9. Weston
WESTON
H eart pounding, Harbor’s soft body presses against me in the darkness. The scent of vanilla and coconut drifts up from her hair, swirling and filling the enclosed space.
“Weston?” Her voice is quiet, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah?”
“Did the power just go out?”
“I think so.”
“Oh my god.” The words come out a tight, sorrowful moan.
“It’ll be okay.” I squeeze her arms, trying to sound reassuring. Although inside, I’m less than confident.
I hate tight spaces.
“I’m sure we’ll be up and running again in no time.” I’m trying to talk myself into believing the power’s coming back on as much as I’m trying to calm her down.
Hot panic surges through me, chest tight. My vision goes spotty, white pricks of light dancing in the periphery, and I can’t get a full breath .
“You okay?” Harbor’s palm flattens on my chest. “Your heart’s racing.”
“I’m fine. Mildly claustrophobic.” Sweat beads at my temple and I take a shuddery inhale, sucking in the sweet scent of Harbor.
“Oh shit. You want some water or something? Don’t pass out on me.”
“I told you, I’m fine. And I’ll skip the water. A stalled elevator and an urgent need to pee’s not a winning combo.”
“True.”
The car jerks, dropping another inch, and I instinctively grip Harbor tighter. She shrieks, her high-pitched scream reverberating in my eardrums.
“We should sit. Just in case.” I slide to the floor, pulling her down with me. She’s nestled in between my legs for a brief moment, her warm breath dusting my cheeks. Then she slides over and settles in next to me. Shoulder to shoulder, our thighs brushing.
I pull my cell out of my pocket and tap the screen, the light bouncing off the walls.
“Dammit. No service.”
Harbor checks hers with the same result.
Tapping the flashlight button on the phone, I hold the light up to the electrical panel and pound the emergency button. Nothing happens.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” I mutter, panic bubbling up. “The button doesn’t work.”
“Probably because the power’s out. Don’t worry, I’m sure your girl Gia will figure it out. Hopefully she’ll call the fire department or something.” Harbor’s tone is sarcastic.
Damn. She is jealous .
“Gia’s not my girl—don’t worry, Hurricane,” I tease, elbowing her.
“Me? I’m not worried…” Her voice trails off and my muscles tense, acutely aware of her presence, her nearness, even in the dark.
The space is small and quiet, our breathing suddenly loud. The eerie sound of the car creaking as we sway back and forth, dangling in the air, is disconcerting. More sweat beads on my brow and my underarms are soaked.
“Tell me about you.” It’s a demand, from me to her. Anything to get my mind off being trapped in here.
“Uh, what do you want to know?”
“What do you want me to know?” I shoot back, mopping my face with the hem of my T-shirt.
“Well, you know I come from a hockey family. My dad’s a coach.”
“I remember. What level?”
Harbor hesitates, then sighs. “Professional. My dad’s Doug Hayes.”
“ The Doug Hayes?” My tone’s edged with awe. “The most winning coach in the league’s history? Three-peat?”
“Yep. That’s him.”
“Wow.”
Holy shit. I’ve been treating Coach Doug Hayes’s daughter like some random PR consultant who doesn’t understand hockey.
No wonder she’s been ready to hurt me every time I question her expertise.
The woman’s hockey royalty, a card-carrying member of a dynasty.
And I doubted her knowledge of the sport at every turn.
Airball.
“How was it growing up with Coach Hayes as a dad?”
Harbor exhales, a long, heavy sigh. “It was…something. ”
Her answer surprises me. She sounds almost exhausted, with a hint of sadness coloring the edges.
“Huh. Something good or something bad?”
“Just something. To the outside world, my dad’s the greatest coach who’s ever lived. Unfortunately, he brought that locker room mentality back home with him. Everyone in the family was a player in need of coaching. He was tough.” She takes another shuddery breath. “Still is.”
Her voice drifts off and even in the darkness, worry lines stand out on her forehead.
“It’s hard to compartmentalize when you’re that good at something, I guess.”
She shrugs. “Must be. Because he’s retired and hasn’t let up.”
I chuckle. “So he’s a hard-ass?”
“Absolutely.”
“How’s he feel about you working in hockey?”
“Doesn’t love it. According to the greatest coach in hockey history, I’m better suited for ‘behind-the-scenes’ work that doesn’t sully the family legacy. His words, not mine.”
Biting at her lip, she plays with her bangles. “Apparently I lack the ‘championship-mindset’ required for front-facing hockey jobs. So here I am, trying to prove him wrong by rebuilding an entire franchise.”
Now I get why Harbor’s so motivated, so invested in this rebrand. She’s not just proving herself professionally—she’s fighting for validation from hockey’s greatest legend.
Risking everything on a relocated team in a small Florida beach town, betting her family legacy on our success.
“Bold move. ”
She sighs again, shaking her head. “Maybe not my smartest play. Dr. Martina—that’s my therapist—because yeah, I’m that girl.
The one with daddy issues. Anyway, she thinks he suffers from a generational patriarchy complex.
I chalk it up to his need to be in control all the time.
Either way, it’s really fucking annoying.
You know he tried to talk me out of taking this job? ”
“Really? So he thinks Florida’s a bad idea?”
