32. Weston
WESTON
By this point, sleep is a lost fucking cause.
Besides, every time I close my eyes, the image of Harbor getting groped by that Beau Lawson guy haunts me.
His hands on her, the way she froze in fear.
I can’t get that picture out of my mind.
My beautiful girl, panicked.
When the sun rises, I give up and head to the rink. A solo morning skate session is about the only thing that can center me right now.
That, and talking to Harbor.
But she’s not answering my calls. I tried her last night when I left the station, then again once I get home.
I texted her, too.
Weston: You okay ?
Nothing.
Silence.
I know she’s fine—Prince told me he talked to her, then rattled off the plan of attack. Signature Harbor Hayes material.
Say nothing.
Admit nothing.
No comment.
Still, not talking to her is tearing me up. I need to hear her voice, see for myself that she’s okay.
She always picks up.
Or she used to.
Without thinking, I jerk the wheel hard and steer in the direction of the Driftwood Inn. The rink can wait—I need to see Harbor. Touch her, reassure her.
Pink rays of sunlight break through the dusky gray morning, puffy cotton candy clouds billowing in the sky as I stride through the parking lot of the Inn.
Everything’s going to be okay.
We can weather this storm.
Together.
I head through the lobby, baseball cap pulled low on my forehead as I make my way to the elevator.
No one’s inside and the hallway’s empty when I step out.
I rap lightly on Harbor’s hotel room door. Once, twice.
She cracks the door open on the third knock.
“Weston…” Her voice is soft with sleep. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to see you. Make sure you’re okay.”
“Come in.” Grabbing my wrist, she pulls me into the dark room, slamming the door behind us. She drags me across the floor, into the bathroom, and clicks the lock .
“Why would you risk coming here?” She folds her arms across her stomach and blinks up at me, still adjusting to the light.
“I told you. I had to see you.” I step toward her, smooth her golden hair from her face. Dark circles rim her bloodshot eyes, physical evidence that she’s barely holding herself together.
She sighs, biting her lip. “You shouldn’t have come. The media’s all over this, and we both have targets on our backs.”
“I don’t care. Are you okay?”
Her chest shudders as she breaks eye contact, staring at the sink.
“Yes.” She’s quiet and unconvincing.
“Harbor—” I stroke her cheek and she leans into my touch. “I’m sorry about all this. I wish I stopped that Lawson jerk off before he touched you.”
“It’s not your fault, Weston. And I’m glad you didn’t get tangled up in this mess. How’s Bennett?”
“Fine. It’s not his first run-in. My brother’s well-versed in bar fights. Pretty sure legal will be able to mount a good defense. But Prince is talking to the league today. He’s probably getting suspended for at least a game or two.”
And that’s on me. I was five feet away. I should’ve seen it coming. Stopped things before it all blew up.
Her hands ball into fists at her side. “Suspended. Dammit. I’m sorry.”
Worry swims in her hazel eyes and I run my thumb over her bottom lip. “Sshhh. Not your fault. My brother made his own choices.”
“Because of me.”
“Hurricane, he’s okay. Trust me—Bennett doesn’t mind trending on social media. ”
“Oh god, tell me he’s not commenting on anything.”
“He’s not. But he’s low-key loving the hashtag #Steelefist .”
She giggles, her lips curving into a hint of a smile, and for the first time since last night, my chest loosens. I take a chance, dropping my lips to hers. After a second, she relaxes in my arms. Soft and warm, she kisses me back and some of the tension from last night slips away.
We’re going to be okay.
We have to be.
“I love you.” The words escape before I can stop them, raw and desperate in the small space. I don’t regret them, needing her to know how I feel. That I’m not going anywhere.
Harbor’s eyes widen, her lips parting in surprise.
“I know that’s a violation of rule #3, no future talk. But fuck the rules. I love you, Hurricane. Whatever comes next, I need you to know that.”
A buzz interrupts the moment, vibrating my pocket. I pull out my cell with trepidation.
