzes through my veins, taking the place of the rage. I do love a good win. Plus, I’ve watched more game footage than half the players in the league. I understand this sport in my bones. If anyone can make this rebrand work, it’s me.
“Yes.”
Finally, something Dad can’t criticize.
The offer’s amazing, my best contract ever. Yet, even as I think the words, I know it’s not true. My dad always finds something to critique.
Always .
“Yes? Fantastic. I’ll have legal shoot the contract over tonight. One last thing—is Coach Hayes on board with you making the move? Wouldn’t want the greatest coach of all time to be pissed at me for stealing his little girl from the big city.” Mr. Prince chuckles, and I swallow down a grimace.
I nod, fidgeting with the stack of bracelets on my wrist. Now’s not the time to hash my twisted family dynamics out with Mr. Prince. Especially when he’s dealing with his own messy situation with a soon-to-be ex-wife.
“He’s generally supportive.” That’s the best I can do without straight-up lying.
“Well, then, welcome to the team, Ms. Hayes. And please tell your father I say hello. We’d love for him to attend our opening game!” Prince shoots me one last grin, then disconnects and my screen goes dark.
Literally zero chance of my dad showing up for the season opener, judging by his latest text:
Dad: You’re a damn winner. Start acting like one
Folding my arms on the table, I bang my head against my forearm, once, twice, three times. Why can’t my father let me live my own freaking life? He doesn’t bother Piper like this, butting in and telling her how to run her social media business.
No, just me, for some perverse reason.
My therapist’s calm, low voice echoes in my head: Why do you let him get to you?
I’m a grown-ass woman with several years of work with Dr. Martina under my belt. Apparently, it’s not working though. Because I still have daddy issues. A consummate people-pleaser, and for some reason, pleasing Dad’s always been the thing.
Guess I love a good challenge.
Because if there’s one thing I know for certain it’s that Coach Doug Hayes is never satisfied.
Ever.
His team won the Cup three years in a row. The first team to achieve the coveted three-peat. Year four they lost in Game 7. He had players watching footage of that one game all off-season, analyzing every single thing they did wrong.
Never satisfied.
So why the hell am I still trying?
Staring at the litany of messages, I debate how to respond. He’s going to hear about the contract soon—it’s best if the news comes from me. But I don’t have a phone call in me right now, every bone in my body aching from exhaustion.
I tap out a text.
Harbor: Thanks for the interview offer, but I took the job
Harbor: Huge contract with benefits. Best deal I’ve landed
Holding my breath, I watch the swirling dots as my dad types his response. Nausea rolls over me and I feel like I’m going to throw up. I should be excited, happy, celebrating the win. Instead, I’m sitting here sweating, my stomach in knots.
Dad: WHY THE FUCK DID YOU DO THAT?
Dad: I told you not to sign anything
Dad: I’ll call my lawyer. We can get you out of this
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Harbor: No, Dad. This is happening and it’s going to be great
Harbor: I’m going to make this team into the next big thing
Dad: Right, Harbor. And hell’s freezing over tomorrow
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. God, why is he always such a dick? I should cut him off, but my mother would never forgive me. Not to mention my sister.
No, I won’t cut him off.
I’ll do better than that.
I’m going to prove him wrong.
The Coastal Crushers are going to be big. Huge. The next great US hockey team. They’ll win the championship. And when they do, when I make it happen, he can finally shut the hell up and let me live my life.