31. Harbor
HARBOR
M y phone’s blowing up in my bag before Piper and I even get into the Uber. I’m shaking so badly my teeth click together and my breathing’s shallow and uneven.
“Breathe, babe. It’s going to be okay. Everything’s fine.” Piper strokes my arm as the car pulls away from the house.
“Oh my god. Cops.” I stare out the window in horror at the police cars flying down the street, red and blue lights flashing.
I don’t have time to fall apart now. Right now, I have to do my job. The job Prince is paying me big bucks for.
With trembling hands, I text Weston.
Harbor: Tell Bennett to get a lawyer
Harbor: Be cooperative, but don’t answer anything without representation
Mercifully, he texts me back immediately.
Weston: They’re taking B and that asshole down to the station
Weston: That dude’s gonna press charges
Shit.
And there’s video footage of the fight, probably circulating as we speak.
Harbor: Call your lawyer and agent
Harbor: I’ll loop management in
Weston: Tori already called Prince
Fu-u-u-ck.
Of course she called Daddy.
My cell vibrates with an alert.
Bile rises in my throat as I read the words: Coastal Crushers player Bennett Steele’s on thin ice
Oh. My. God.
I click into the TikTok video and there I am, front and center. That creep pawing at me. Then Weston’s next to me, his hand on my back. There’s a flash of light, the camera shakes. Loud noises and screaming as Bennett pummels the guy.
Blood. Tons of blood.
Callum and Weston pulling Bennett off the man, Tori’s arms waving at the DJ and telling him to shut it down.
I play the video again, then again. Zooming in, pausing, searching for angles.
Watch myself looking disoriented as that asshole grabs at me. Then Weston’s suddenly there. Too close, too intimate. Looking very much like a possessive boyfriend. The optics are career-destroying: the PR consultant drunk and getting groped at a team party, the captain swooping in.
“It’s going to come down to optics,” I mutter. “Bennett looks like the aggressor on the video—and defense of others only works if the response wasn’t excessive. He snapped. That’s what people will see.”
The sound quality’s not good enough to hear what the creepy guy’s saying to me, not close enough to catch how he pulled me up against him.
Dammit.
This is bad. Very, very bad.
“That’s not good.” Piper’s quiet, watching the video over my shoulder.
“No, Pipes. It’s really not.”
“But Bennett was protecting you.”
“I know. He can explain everything to the cops, and hopefully the guy won’t press charges. Plus, there were witnesses. Maybe no one else caught everything on camera. But surely people saw and heard what happened.”
“Shit, what a mess,” Piper mumbles.
“Shit is right.”
The Uber stops in front of the Inn, and Piper and I climb out. Everything’s normal here, calm, a sharp contrast to the chaos we left behind at the party.
“Now what?” Piper glances at me, her brows knit with worry.
“Now I do damage control. Try to spin this the best I can. Come on.”
We hurry into the lobby, going past the bar to head upstairs. As we walk by, I catch a glimpse of the TV behind the bar.
“Oh fuck…” I mutter, frozen as I stare up at the screen. The bright red ticker tape on the 10’ o clock news alerting ev eryone to a breaking story involving the Coastal Crushers.
Scandal.
Exactly what the team’s supposed to be avoiding.
My bag vibrates and I break out of my trance. I need to get my head in the game here.
Pulling out my cell, my stomach sinks.
Piper touches me lightly on the arm. “You don’t have to take that.”
“I do.”
Answering, I hurry back outside. Trying to get away from the crowd, anyone who may overhear.
“Hi, Dad.”
“What in the actual fuck did I just see?” My dad’s angry voice bellows through the speaker, my eardrum ringing from the intensity.
“You saw the video.”
“Me and everyone in America, Harbor. My daughter, the PR rep, at some booze-fueled frat party. A player draped all over you, while another player beats the hell out of some drunk. I saw you dragging the Hayes name into the gutter.”
My voice tightens, along with my chest. “Bennett was protecting me, Dad. That man touched me?—”
“You think that matters? That any team owner or GM in the league gives a fuck about why it happened, Harbor? Stop playing the victim. You’re an embarrassment. You were supposed to be better than this.”
Tears well in my eyes. From his harsh words—and because he’s speaking the truth.
I let everyone down tonight.
“I was doing my job, Dad.”
“Your job? Your job’s to stay clean, above reproach.
Fucking invisible. Not be in the video. The star of the motherfucking show, at the center of the storm.
