25. Weston
WESTON
H oly hell.
Fucking Harbor Hayes was life changing.
The way her eyes flutter shut when she’s close to unraveling. The flush across her chest, her breath catching.
The way she takes my cock—every last inch of it—squeezing and milking me until I’m more wrung out than after a game.
And the best part? The way she’s mine.
All her moans, every inch of her luscious body.
Mine.
But it’s more than that. The way she looked at me when she said she was mine—like she meant it and it scared the hell out of her. That look’s going to keep me awake for the next decade.
I want her all over again and I only left her hotel room fifteen minutes ago. Sneaking out like some damn rookie trying to dodge curfew.
Except now there’s more—so much more—on the line .
I didn’t mean for this to get so tangled. It wasn’t supposed to be complicated.
But it is.
And those rules we set? I already know they’re going to be shot to hell.
Starting with rule #1—no one can know.
Uh-huh, sure. Because there’s no fucking way Callum and Bennett aren’t going to sniff this one out. They’ll probably piece things together by the end of the week, knowing my nosy-ass brothers.
As quietly as possible, I creep into the foyer of the rental house using my phone as a flashlight. I’m dehydrated as hell, which—coupled with the lack of sleep—is gonna make practice significantly more painful tomorrow. I need water before I hit the sack for the few remaining hours of the night.
“Strategy meeting went long, huh?”
Fuck my life.
Callum’s standing in the glow of the pendant light, shirtless in joggers at the kitchen island, chugging a pink electrolyte drink.
I scrub my hand across the back of my neck and do my best to look innocent.
“Uh, yeah. Late night.”
He stares at me for a long second, dark brows knitted.
Finally, he breaks the awkward silence. “Be careful, Weston.”
It’s not a warning. Just a quiet reminder of everything that’s at stake.
He tosses his drink into the trash. “I’ve watched the fallout when captains lose focus. And I’ve never seen you look at anyone the way you looked at her during practice.”
I frown. “You were watching me during practice? ”
“Everyone was watching you during practice. Including Coach.” He shoves past me and heads upstairs, leaving me to contemplate my life choices.
I lean against the cool marble counter and huff out a deep breath. I meant for this thing to stay easy, physical. No expectations, no fallout.
But Harbor Hayes isn’t the kind of woman you touch and forget. And now that I’ve had her, I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to go back to the way things were.
The moment I kissed her, I was a fucking goner.
I just hope it’s not going to bite me in the ass.
And if it does? I’ll deserve every damn bite.
Because there’s no way in hell I’m walking away from her now.
Although I’m working on four hours of sleep, two cups of coffee, and sheer adrenaline, I somehow manage to have the best practice I’ve had in weeks.
“Nice play, Weston!” Coach Keller yells from the bench as I slap another puck deep into the goal.
About fucking time.
My game’s back—and it’s better than ever. I haven’t been this locked in since playoffs two seasons ago. Every pass is crisp, every shot finds its mark. Even Bennett can’t get under my skin today because my body’s still humming with satisfaction from last night.
“Looks like Cap’s got his shine again.” Bennett circles around me, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Must have been a helluva PR session last night.”
He winks, and I resist the urge to shove him into the boards .
“Fuck off, Benny. All the training in the gym’s paying off is all.” I keep my tone neutral, eyes locked on the puck, careful not to give anything away.
“Right, right, that’s what we’re calling it these days,” he snickers, twirling his stick in his hands like he’s got all the time in the world. Then he leans in, dropping his voice. “Hope she gave you lots of talking points.”
I scowl. “Bro. Grow up. We had drinks and talked about the charity thing. That’s it.”
“Sure.” He pushes off, skating backward. “Just saying. If this is your new pre-game ritual? Keep it up. You haven’t looked this sharp in weeks.”
“Weston! Word in my office?” Keller tips his chin at me, motioning me over.
Fuck.
There’s no way he knows.
We’ve been careful. Benny and Callum might suspect, but I haven’t breathed a word to anyone.
Coach can’t know.
“Sure.” I skate over to the bench, plopping down and unlacing my skates. My mind whirs, running through all the possible reasons Coach could possibly want to talk privately.
None of them are good.
Rising, I follow Keller into the tunnel, weaving through the concrete maze of the arena. We pass the locker room, the gym, the training room, empty conference rooms until we finally come to his office. He unlocks the door and flicks on the light, tossing his clipboard onto his tidy desk.
His office is sparsely furnished, only a desk, a few chairs, and a computer monitor. No photos, no homey touches.
“Haven’t had a chance to decorate yet?” I glance around at the bare walls and he shrugs, sinking down into his chair.
“I’m not too concerned with my office decor. What matters to me right now is performance—specifically, getting everyone into peak shape before the season starts.”
I swallow hard, swiping my sweaty palms down my thighs. “Yes, sir. I understand.”
“You were locked in out there today. Your drills were faster, stick skills sharp—keep it up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Today you embodied what a captain of a pro hockey team should be—determined, focused, on point. The guys are watching you and gauging your reaction to this relocation. I’ve seen how you interact with your teammates. You’re calm, no drama or bullshit. I like your style, Weston.”
“Thank you, Coach.” I roll my shoulders, wondering where he’s going with this little speech.
“I know Prince has you doing a lot of the song-and-dance shit with the PR consultant and the rebranding campaign.”
My stomach twists into a tight knot at the mention of anything to do with Harbor.
“I’m not in a position to stop the owner of the team from using you however he sees fit.
That being said, if the PR crap gets to be too big of a distraction, let me know.
Our goal is to win games. It’s fine and good to lob an assist every once in a while, but I don’t want my captain losing sight of what matters.
” He locks his gaze with mine and my mouth goes dry. “Winning.”
I nod. “Yes, Coach. Understood. So far, Prince hasn’t thrown me anything I can’t handle. ”
Keller steeples his fingers together, gazing across the desk at me. “Good.”
He pauses for a long second, the air conditioning humming behind me. Even with the AC cranking, I’m sweating beneath my jersey.
“You and Harbor seem to work well together.”
My throat constricts and I practically choke on air. Hearing her name roll off Coach’s lips sends a sharp bolt of anxiety ripping through me.
“We do, yeah.”
“Keep it that way, Steele. Because the second I see your performance slip, or the team dynamic falter, I’ll know where to locate the source. My number one priority is protecting this team’s chances this season—at all costs.” He leaves the rest unsaid, the unspoken words hanging heavy between us.
No distractions.
No feelings.
Eye on the prize.
“That’s all. Have a great strength training session.”
With that, he swivels to his computer and starts typing. Effectively dismissing me.
I stand and walk out of the office, more on edge than before our little chat.
It’s unclear if Coach suspects anything. But he’s definitely watching—and that worries me almost as much.
Because I’ve never wanted anything as bad as a win this season.
Until her.
Now I’ve got both in my hands—Harbor and hockey—and I’m teetering on a razor-thin line.
One wrong move and I lose everything.
And the worst part ?
I’m not sure which loss would wreck me more.
Losing hockey would gut my identity, everything I’ve worked for my entire life.
But losing Harbor?
That would gut my soul.
I’ve made hockey my mission, careful never to let anything compete.
Now? I’m fucking terrified to find out what wins if I’m forced to choose.