20. Harbor
HARBOR
W hat the hell am I doing?
I stare up at the smooth white ceiling in my hotel room, the AC blowing over my heated skin. I just had fantastic, mind-blowing sex with the most gorgeous man on the planet and proceeded to tell him it was a ONE-TIME THING.
Like, what in the actual fuck is wrong with me?
You’re doing exactly what you always do—playing it safe.
Getting the jump, making sure you’re the one who makes the call.
Dad trained you well.
Oh shit. That part stings.
Almost as much as hearing Weston readily agree that getting together was a mistake.
Even though I said it first, he didn’t have to go along with it.
Seems like maybe you’re both thinking about keeping your jobs—and your professional reputations.
I huff out a deep breath and roll over on the fluffy white bed, gazing out into the chaotic waves of the Atlantic.
Why does everything always have to be so complicated?
Just once in my life, I want things to be easy, simple. Like they always are for Piper.
She would never let Weston walk away.
Never.
Piper would’ve locked him down the second his lips touched hers. They’d probably already be engaged.
And what did I do?
Turned him down. Multiple times. Then finally gave in, only to pull a quick 180 and tell him things between us are over before they’ve barely begun.
Good god, I’m an absolute head case.
I sit up and kick my shoes off, wiggling my toes, the shell-pink polish sparkling in the soft lamp light.
But I can’t be the scandal. That’s not what this team needs, what I need.
What I need is a win.
Pretty sure you just had one. An amazing, strong, beautiful man, with an equally amazing cock, fucking you into oblivion in the media room.
#winning.
But at what cost?
There it is again. My dad’s voice, complete with hard, cold stare.
I thought you cared about the job. The family name. Our legacy.
Not just hooking up with a hockey player, chasing after some fleeting high with a man.
Fuck my life.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t get away from my dad and his sky-high—and frankly, unrealistic—expectations of me.
Maybe I need to book a virtual appointment with Dr. Martina to get my head back in the game.
Buzz, buzz.
Leaning over the bed, I fish my cell from my purse. Piper’s name pops up on the screen. A video call from my sister’s the next best thing, I suppose.
“Hello?”
“Whoa.” She arches a brow, eyes narrowing. “You fucked him, didn’t you? The captain?”
Cheeks burning, I shake my head in protest. “No! Why would you say that?”
“Oh, c’mon, Harbs. Don’t play coy with me. You’ve got that just-fucked look going on. Messy hair, flushed face. And your blouse—the buttons are crooked.”
I check my shirt.
Shit, she’s right.
Tugging at the gauzy fabric, I quickly fix my shirt, avoiding my sister’s pointed stare.
“Admit it. You got with the sexy hockey star. Good for you.”
“Fine. You’re right, I did.”
“Yes!” Piper grins and pumps her fist in the air. “And? How was he? Huge? I heard hockey players have big dicks.”
“Oh my gosh, Piper!” I giggle, blushing. Because she’s not wrong. Weston is very well-endowed.
“He does, doesn’t he? Look at you, down in Florida living your best life. When can I meet him?”
I exhale a heavy sigh. “Probably never. I told him it was a one-time thing.”
“What? Are you mad, woman? You sleep with a hockey star and then tell him it’s over? What in the actual fuck, Harbor!”
“I know. Trust me, I know. But it’s not like we can date. I’m trying to save the team from scandal. How does it look for the PR consultant to be hooking up with a player?”
“You’re single. He’s single. So who cares?”
“It’s optics, Piper. The tabloids would be all over that.”
“The tabloids or Dad?”
My gut clenches at the mention of our father. How does Piper always know?
I fidget with the bangles on my wrist. “This has nothing to do with Dad.”
“I’m calling bullshit on that.”
“Fine. Maybe it has a little bit to do with him. What would he say if he found out I banged the team captain in the film room?”
“Impressive…I didn’t know you had something that kinky in you, big sis.”
I roll my eyes at my sister, even as the corner of my mouth curves up in a smile. Straddling Weston in the dark, remembering how it felt to be pressed up against his strong chest, his hands caressing my ass.
“It was amazing. But it can’t happen again.” I run my fingers through my hair and try to sound convincing.
