35. Weston
WESTON
I ’m running drills at practice with Morrison when I spot Prince talking to Keller at the boards. I pause for a beat, caught off-guard, and the puck whizzes past me into the net.
“Goal!” Ford pumps a fist in the air, and I curse under my breath.
Distracted.
I’ve been distracted the entire off-season. Ever since Harbor rolled onto the scene.
All I think about is her.
Where hockey used to take up 95% of my brain, now it’s Harbor Hayes.
Her smile, her smell, the way she moans my name when she comes.
How she’s all business—until she’s not. Sliding up and down my cock, her luscious tits bouncing against my chest.
“Yo, Steele! You skating today or what?” Ford arches a brow and I shake my head, digging into the ice .
Like I said, distracted.
I need to get my mind back on the game. But with everything that’s gone down, it’s difficult.
The fight at the party, Bennett getting benched.
The video everyone in the motherfucking universe saw.
The aftermath’s been the worst part.
I put my heart on the line—told Harbor I loved her. But after that night, she’s been distant.
I get it. Both our jobs are on the line.
But I hate living like this. Never knowing when I’ll see her again, if we’ll have a moment of alone time.
I’m ready to say screw it and own up to the relationship with Coach. But I’m pretty sure Harbor’s not on board with that plan.
So instead, I’m surviving on Facetime calls and solo hand jobs.
Not optimal.
“Steele!” Keller shouts across the ice, waving me over.
Bracing myself for a lecture about discipline, I skate in his direction. Keller and Prince are still talking, and Prince is waving his hands wildly, shaking his head. The man’s clearly drinking too much caffeine.
A few guys snicker as I pass by and agitation churns in my gut. I hate being off my game and that’s exactly how I feel right now.
I push my emotions down and unhook my helmet, running a hand through my sweaty hair.
“What’s up, Coach?”
“This is what’s up.” Prince holds his cell out to me and my stomach plummets like a rocket falling through the atmosphere.
It’s me and Harbor, the night of the party. I’m leaning in for a kiss, hand on her waist, and she has that just-fucked look.
Shit.
And the comments section? Fucking brutal. #PRPuckbunny is trending right alongside #SteeleScandal . Every amateur sports blogger in America’s dissecting our body language, analyzing what this means. For me. For the team.
Forty-seven thousand views and climbing.
Harbor’s professional death, monetized by the algorithm.
My mouth goes dry.
It’s mid-morning. Harbor had to know this was out there.
As good as she is at her job, she must have.
Why didn’t she warn me?
“Care to explain?” Prince’s tone is low and menacing as he scowls at me.
I shrug, ready to take the hit. “Not particularly. It wasn’t on company time.”
I say this more in an effort to protect Harbor than myself.
Because obviously it’s a big fucking deal to the team owner, given the fact that he interrupted practice to address the situation.
“Doesn’t matter, Weston. It’s all over the internet.
I’m getting calls from the media. Sponsors will be next.
This is the very thing we moved down here to avoid.
Scandal. I gave this team one directive—stay out of trouble.
Why can’t anyone do that?” His voice is loud now, and guys are stopping drills to stare.
Next time I’m ripping that C off your motherfucking jersey myself .
My face burns, muscles firing with the fight-or-flight response.
Guess I’m a Steele through and through because that fight response is strong AF.
“Yeah, I kissed her. In my own damn house. And I’d do it again.”
I pause, enjoying the look of shock on Prince’s face.
“The only thing I’m sorry about is that some asshole took a video of me in my private home and then uploaded the damn thing to social media. But the rest? I don’t regret any of it.”
Most of that’s true.
I don’t regret her.
But I sure as hell regret the way this is going down right now.
How it’s breaking us in slow motion—and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.
“Weston—” Keller’s voice is even, controlled. His face more concerned than angry.
Like a father scolding a misbehaving child, urging him to apologize and make nice.
I hold up my hands. “I’ll do what’s best for the team. You wanna bench me for kissing Harbor? Do it. Trade me? Wouldn’t be thrilled, but I get it. What I won’t stand for is management telling me who I can and cannot date. Because that’s not in my contract.”
Prince glares at me, a vein throbbing at his temple. Keller stays calm, but I catch a slight twitch of his right eye.
“Hit the showers, Steele. Team meeting in an hour. We’ll figure out the next steps and let you know.” Prince dismisses me and I storm off the ice, throwing my blade guards on and grabbing my gear bag .
