30. Harbor
HARBOR
O h fuck.
Fuckity, fuck, fuck.
Face flaming, I race through all the possible reasons I could be up here, with Weston up in his bedroom.
None of them seem remotely believable. Not the way his teammate’s staring at us right now.
“Hey, Ford. You lost?” Weston answers smoothly, his tone calm and controlled. “Party’s downstairs, man.”
“Coulda fooled me.” The guy—Ford—shoves off the wall with a smirk.
“We were just talking about the youth clinic. Great job with the kids out on the ice!” I flash him a bright smile, my voice high-pitched and overly enthusiastic.
“Sure.” Ford’s eyes flick between me and Weston. Then he leans into Weston and points at his zipper. “Your fly’s down, bro.”
Oh god.
He totally knows .
FUCK.
Rule #1 blown to smithereens. Rule #2’s probably right behind.
And if Keller finds out? It’s over, for both of us. Weston could be benched—or worse—cut from the team. And I’m done. Cooked. My chances of proving I belong here gone, in one stupid second.
Red-hot panic pumps through my veins, my heart beating triple time. I’m probably in the cardiac danger zone right now, on the verge of a heart attack.
Weston nonchalantly pulls up his zipper. “Thanks. Hate when that happens.”
The bass ramps up and people cheer from the yard, and Weston nods his head toward the stairs.
“Shall we?”
Without a word, I move down the stairs, taking one careful step at a time. I do not need to trip on top of everything else.
At the bottom of the staircase, Weston pulls Ford to the side. They’re a few feet away from me, not fully within earshot. But I’m able to make out a few words from the conversation, the most important ones being Keep it between us.
I bounce from foot to foot, trying to remain calm. Inside though, I’m an absolute wreck.
Ford could go straight to Keller. Or Prince. He could out us to the entire freaking locker room and there’s not a damn thing we can do about it, other than deny, deny, deny.
A solid PR strategy, and one I’m not above using. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
But that would chip away at the team morale and put Weston in a terrible position .
Dammit.
Why does this have to be so freaking complicated?
Exactly why you weren’t supposed to get involved in the first place.
Winners don’t get distracted, Harbor.
I don’t need my dad’s voice in my head right now. I feel bad enough as it is, watching Weston navigate the sticky situation with his teammate.
Spinning my bracelets on my wrist, I bite the inside of my cheek and shove down the flutters of panic rising in my chest.
Stay calm. Freaking out isn’t helpful to anyone.
Weston strides over, a hand shoved in his pocket, and Ford goes the other direction.
“Shit…” I whisper as soon as Weston’s by my side. His jaw’s tense, worry lines furrowing his brow.
“It’s handled. He won’t say anything.” He doesn’t reach out to touch me and I feel the absence acutely.
I hate this.
“I’m sorry.” I press my lips together, regret rolling through me.
“Harbor, this isn’t your fault. And it’s going to be fine. Trust me.” His deep blue eyes meet mine and he’s so sincere, I almost believe him.
Almost.
But now we have to go back out there and pretend nothing happened. Smile. Laugh. Act like my career’s not hanging by a thread that could snap at any second.
“Harbor! There you are—I’ve been looking all over for you!” Piper rushes up to me, glowing. Cheeks rosy, she’s definitely had more than one drink. Bennett’s right behind her, grinning.
“Hey, guys. Party’s bumping now. Let’s dance.” He hooks his thumb at the patio door and Piper claps her hands together like a high school cheerleader.
“Yessss! I love dancing.”
Grabbing Bennett’s hand, the two of them bolt outside. Weston and I exchange a wary glance and follow.
The night keeps getting better.
The DJ’s pumping hip hop, so loud my eardrums ring the second I step outside. The night air’s warm and humid, my skin instantly sticky. Bennett and Piper grind together, dancing in the center of a much larger, drunker crowd than before Weston and I went upstairs.
Weston leans down, his lips inches from my ear so I can hear him over the music.
“Want me to break that up?”
“No, it’s fine. Piper’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”
“Okay. Say the word and I’ll stop him.”
I can’t worry about my sister right now. All I’m thinking about is Ford and what he saw upstairs. What he’s going to say to his teammates, the coach.
Sure, Weston said he handled it. But did he really?
Only time will tell—and I hate leaving things to chance.
“Harbor, right?”
There’s a tap on my arm and I spin toward the voice.
Wonderful.
Victoria Prince. The Ice Queen herself. Here, at the party that’s going very wrong, very fast.
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!
“Hey! Yeah, it’s Harbor. How are you, Victoria?” I force my lips into a smile, my face so tight there’s little chance I’m coming off as sincere.
Thank god it’s dark.
“Please, call me Tori. I heard about the little get-together. Thought I’d pop by and see what’s going on.” She casts her eyes around the lawn, taking in the keg, the DJ, the growing crowd. “Good times.”
She sounds less than amused.
“Bennett doesn’t do anything small.” Weston stares at his brother swaying with Piper in the middle of the crowd, his hands on her narrow hips.