“Harbor, don’t let Dad rule your life.” Her voice is low and firm, her gaze serious. “Why do you care so much about what he thinks?”
Out of nowhere, tears spring to my eyes. “Because it’s Dad . The great Coach Doug Hayes. Everybody knows him. So by extension, they know me. There’s expectations, you know? I have to work harder, be better than everyone else.”
“Well, you do work harder and you are better. So I’d say your job is done. Now go out and live your damn life. Fuck Dad. You deserve to be happy, Harbor.”
I take a shaky breath, absorbing her words.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should do what I want, let go of expectations and choose myself for once.
Who am I kidding?
That’s not in my DNA. I’m the daughter of the greatest hockey coach of all time.
I have a legacy to protect. A team to rebuild. A championship to win.
Eyes on the prize, Harbor.
“No, I can’t, Piper. It’s too risky.”
My sister presses her lips together and I feel her disappointment through the phone.
“I don’t know why you bother going to therapy. Maybe you should try to get a refund because it’s obviously not working.”
Ouch.
“You don’t understand. Your job is low-stakes, no expectations. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Wow, okay. Thanks. Now you’re sounding like Dad, too.” Piper’s tone goes cold. “Do you hear yourself right now? You just dismissed my entire career because there’s not crazy pressure tied to it, a championship trophy on the line.”
Her words sting because she’s absolutely right. I do sound like him. Dismissive. Elitist. Acting like only winning matters.
“That’s not what I meant?—”
“It’s exactly what you meant. And you know what’s really fucked up?
You’re using Dad’s logic to justify staying small.
To avoid going after anything real. You’re trapped in his shadow, chasing after whatever you think will make him happy—if he’s even capable of that emotion.
Jury’s still out. But don’t come crying to me when you’re alone and miserable, with only your career to keep you company.
Because that’s what’s going to happen.” Her ponytail swishes behind her with each harsh word, a furrow etched in her brow.
“One day you’ll wake up and everyone around you will be married with kids and you’ll still be single. Trying to live up to someone’s stupid expectations and falling short because no one—not even you, Harbor—is perfect.”
Her words cut deep because they’re true and I know it.
I’ve spent my entire life seeking my father’s approval. And for what? A gold star he’ll never give me? He’s never satisfied, never happy or proud. Even when I land the biggest client of my career, it’s not enough.
“But what if I fail, Piper?” My voice shakes, and I hate it. Hate how weak I sound, hate the constant self-doubt gnawing at me. “What if I prove him right, about everything?”
“Then you fail, Harbor. But at least you fucking tried to be yourself instead of his perfect little daughter.”
With that, she disconnects and the screen goes black.
Super.
Somehow I managed to push Weston away and piss my sister off all in a few short hours.
Buzz, buzz.
Hoping Piper’s calling me back to kiss and make up, I glance at my cell.
Dad: Saw the presser. Coach Keller has quite the reputation
Dad: Tough but good. Big step up from the dipshit they had befor e
Is my dad actually giving me positive feedback right now?
Mind blown.
Dad: Don’t think I would’ve hired a rookie. But probably the best they could get
There it is. The backhanded compliment I expected. Never simple praise. Always qualified, always second-guessing.
Dad: Had dinner with Jarod from the Olympics committee. He has an open spot on his marketing team
For fuck’s sake. The man never lets up. He can’t acknowledge my success—it always comes with conditions, qualifications, immediate suggestions for something “better.”
Harbor: Thanks, but I’m good. The team’s going to have a great season
Harbor: They’re championship material
Blue dots swirl, each spin adding another sharp twist to my gut, my anxiety peaking.
Dad: I’m not sure they have what it takes. So many distractions
Dad: That’s not how you win
And I’m one of the distractions.
The realization hits hard, sucking the air from my lungs .
I’m not just failing to maintain professional boundaries—I’m actively undermining everything I came here to achieve.
I can’t be one of the reasons the team doesn’t win. The Crushers deserve a PR consultant at the top of her game and a captain with singular focus.
Not someone who’s distracted—and distracting.
My dad’s right again.
And I fucking hate it.