I’m in the tunnel when my phone rings. I pick up the phone, noting I have about fifteen missed calls—three of them from Harbor. And double that many text messages.
“Hey, Harbor.”
“Hey. We need to talk.” Her voice is tight, clipped. Not cold—more hollow. “Meet me in my office?”
“Sure. Give me ten.”
I disconnect and toss the phone into my bag.
I don’t know what Harbor’s going to say, but I’m guessing it isn’t going to be good.
I take the world’s fastest shower, tossing on a T-shirt and joggers, and head to Harbor’s office.
A nervous dread slithers through me and pools low in my gut as I hustle past offices.
I’m on edge, my world collapsing around me, a strange contrast to the bright white fluorescent lights of the hallway.
The captaincy’s all but lost.
I may be benched. Or traded.
Coach doesn’t trust me and Prince hates my fucking guts.
But the worst part of it all? Harbor’s collateral damage.
The one person I want to protect the most is taking the brunt of the fall—and there’s nothing I can do to shield her.
I raise my hand to knock and that’s when the first blow lands solid on my chest.
Her nameplate’s off the door.
Harbor’s leaving.
Air whooshes from my lungs and I suck in a deep breath, trying to get a hold of myself.
This isn’t happening .
I push through, ready for a fight.
She’s sitting at her desk, perfectly still, fingers poised over her keyboard. The cursor blinks on the blank screen and the clock ticks on the wall. Marking the seconds until my universe shatters.
“Harbor—” My voice is guttural, the sound loud in the near-silent office.
She spins around so slowly I wonder if I’m in a time warp.
“I’m resigning.”
The words I never wanted to hear float across the room in slow motion and my chest cracks all the way open.
“No. We can fix this. I’d rather lose hockey than you. I’ll take a trade, get benched, give up the captaincy—I don’t care. Not anymore. Don’t ask me to pretend you don’t matter more than all of it combined.”
Her eyes fill with tears and for a quick second, the mask slips away completely.
“Don’t you think I want that, Weston?” Her voice breaks on the words and she bites her lip, cutting her eyes to the floor. “But I can’t let you destroy everything you’ve worked for since you were a kid. Not for me. I won’t be the reason you lose your team, your captaincy, your dreams.”
She swipes at a tear, the stack of gold bracelets tinkling on her wrist. “You say I matter more than hockey. But hockey is who you are, Weston. And I love you too much to let you forget that.”
“No.” I stride across the room, making it to her desk in three huge steps.
She’s so small and fragile in her office chair, a shell of her usual self.
Dark circles rim her bloodshot eyes, and her hands shake slightly as she grips the edge of her desk.
This is what defeat looks like on the strongest woman I know .
“I’ll leave. I can make a trade.”
“What? No. That’s crazy. This is your team. You’re the captain, the leader. They need you, Weston. Now more than ever. The season’s about to start.”
I huff out a breath, raking my hand through my damp hair.
“Doubt I still have that C on my jersey.”
“What?”
“Prince is pretty pissed.”
“Once I go, things will get back to how they were before.”
Another sucker punch to the gut, and I feel sick to my stomach.
“I don’t want to go back to how things were.”
She blinks up at me, her expression neutral.
And that hurts the most, cutting me to the core.
“It’s already sorted out, Weston. This is the only way to keep your career safe. Prove you’re not distracted by me being here.”
I want to fight. To yell and scream, get angry.
Even more—I want her to fight.
For us.
But she only stares up at me with defeat swimming in her red-rimmed eyes.
Broken.
So many things tumble through my head, things I should say.
But I can’t. There’s a hard knot lodged in my throat and my mind’s spinning.
“I’m leaving tonight. And I’m not coming back.”
“So this is good-bye then?”
She nods, her eyes glistening, and a swell of emotions bubbles inside me. Anger, rage. Love, lust, longing. Agony and defeat.
I say nothing.
The silence stretches between us like a chasm I can’t cross. She’s three feet away, but she may as well be on another planet. I want to fight for us, but she’s already gone.
Spinning, I stride across the room and yank open the door. I need to get out of here. Away from the arena, Coach, Prince.
Away from hockey.
But most of all, away from her.
Glancing over my shoulder one last time, I try to memorize the high curve of her cheeks, the way her hair falls in golden waves down her back.
“For the record, Hurricane, you were never the distraction. You were the reason I gave a shit in the first place.”