“Yep. Fought me on it until the very last second. He even got me an interview with the Lakers the day we flew down here.”
“He’s really committed to your success, huh?”
She rolls her eyes. “That’s a lovely way of saying he’s meddling above his pay grade. The man’s offsides and right now he’s in the penalty box.”
Harbor licks her bottom lip and I can’t stop staring. Maybe it’s the tiny, enclosed space. Maybe it’s the constant tension between us, I don’t know.
Something inside me, deep-down, shifts when she’s around.
I know I should keep my guard up, protect myself and the team from the shit storm swirling around us. I’ve worked too hard to get where I am only to throw it all away.
But there’s something about her that draws me in. She’s competent and professional, yet strangely vulnerable.
It’s a compelling combination and I can’t seem to break away.
“I take it you’re not on speaking terms right now, then?”
“Not really.”
“I’m sorry. That’s a tough spot to be in.”
She flips her hair off her neck, fanning herself. “It’s fine. We’ve always had a rocky relationship. What about you? Your dad was a professional hockey player too, right?”
I cut my eyes at her. “You did your research.”
“Of course I did. What’s he saying about the move?”
I hesitate for a second before answering. “I wouldn’t worry too much about my dad’s advice. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him. That is, when he bothers paying attention at all.”
“Oh.”
Scrubbing my hand over my jaw, irritation swirls through my gut.
“When he remarried, his priorities shifted. He’s mainly concerned with making his wife happy.
He leaves me and my brothers alone, for the most part.
Except for the occasional phone call after a game to dissect every play that went wrong. ”
“Sounds like our dads would get along great.” She elbows me lightly and I shoot her a wry smile.
“Probably. If they could get past their own egos.”
“I’m guessing your dad’s not a huge fan of all three of his boys moving to Florida?”
“Not particularly. Thinks it’s a big risk.”
“It is. But that’s what makes the opportunity so perfect. We have the chance to make the Coastal Crushers the next big thing in hockey. From the ice up. It’s going to be huge, Weston.”
Her eyes sparkle in the darkness, her enthusiasm bubbling over. She’s fucking stunning when she’s excited and all I can think about is what she’s like in the bedroom— how she’d feel underneath me, what she tastes like, the sounds she makes when she’s coming undone.
For fuck sake, Steele. Get it together.
“Did you leave anything behind in New York?” It’s a thinly veiled question, probably overly personal. But right now, I don’t care. I want to know everything about her.
“My apartment. It wasn’t that great, not a huge loss. And a book club. Other than that, not much. What about you?”
“I did have a pretty nice apartment. A color-coordinated closet, a home gym.”
“Oh, you had me at color-coordinated closet,” she teases, nudging my knee with hers. A spark flares low in my gut and I chuckle.
“My brothers make fun of me for that. I’ll have to report back that it’s actually a net-positive.”
“Totally is. I’m a big fan.”
“Never would have guessed…”
She blinks up at me in the dark, and my heart hammers so hard I’m certain she can hear it in the tight space.
I gaze down at her, my eyes finally adjusted to the darkness, taking in her full lips, the way her teeth worry at her bottom lip.
I lean in closer and her sweet perfume fills my nostrils.
We’re inches apart now, her breath hitching as I tip forward.
So close.
This woman—daughter of the most legendary coach in hockey—chose to bet everything on us. On me. That kind of courage…
I shouldn’t be doing this, it’s a mistake.
But a mistake I’m dying to make.
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, her mouth soft against the rough calloused pad. She sighs, her breath a whisper in the dark. Leans in with a tiny hitch in her throat.
“Weston…” She reaches up and grips my wrist, her fi ngers hot on my skin. Her lips part and I inch forward, aching to touch her.
A bad idea. But God, I want it.
Buzz.
The lights flicker and the elevator lurches, zooming down with the force of gravity. Harbor’s fingers tighten on my wrist and I hold onto her, trying to shield her from impact.
Ding.
The doors slide open, flooding the elevator with light. Both of us mashed together against the wall, sweaty and breathless.
I blink against the sudden brightness, Harbor still pressed against me, her fingers digging into my biceps.
“Well, well, well. Don’t mind me, Captain. Wouldn’t want to interrupt this hot and heavy PR strategy meeting.”
Bennett.
Of all the people who could be standing here in this moment, it has to be my smartass, too-observant brother, with his perpetual fucking smirk.
Harbor jerks away from me, smoothing her dress down with trembling hands. “The power went out. We were trapped in the elevator for a while.”
Bennett’s gaze slides from a disheveled Harbor to me, lingering on the side of my neck where I’m sure my pulse is hammering beneath the skin.
From the sudden drop, of course.
“Must have been terrifying. Good thing my brother was here to keep you company.” His tone’s knowing, making my jaw clench. “You two look…rattled.”
I swipe my sweaty palms down my shorts and stand. “Mechanical failure,” I growl, stepping out of the elevator. “Nothing more. ”
Bennett smirks. “If you say so, Captain.”
Harbor marches out, her cheeks stained pink, gaze averted. But her face is totally neutral.
And that rattles me.
With the doors finally open, I’m breathing again.
I got my breath back—but something else stays lodged in my chest.
Her voice. Her story. The way she looked at me like I mattered.
I’m out of the confined space, but somehow, everything feels tighter.