15. Weston #2
He gets to sail along, carefree, while I watch from a distance and pretend my chest doesn’t tighten every time she smiles at someone else.
Nope.
I stalk across the room, Callum on my heels, hot aggravation buzzing through me.
“Hey.” I step in—closer than necessary—and wedge myself between them. Chit chat’s over. My arm’s nearly touching hers, and a pink flush climbs from her chest up her neck. Her eyes flit to mine, then away again just as quickly.
Bennett gestures toward the door the coach walked out, but doesn’t back away from Harbor. Still standing too close to her for my liking.
“Morning, boys. What did you think about the new guy?”
“Seems like he’ll be good. You?” Cal asks.
“Seems like a hard-ass to me. But I’ll give him a shot. Not like we’ve got options.” Bennett shrugs, a furrow between his brows.
“After last season, we need someone like him. He’s hungry and wants to win.” I only partially believe these words, but it feels good to contradict my brother.
Harbor’s phone buzzes in her hand and she taps out a reply.
“I’ll see you all out there.” She flashes us all a quick smile, but her gaze lingers on mine for a second longer than the others and a bolt of electricity shoots through me .
As she darts from the locker room, Bennett elbows me in the ribs. “So, did you two get cozy last night?”
“Not that it’s any of your business…” I drop my voice low so no one else can hear. “But no. I went to bed. Alone.”
“Damn, Cap. You gonna shoot your shot or what?”
“Coach made it clear—we’re here to play hockey. Focus. Keep our heads down.”
“Bor-ing…” Bennett sing-songs. “Besides, you could 100% use the stress release.”
“Shut up, I’m fine.” I straighten my jacket and stalk out of the locker room, officially dropping the subject.
Most of the team’s already lined up in the hallway, clustered in small groups.
We walk toward the doors that lead out to the lobby, taking our place at the front of the line.
I catch snippets of conversation, the word coach dropped more than once.
The tight space grows louder by the minute and I’m sweating beneath my jacket.
I don’t know if it’s from the heat or the stress, but at this rate, I may have to change shirts before the ESPN interview.
At exactly eleven AM, Prince, Coach Keller, and Harbor file into the hallway. Players move out of their way as they march toward the doors, shoving into the lobby swarming with media. Cameras flash as we take our place behind the team owner, new coach, and Harbor.
I’m damn glad I’m not the one in charge of this press conference.
Prince steps forward, adjusting the mic. “Good morning and thanks for being here. I’m excited to unveil my new team, the Coastal Crushers. Here to lead the team to victory is Coach Mike Keller.”
Prince pats Coach Keller’s shoulder and he steps forward as eager hands shoot into the air. One reporter doesn’t wait to be called on .
“Why’d you hire a rookie?”
Prince’s brow furrows, and Coach Keller stands up straighter.
“Coach Keller has years of experience in the AHL and OHL. He has a proven track record. More importantly, we share the same aspiration—winning the Cup.”
The reporter fires off a second question.
“So Samson from Vancouver said no?”
Prince clears his throat loudly into the mic. “Samson was never on my radar. Next question.”
“Do you have any further information about Coach Evans and your wife?” The reporter smirks at Prince and Harbor steps forward, her expression stern.
“This presser is about the Crushers and the team’s new direction. Further questions should focus on the matter at hand.” She glares at the reporter and he shrinks at her reprimand, sitting down.
Another reporter asks about the team’s relocation and Prince gives vague, PR-worthy responses. He fields questions about the logo, the mascot, the coach.
But all my attention’s on Harbor. The way she engages with the media, handling the toughest inquiries with ease. Her poise, her quiet confidence. The don’t-fuck-with-me vibe she’s got going.
She’s everything I want in a teammate—smart, tough, unshakeable under pressure. The kind of person who makes everyone around them better.
Which makes me wanting her the most selfish thing I could do. She’s here to save this team. Save our careers—not risk hers on a captain who can’t keep his priorities straight.
Sure, she’s hot as hell.
But she’s completely off-limits for all the right reasons .
“Last question—Robertson?” Harbor points at a tall, skinny dude sitting in front.
“The team’s making a big charity push in the community with the Hockey with Heart campaign. I’d love to hear from a player how they feel about this.”
“Absolutely. The team captain can speak to this.” She glances over at me and I clear my throat, my chest tight.
Nothing like putting me on the spot.
I step forward to the podium, my fingers tightening around the edges. “I believe I can speak for the team on this. We look forward to being an integral, positive force in the community of Driftwood Cove and giving back.”
Harbor’s shoulders drop. A subtle breath of relief. I don’t know if she’s grateful, or just glad I didn’t screw up. Hopefully I can get the team on board with this plan.
It’s not like we have much choice.
“Any idea which charities you’ll be focusing on?” The reporter drills me.
“Um…” My palms slick and I search for any detail that’s been discussed. “We’ll be focusing on youth hockey and um, other important charities this season.”
“Do you believe you and your teammates will be good role models for youth players?”
“Absolutely.” I swallow hard, pushing down my doubts. Surely we can all keep it together for a few hours in front of a group of kids. Even Bennett.
“We look forward to the full report on that, Captain.” The reporter shoots me a cocky smile, then takes his seat.
I step back from the mic, palms still damp. The captain title feels a little too heavy today. Harbor gives a small nod. Barely perceptible, but I catch it. Approval. Or relief. Hell, maybe both .
“Thanks for coming, everyone.” She clicks off the mic and cameras flash as the media disperses.
The team filters toward the hallway and I follow, but not before taking one last look at her.
Calm, cool, in control.
I hate how much I want to unravel her. How much I want to press pause on this whole damn season and feel something again.
Something I never thought I’d miss.
Bennett sidles up beside me, elbowing me in the ribs. “Nice speech, Captain America.”
I don’t answer, ignoring him. My gaze is still on her.
Harbor’s eyes flick to mine and for a quick second, it’s just me and her. The room fades away—the reporters, my teammates, all of it.
It’s just us and the fire between us.
The fire we’re both pretending isn’t there.
In that second, I see it all.
Longing. Regret. And something that looks a hell of a lot like hope.
Then she turns away and disappears behind Prince and the new coach.
And I let her go.
Again.
Because that’s what captains do. Put the team first—even when watching her walk away feels like losing the playoffs and the girl in the same damn breath.
I’ve spent my entire life learning how to win.
But Harbor Hayes might be the first battle I need to lose on purpose.