3. Weston
WESTON
A tension headache’s dogged me all damn day.
The persistent throbbing started the second the bubbly PR consultant—with the too-bright smile and unshakable confidence—began dismantling everything I knew about my team’s future at the emergency meeting.
Try as I might, I can’t shake the dull ache behind my eyes, or the knot of anxiety tightening in my gut.
I’ve cycled through all the usual methods—hit the team gym for a workout, then the sauna. Refueled at the juice bar, but the kale and pineapple smoothie did nothing to calm my stomach. I visited the trainer for a massage.
Pound, pound, pound.
Headache still fucking there.
I went to the meditation room and sat in the dark.
My worst idea yet because sitting in the quiet room alone, my mind flew straight to the scandal.
I can’t believe Coach would do this to us.
To me .
Clips from the season ran through my head, a highlight reel of Coach Evans with the team.
Did he really throw the playoffs?
In the heat of the moment, I didn’t consider anything other than wobbly stick skills coupled with shitty luck. But now, in retrospect…
Maybe he did. I mean, it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Callum rarely lets the puck slip through. Yet somehow, Chicago scored multiple goals on us in the last game of the series, the one that ended our season.
Bennett spent more time than usual in the penalty box throughout the playoffs, giving the other team the massive advantage of an extra player on the ice.
Vic missed an easy goal. The veteran never misses.
And now here I am. Standing in the living room of my airy penthouse apartment overlooking the twinkling skyline, getting ready to say goodbye.
To my home, the city I love. To a team I thought I knew.
All to move to a new place and rebuild the team from the ground up because the coach I trusted and respected fucked Prince’s wife and maybe bet against us. His players, the guys he called family.
I rake my hand through my hair, a harsh exhale fogging the glass window.
This whole thing sucks.
Knock, knock.
Only two people besides me have access to the penthouse via elevator keycards. I lumber over to the door and crack it open.
Callum and Bennett, and they’re carrying a wobbly tower of moving supplies.
Guess shit’s about to get real .
“Hey. Where’d you get all this stuff?” I swing the door open wide, and the two of them lumber in.
“Grabbed all I could carry from headquarters. Big stack of shit in the conference room. Figured I should scoop some before it’s gone.” Bennett drops the pile unceremoniously in the middle of the floor.
Throb, throb, throb.
I hate clutter even more than change.
“Figured you’d want some boxes. To pack up your meager belongings.” Bennett straightens up, waving his hand at my admittedly minimalist living space.
“Just how I like it,” I grumble, kicking at the cardboard with my toe.
“Should only take you about ten minutes to pack up your shit. You own more than one set of towels, bro?” Bennett teases.
“Yeah. I have two. Both white.”
“Of course they are.”
“That way you can bleach them. Get them extra clean.” Callum elbows Bennett and my brothers break into laughter.
“Shut the hell up, you two. Are neither of you bothered by all of this?” I scowl down at the moving supplies. “A new coach, a new city, a new team name? How about being bossed around by the PR lady? That feel good to you?”
“Malibu Barbie? I have no issue with her bossing me around. Bet she’d be good in the bedroom, with that take-charge attitude.” Bennett’s lips tip into a smirk and the pounding in my head intensifies.
A vision of Harbor in lacy black lingerie dances through my mind and every muscle in my body tenses .
“Shut the hell up about Harbor.” The words come out harsher than intended, my jaw clenching so tight I could crack a molar.
And not because he’s wrong.
Because he noticed what I noticed—and I fucking hate that.
No one should be looking at her like that, anyway. Least of all me, as the captain. She works for the team now.
“Oh, Harbor now, is it? First name basis already, Cap?” Bennett’s smirk turns into a full-fledged grin and my fists automatically ball, ready to punch that smug look off his face.
Instead, I roll my shoulders back, shooting Bennett a cold glare even as heat creeps up my neck.
“It’s her name, isn’t it? And why is it always sex with you? Are you ever not thinking about getting into someone’s panties?” I ask.
“Typically, no. Unless we’re talking about Prissy. I’m zero percent interested in her panties.”
Prissy—short for Priscilla—is our gold-digging stepmom. She swooped in approximately three minutes after our mother passed away when we were thirteen and has tormented us ever since. We collectively loathe her.
I’ve always been tight with my brothers, but after Mom died and Prissy moved in, our bond grew stronger than ever. Three against one, and Prissy loses every single time. That really pisses her off.
Leaving for college felt like more of an escape—at least for me. As the “oldest” and most responsible triplet, I shouldered a lot of the emotional burden after our mom died. Getting away from the haunting memories, the deep freeze that was our home, was ultimately a relief .
Judging by our father’s lack of communication, it doesn’t seem like our dad misses us much. Sure, we all get the occasional text, the obligatory birthday call, but that’s it. The bare minimum of parenting from our only remaining parent.
Whatever.
I’m a grown man now. I don’t need his validation, love, or approval.
“The only man interested in Prissy’s panties is our father, I can assure you.” Callum frowns, crashing down onto my couch and kicking out his long, muscular legs.
It’s not that Prissy’s an unattractive woman. But her attitude’s a real turn-off. The only person Prissy loves is Prissy. And maybe—maybe—our dad. Verdict’s still out on that one.
More likely she’s infatuated with his large bank account and celebrity, being a retired pro hockey player.
“Did anyone tell Dad about the move?” Callum raises his eyes to mine, then Bennett’s.
I shrug. “No. Figured we’re under a gag order.”
“Right. Prince told us not to talk.” Bennett’s brows scrunch together, like he’s thinking hard.
“I’m sure we could tell Dad. It’s not like he’s going to talk to the press or anything,” Callum says.
