14. Harbor
HARBOR
I knew I’d see Weston here. Still, I’m unprepared for the firestorm raging inside me when I spot him. All hard muscle and determination, in a dark blue T-shirt that highlights every beautiful inch of his broad chest.
Red-hot desire sparks in my gut the second he locks his icy gaze on mine. A shiver rolls down my spine, his eyes tracking my every move. I twirl my bracelets on my wrist and try to remain calm, not give myself away in front of my boss.
“Harbor? Is everything lined up then?” Prince strokes his jaw and waits for a response.
“Pardon?” What’s he asking me? I can’t concentrate when I’m in the same room as Weston.
I need to get my shit together.
“For the presser. We’re good to go, right?” Prince’s brow squishes together and I nod, relieved I at least have the correct answer here.
“Yes, sir. We’re good to go. The presser’s scheduled for the afternoon and then ESPN will interview Weston right afterward.”
“Excellent. Nice work. National press coverage will go a long way in establishing the franchise.”
“My thoughts exactly.” I smile and try to ignore the hammering of my heart.
It’s just anxiety over tomorrow. Has nothing to do with the hockey star watching me from across the room. Or that kiss in the locker room.
A mistake.
A delicious, tempting mistake.
But not one I can risk making again.
Not if I want to keep my job. Not to mention doing my best work and proving myself to my father.
I can’t afford to take my eye off the prize.
Even if the distraction is downright drool-worthy. That sharp jawline, the way his muscles ripple when he flexes. And his scent, like a dark, manly forest I want to get lost in.
Harbor, focus.
This is exactly the sort of thing my dad would reprimand me for.
Getting so caught up in a player that I can’t keep my mind on the job.
Elite hockey professionals don’t get distracted by players.
Success at this level requires unwavering focus, and here I am getting caught up in personal complications.
Not ideal.
“Tomorrow morning before the presser I’ll be introducing the new head coach to the team. I’d like you to be there, snap some photos for social media.” Prince pulls his cell out of his pocket and checks his schedule. “Locker room, ten AM. ”
Shit.
Of course the meet-and-greet’s in the freaking locker room. Hopefully I’ll be able to keep my mind on the job—and off of what happened there with Weston.
“Got it.” I update my calendar, nerves coursing through me.
Clink, clink, clink.
Prince taps the side of his glass with a knife, commanding the room’s attention. Since I’m beside him, all eyes are on me. My face flames and I stare straight ahead.
“I’ll keep this short.” Prince’s smooth voice is authoritative. “Many of you have already met Harbor Hayes. For those who haven’t had the pleasure—or have been hiding in the weight room—Harbor’s the reason we haven’t completely imploded.”
A ripple of laughter goes up, but Weston’s not smiling. His expression’s painfully neutral and my stomach clenches.
“She’s our PR secret weapon. Smart, strategic, and tougher than most of you.”
More laughter and I low-key want to duck into the restroom right now. I clasp my hands in front of me and plaster a smile on my face.
“She’s been working around the clock to clean up the last few months, and frankly, we’re lucky to have her.”
Prince heaps on the praise and heat prickles at the back of my neck. I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with Weston. I’m unsure of his reaction to all of this—and I’m not sure I want to know.
“She’ll be with us through the upcoming season.” Prince raises his glass. “So if she asks you for something, give it to her. She’s here to help us turn the page. That means full access, full trust, full respect.”
These words hit me hard, the air knocked from my lungs.
The validation I’ve been craving—not specifically from Prince. But the hockey world in general. For one brief moment, I feel like I’ve made it, I’m finally in the club. Proof I’m here on merit, not just bloodline.
The team claps and nods, raising their drinks. I smile politely, even though I’m slightly embarrassed by the praise.
Finally, I bring myself to take a quick glance over at Weston. His jaw’s tight as he lifts his glass, tipping it at me.
I need a minute to regroup.
“Thank you, Mr. Prince. I appreciate the warm intro.” I touch his arm, his suit jacket silky smooth and clearly expensive.
“Absolutely. You’ve more than earned it.”
“Thanks. Would you please excuse me for a second?”
“Sure, no problem.”
Without hesitation, I spin on my heel and search for the closest exit. I need fresh air, space from the pressure.
Pushing through a side door, I stumble into a dark alleyway.
I lean back against the building and close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath of warm, salty air.
The door clicks shut behind me and probably locks, but I don’t even care.
The last thing I want to do is go back inside.
I can’t think, can’t breathe this close to Weston.
Let alone stand around and make small talk with his teammates and boss.
Fuck. What am I doing?
My entire job is anticipating PR crises and here I am, getting involved with a player on the very team I’m trying to save from scandal .
This is exactly what my dad predicted—the moment when personal feelings would override professional judgment. When discipline collapses and everything falls apart. Every criticism he’s ever made about me—about my focus, priorities, my choices in general—runs through my head and I’m spinning.
“Hey.”
I jump a foot in the air, eyes flying open as I whirl to face the deep voice I already recognize and respond to.
“We need to talk.” Weston steps closer, his heady masculine scent swirling around me and making me dizzy.
I shake my head, ignoring the quickening of my pulse and the flutter in my belly. “No, we don’t. What happened earlier…” I lick the corner of my lip, face flaming. “It can’t happen again. There’s too much on the line. For both of us.”
“Right.” Weston pins his steely gaze on me, the blue dark in the dim light. Desire rolls through me and my already shaky resolve wavers more.
“It’s too risky.” My voice is quiet and frankly, unconvincing, even to me.
“You’re right. It is.” He takes another step closer, and my breath hitches as heat shimmers between us.
As much as I want to lean in and have a repeat performance of this afternoon, I know what I have to do. For me, my job, for Weston and the team.
“Here.” I fish the folded printout from my pocket. “These are the interview questions for tomorrow. You don’t have to memorize anything. Just skim them tonight, so you’re not caught off-guard.”
Weston takes the paper, our fingers touching for the briefest of seconds. Sparks fly up my arm and I do my best to ignore them and the accompanying jitters rocketing through me.
“The questions are mostly about the rebrand, the relocation, community outreach and your role as captain. Happy to help with anything you may need. Wording or whatever.”
He scans the folded sheet of paper, silence stretching between us. I force myself to stand still and not fill up the empty space with babbling, but it’s difficult. Being this close to him—his body inches from mine—and not touching him hurts.
I fold my arms across my chest, building a wall I know I can’t cross.
Won’t cross.
“This is a big deal. If the segment goes well, it could anchor the entire media rollout. Give us good press right from the get-go.”
“I get it, Harbor.” Weston shoves the paper into his pocket, his voice neutral.
I totally blew this, every part of it.
I swallow hard, my stomach sinking. I don’t want to push him away. Not really. I just don’t know how to hold him without dropping everything else.
“Don’t worry, Hurricane. I’ll play my part.” His tone is calm, controlled. All I can ask for.
“Just like you’re playing yours.” He shoots me one last hard stare, then walks away without a second glance.
The alley falls quiet, waves crashing in the distance.
But nothing drowns out the sound of him leaving.
Or the whisper in my head that sounds suspiciously like my sister: What if you’re protecting yourself right out of the best thing that’s ever happened to you ?
Tomorrow’s press conference will make or break this rebrand.
But tonight, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve made the biggest mistake of my career.
And it has nothing to do with the hockey scandal.
Is pushing Weston away actually proving my dad right?
When pressure mounts, I choose fear, holding back. Staying in the safe position.
Maybe I’m not championship material after all…