“Shit. Team meeting at ten. Mandatory.”
Harbor nods. “I know. I’ll be there.”
I want to say more, to talk about us. But Harbor’s already switching to work-mode, her expression serious. Any trace of a smile’s now gone and I can practically hear the clock ticking.
Still, cold dread’s replaced by a whisper of relief. With Harbor on deck, the situation will be managed, contained. I’m sure of it.
“I better go. Need to get ice time in before the meeting.”
I kiss her one last time, trying to convince myself everything’s fine. Then I tiptoe out of the room for practice, leaving Harbor perched on the side of the bathtub. Typing away on her phone, screen glowing in her hand.
Stepping off the ice after my solo practice, I’m sweaty and exhausted. The events of the last twenty-four hours are starting to catch up, the adrenaline waning. I could go for a nice, long nap right about now.
“Steele. My office. Now.” Coach’s voice catches me off-guard. I hadn’t realized he was watching.
Anxiety snakes through my veins, each breath another flick of tension licking my insides. I follow Coach Keller through the tunnel and try not to panic. But judging by his ramrod posture and tense shoulders, I’m betting this isn’t gonna be a pep talk.
“Sit.” Coach practically barks the command and I bristle as I sink into the chair across from him.
He crosses his thick arms over his chest and stares at me for a long beat that feels like fucking eternity.
Finally, he shakes his head. “What in the actual fuck, Captain? A team kegger at your house with the motherfucking locals? Where the hell’s your head at, son?”
His brows crush together in a deep frown and my stomach bottoms out.
No sense sugarcoating the situation.
“Not my shining moment, sir.”
“I’ll fucking say. Remember that speech about keeping our heads down and staying out of trouble? I expected more from you, Steele.”
Those words hit hard.
I expected more.
So did I, and the crashing realization that I let everyone down—Coach, the team, Bennett, Harbor—steals my breath away, tight pressure building up in my chest.
“I know and I’m sorry.”
“Sorry, Captain? You’re fucking sorry ? What good does sorry do? Bennett’s benched indefinitely until the legal issues are cleared up. He’s facing possible team and league fines. The press is climbing up my ass, demanding interviews. We’re trending on fucking social media. And you’re sorry ?”
I hang my head in shame, shoulders slumping. I should have stopped this. The party, the fight. This is on me.
“You’re distracted, Steele. I’ve seen it since we got here. I have half a mind to rip that C right off your motherfucking jersey myself.”
A sharp blow to the solar plexus, all the air knocks from my lungs.
I’m going to lose my position.
What’s worse, I deserve to.
I take a shallow, shuddery breath. “I haven’t been the leader this team deserves, Coach. And I own that.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Coach leans back in his chair, slinging one foot over his knee.
“Go ahead and fine me. Bench me. Take the C. I deserve it.”
There’s a long, painful silence, the wall clock ticking like a time bomb behind me as I await my fate.
“I should do every single one of those things, Steele. You let things get out of control when you should have stepped up and taken the lead.” He rakes a hand through his short hair.
“But I’m not gonna do that. Now’s not the fucking time to replace the team captain, even if you’re doing a lousy damn job. ”
My eyes jerk up, locking with his .
“Step the fuck up, Weston. Get your head out of your damn ass. Stop getting distracted by Harbor Hayes. I don’t care if you’re in love, in lust, or planning a fucking wedding.
You’re the captain of this team first, everything else second.
Choose, Steele. Now get the hell out.” He tips his head at the door and I jump up, eager to escape.
Racing to the locker room, I try to process what just happened. I’m not benched. Not fined or suspended.
I’m still the captain of the Coastal Crushers.
But he definitely knows about me and Harbor—and I don’t know what to do about that.
He’s not just threatening my position—he’s forcing me to choose between Harbor and everything I’ve worked for since I was seven years old.
The captaincy isn’t just a letter on my jersey.
It’s who I am. But losing Harbor? That would destroy who I want to become.
She’s the one thing I’m not willing to give up.
Not now, not ever.