PR has one job, Harbor: to control the narrative.
Now you are the narrative. Well done.” His tone’s low and derisive, disappointment leaking down the line.
A tear escapes, sliding down my cheek.
He’s right. I failed tonight.
“You’ll never have your own legacy. And now you’re fucking up mine. All because you can’t separate your personal shit from the real work. The Hayes name means something in this industry, and you’re destroying it.”
“Dad—”
He cuts me off. “You were never built for this game. Not like I was. I warned you, Harbor. Told you time and again—stay out of the big leagues. Now hang up, get out, and let the professionals fix what you broke.”
The line clicks and I stare down at the phone, hot tears streaking down my face. My chest heaves as I hyperventilate, my worst nightmare coming true.
Let the professionals fix what you broke.
Tipping my head back, I swipe at my wet cheeks and stare up at the twinkling stars in the inky night sky. Take a few deep breaths, letting the sound of the ocean waves wash over me.
All the late nights and stressful moments, the press releases and creative spins roll through my mind. The people I’ve helped, the careers I’ve saved.
I’ve come too far to let some drunk asshole derail me. This isn’t how I’m going to go out.
I won’t give up now. Can’t give up now.
Wiping away running mascara and tears, I take a long, deep breath of the salt air.
I can do this .
Regaining my composure, I march back into the hotel lobby and grab my sister’s arm.
“How’d that go?” She’s half-jogging to keep pace with me.
“Terrible, as always. I have a job to do, though. Can’t worry about Dad right now.”
Two minutes later, we’re back in the room. Piper heads straight for the shower, and I crash into the desk chair.
It’s going to be a long night.
Firing up my laptop, I start crafting a holding statement while simultaneously speed-dialing Prince. I’m positive he’s already heard about the incident, but I still need to call.
“Harbor—tell me you have a handle on this thing.” Prince answers before there’s even a ring on my end.
I blow out a breath. Desperately wanting to say yes and reassure him, but knowing that’s a lie.
“Working on it, sir. Have you seen the video?”
“Fuck, there’s video?”
“Unfortunately, yes. Probably multiple. We need legal involved ASAP.”
“I’m on it. Messaging now.”
There’s tapping in the background as Prince writes to the legal team.
“There’s something you should know, sir.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“I’m in the video.”
“What?”
“It’s not what it looked like, sir. Unfortunately, Beau, the Rusty Anchor owner, was drunk and being inappropriate. With me. Bennett saw and reacted.”
“Tori told me he flew off the handle. Someone called the police. ”
“He was protecting me, sir.”
“Great. So now one of my superstar wingers is most likely facing assault charges. Fucking terrific.” He huffs out a loud, aggravated breath. “We just cleaned up the last mess and now this?”
“I know, sir. And I’m very sorry. About all of it.” I hesitate, try to get control over my shaky voice. “I’m drafting a statement. It’s…PR-world accurate.”
“We don’t need PR-world accurate. We need real-world accurate. Clean it up. Now.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, force myself not to react.
“Chad from legal will be in touch. He’ll want to review the statement and brief you before you talk to anyone—press, police, sponsors. Anyone.”
“Understood.”
“No posts, no comments, no off-the-record bullshit. Keep your mouth shut until we say otherwise.”
“I wasn’t planning to say a word.”
“Good. Because the next thing you say could cost us the season.”
My stomach rolls with dread and anxiety, hands sweating.
“I’ll have that first draft to your inbox in twenty.”
“Harbor—” There’s a long pause and I twirl the bangles on my wrist, my gut twisting. “I think you need to take a step back. You’re involved in this mess. It’s not good for the team to have you front and center right now.”
“What? No. I can’t step back now. The team needs me now more than ever.”
“You’re a liability, Harbor.”
“I’ll be an asset, sir. Promise.”
Another long pause and I bite my lip, waiting. This can’t be it. I can’t walk away now—there’s too much work to be done.
“I know the ins and outs of the team, Mr. Prince. Plus, every detail from tonight. I’m the best person for the job.”
More silence. This is it. I’m getting fired.
“Fine. Last chance, Harbor. You’re on thin ice. I’ll be waiting on that statement.”
He clicks off and I sink back into the chair, staring at the blinking cursor on the screen.
Last chance.
I need to fix this.
Bennett’s freedom, Weston’s captaincy, the team’s season, my entire fucking career.
Everything I care about hangs in the balance—and I’m the only one who can prevent total destruction.