“I heard about him.” Tori stares at Bennett, gyrating with my sister, and a cold sweat breaks out on the small of my back.
“He’s the fun one.” Weston scrubs a hand over the back of his neck, a vein popping in his thick neck.
“Hmmm.” Tori’s tone’s non-committal, like she’s sizing up Bennett—and the entire situation.
“Want something to drink, Tori?” Weston gestures to a nearby cooler, and she nods.
“Sure, I’ll take a water. If you have that.” Her tone’s borderline snarky, and I wonder why, exactly, she’s here.
Did Prince send her to check up on the team?
Or me specifically?
I fidget with my bracelets and pray Weston returns with the drinks sooner rather than later.
“The rebrand’s going well.” Tori floats the compliment, not taking her eyes off the dancing.
“Thanks. It’s been intense, but I’m happy with how things are going.”
“Daddy’s been pleased.”
“Wonderful.”
“Listen—can I give you a little advice? Hockey daughter to hockey daughter?” She cuts her eyes at me and a prickly tingle skates down my arms, every single nerve in my body on edge.
“Sure.” I play it cool, even as the tiny hairs on the back of my neck rise .
“You’re doing great work. But the lines between personal and professional are starting to blur—people notice. And when Daddy’s investors notice, contracts get reevaluated. Quickly.”
My stomach clenches and my chest tightens, forcing most of the oxygen from my lungs. Suddenly, I’m struggling to breathe.
Victoria Prince is warning me.
Away from Weston.
FUCK.
Weston sidles up with the drinks and I fight back the panicky sensation rushing over me.
Breathe.
No one knows anything.
Plausible deniability.
We still have a loophole, an out.
“Thank you.” I take the drink from Weston, resisting the urge to chug the entire Solo cup of wine in one long gulp. “And thanks, Tori. For the advice. Would you excuse me a moment? Ladies’ room.”
Pretending I have to pee, I hurry away. I feel badly leaving Weston alone with Tori, but I’m sure he can handle her. I need a second to pull myself together. Between Ford and Tori, I’m about to burst.
“Whoa, little lady—” A sweaty palm darts out, grabbing my arm. I stagger on my heels and try to steady myself, tottering. “Where are you running off to in such a hurry?” The man leers at me, his words slightly slurred.
I vaguely recognize him from all my community outreach. The reddish beard and shocking jade green eyes jog my memory—he owns the Rusty Anchor.
“You’re that PR lady, right? The eye candy the hockey team hired to get their franchise out of the shitter. ”
I bristle, his hand still clutching my arm. “Harbor Hayes. And I wouldn’t say the franchise is ‘in the shitter,’ as you so eloquently put it.”
“Well, everyone knows the old coach threw the season. It’s gonna take more than a move down to Florida for them to prove they have what it takes to win. Know what I mean?”
He’s louder now, his voice carrying over the music. A few people glance our direction, including Weston and Tori. A couple phones lift, filming without subtlety.
“They do have what it takes. But thanks for your input. I’ll be sure to pass it on.” I rip my hand out of his grip and his drink splashes on me, cold and strong.
“Damn, now you spilled my drink. You’re a feisty one.” He grabs at the hem of my dress and yanks me forward. More of his drink sloshes out of his cup, this time landing on my chest.
My brain blanks and my limbs don’t work. I’m frozen, caught between instinct and panic.
“Get your hands off her.” Weston’s deep voice booms over the music, and now there’s a crowd of people around us.
“Easy, dude. We were just chatting about how this hot piece of ass is going to save the team with her skills . Bet you know all about that.”
A streak of tanned muscle flies close to my face, then the man’s stumbling backward, both his hands cupped over his nose.
Blood streams through his fingers and flashes of light blind me as people capture the moment.
Multiple phones are recording, the red dots blinking like predator eyes.
Someone’s frantically typing—probably uploading to TikTok before the blood’s wiped from Bennett’s knuckles.
Bennett’s reared back, ready to take another swing at the guy.
“Bennett, no—” Callum snags the back of Bennett’s shirt, pulling him away.
“Get this animal off me!” the man cries, cowering. Tori races over, helping Callum and Weston with Bennett.
I stand there, gaping and in shock.
“Don’t you ever touch her, you fucking hear me, you piece of shit!” Bennett screams, his face red and twisted with rage.
“Go inside,” Tori shouts, shoving the Steele brothers toward the door. “Party’s over!”
Tears threaten at the corners of my eyes as I stare in horror at the scene, all the people talking and filming.
“Harbor, let’s go.” Piper’s arm wraps around me as she drags me across the lawn toward the house.
My entire body’s numb, fear and dread mixing into a nauseous cocktail in my gut.
“This is going to go viral,” I whisper. “There’s no way I can stop this from leaking.”
“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Piper’s fingers trace calming circles on my damp, sticky shoulder, but I don’t feel any better.
I’ll handle it.
Weston’s strong, steady voice rings in my head.
He can’t handle this.
And I’m afraid I won’t be able to either.