“But what about Little Miss Priss? She’s got a big ass mouth.” Bennett makes a lewd gesture and my stomach turns.
“Bro. I don’t even want to think about Prissy’s mouth, okay? You guys want something to drink?” I grab a glass from a lacquered cabinet above the built-in bar.
Normally, I’m not a drinker. Especially during the season. But today I’m making an exception. Given it’s off- season and I’m in the middle of a personal and professional crisis.
The strong, smoky scent of bourbon wafts up from the bottle as I pour.
“Here you go, boys.” I hand Callum and Bennett their drinks, then take a long, slow sip of mine. The liquid burns as it slides down my throat, but at least I’m distracted from the throbbing in my temple.
“You think Coach actually threw the playoffs, Wes?” Callum peers at me over the rim of his glass, the city lights glowing around his hulking outline.
I huff out a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I’d really love to say ‘no.’ But the more I play back our games, the less sure I am. Of everything.”
Understatement of the fucking year.
I’ve been reeling since this morning, ever since I bumped into Harbor in the hallway. My face burns remembering the way she gazed up at me through those long, dark lashes, the light pink flush of her cheeks as she apologized for mowing me down.
Before I knew who she was or heard her plans for the PR nightmare she was about to unleash on my team.
Bennett scrapes a hand over his face and crashes down next to Callum on the couch.
“Damn, this sucks. I can’t believe Coach would do us like that.” He gazes blankly across the room.
“Did you see the memo on housing that went out this afternoon?” Callum swirls the dark liquor round and round in his glass, tension etched on his face.
“You’re cute. You think I read memos?” Bennett leans back and gets comfy, stretching out beside Callum. Callum pushes his thigh away and Bennett grins .
“I figured you didn’t.” Callum shoots him a sideways glare. “I’m not even sure you can read, bro.”
“Hey. I can. I just choose not to bother. Because I have the two of you to keep me updated. What’d the memo say?”
“That housing will be limited. Short notice, smaller town and population, blah, blah, blah. Listed a few of the sites to check out. Management strongly encourages rental sharing,” Callum says.
“Damn. How small is this place?” Bennett downs the rest of his drink in one large gulp. Maybe reality’s finally sinking in.
“Small. Driftwood Cove’s an old Florida beach town.
Some minor league team was going to move there a few years ago but then bailed last second.
That’s the only reason they have a rink.
” I learned that little tidbit during my afternoon research session, after I gave up on the idea of ditching my headache.
“Super.” Bennett slams his empty glass down on the coffee table, frown lines furrowing his brow.
“Not sure why Prince chose the place. Maybe he has some kind of business deal in the works, who knows? A pro hockey team could bring in a lot of money for the town. It makes sense on their end.” I scoop up the three empty glasses and pour us all a refill.
“So, are we rooming together again, boys? Like the good old days?” Bennett asks, his tone more lighthearted than I feel.
“Sure.” Callum puffs out his cheeks, blows out a breath.
I shrug, knowing I’m probably going to regret this decision. “I guess. But I want the biggest bedroom. Since I’m the captain. And you have to promise to keep the communal areas clean. No half-eaten, soggy cereal bowls left on the table or dirty socks strewn about.”
“Chill, bro.” Bennett holds up his palms, acting all innocent. “I would never.”
“Uh-huh.” I roll my eyes, remembering the last time I lived with Bennett back in college. It wasn’t pretty.
“And you—” Bennett points at me. “You have to promise to abide by the tried-and-true ribbon signal.”
Callum guffaws at this. “What makes you think you’re going to get any action in Florida?”
Bennett shoots Callum an affronted look, one brow raised. “Have you met me? Of course I’m scoring down there.”
I shake my head. “Women aren’t going to be throwing themselves at you, Puck Bunny.”
“Always underestimating me. I’m sure the ladies will be interested. Opens up a whole new dating pool for me.”
“Always the optimist, Puck Bunny.” Callum smacks his knee and Bennett grins.
“I try to stay positive.”
Buzz, buzz.
My cell vibrates on the kitchen island, and dread rolls through me as I stare at the phone.
After a long pause, I check my messages.
Unknown number: Hi, this is Harbor Hayes, the PR consultant.
Like I know more than one Harbor.
Unknown number: Mr. Prince requested a meeting tomorrow morning, just the three of us, to loop you into the plan s
Super. Now I have to meet with Malibu Barbie and pretend to play nice in front of Prince.
Throb, throb, throb.
Head pounding and palms sweating, I tap out a response.
Weston: Fine. Where and when?
Unknown number: 8 AM, headquarters
Weston: I’ll be there
Even if I won’t like it.
I dig deep, restraining myself from typing out that last part. Just to be on the safe side, though, I toss my cell back onto the counter.
“What’s wrong, Cap?” Callum’s low voice jolts me back to reality. “Is that Prince?”
I press my lips together, my pulse kicking up a notch, muscles tight with agitation.
It’s strictly aggravation with the situation. This has nothing to do with Harbor and those wide, hazel eyes she leveled at me in the conference room.
“No. It’s Harbor. Apparently, Prince wants to meet with the two of us tomorrow.”
“Oh, sounds important and official.” Bennett draws out the words, mocking.
“Fuck off, Benny. And I’ll report back as soon as I know anything.”
Bennett salutes me and Callum nods, every bit of tension still very much alive and well in my body, my muscles.
Whatever Prince and Harbor have planned for tomorrow, I’ll need to keep my guard up—eyes on the Cup, not the beautiful PR professional with a talent for making my blood run hot.
She’s a walking complication.
And complications like that? They’re always the hardest to resist.