38. Harbor
HARBOR
T onight’s the first preseason game, the semi-official kickoff to the season.
Despite switching to green tea mid-afternoon, I’m still a bundle of jumpy nerves as I hustle through the tunnel of the arena.
Loud music blares, hyping up the crowd during the second intermission.
Riptide and Lil Rip skate around the rink, waving to excited children and their families, while the players take a quick break.
Everything comes down to this moment.
“Harbor, final numbers are in. We hit max capacity in the arena.” Julianne’s voice crackles through my walkie-talkie, and I heave a sigh of relief .
Driftwood Cove showed up for the Coastal Crushers, even after the leaked videos.
Thank God.
Prince will be happy about that, another great talking point for sponsors.
I depress the side button on the walkie. “Wonderful. Be sure to keep track of all merch sales tonight.”
“On it.”
“Harbor…” Prince’s voice echoes through the tunnel and I spin on my heels to face him, smoothing my hair over my shoulder. Tension’s been thick between us since the leaked videos—I need everything to go perfectly tonight.
“Hello. Everything’s looking good so far. We’re at max capacity.”
“So I heard. Good work. At least the local community’s showing up.”
We stare out at the crowd, a dark blue sea of Coastal Crushers jerseys, and pride surges through me. That’s my design the fans are wearing, my mascot the kids love.
“I anticipate strong merch sales tonight, too. And post-game interviews are lined up.”
“Fantastic.” He bobs his head, the corners of his mouth relaxing. “Seems like we got everything together here at the last minute.”
My stomach tightens and I swallow hard, knowing I’m lucky to still be here at all. Weston and Coach Keller saved my job, with a little help from the team.
Prince wanted me gone.
He turns to face me, all business in his suit and tie. “You did good work, Harbor.”
Smiling, I adjust the bangles on my wrist, the tension bleeding from my body. Then he nods toward the ice .
“C’mon, let’s catch the last period from the glass.”
I fall into step behind Prince, the knot in my stomach finally loosening as we step out of the tunnel.
It’s more than a seat—it’s a statement. A sign of acceptance. Acknowledgment of my place on this team.
A quiet, public nod that I belong. Here, out in the open, where everyone can see.
We slide into our seats behind the glass as the lights flash and the team skates back onto the ice. The crowd roars, a wall of sound, and excitement vibrates through the arena.
Weston skates out last, eyes scanning the rink. Sharp. Searching.
Then he sees me.
His deep blue gaze locks on mine, a slow smile spreading across his face as he glides past and taps the glass twice with his stick.
My breath hitches, heart skipping in my chest.
Weston’s mine.
And I am his.
And now the entire world knows it.
No more hiding, no sneaking around.
Weston Steele declared to everyone tonight that we’re a couple—and he doesn’t care who knows it.
The buzzer blares and the puck flies across the ice. Prince clenches his hands, his whole body swaying in the direction of the black disc with every drive toward the net.
Portland takes a shot and Callum gets wide, his huge body covering most of the goal. He snags the puck in his right glove, making the save.
“Yes!” I cheer along with the crowd.
Both teams play great defense and the score’s still 2-1 after eighteen intense minutes .
Then Portland pulls their goalie with one minute left.
Six skaters crash into our zone, passing fast and pressing hard. I glance up at the bright time clock.
Ten seconds. Nine, eight…
A rebound bounces wide, straight toward the corner. Straight toward Weston.
Seven, six…
He snatches the puck, wheeling around and taking off down the ice.
All power and speed, and my heart pounds hard.
Five seconds, four…
He crosses the blue line and flips the puck toward the empty net.
Graceful, effortless.
I hold my breath as the puck slides in just as the buzzer sounds.
The Crushers win and the crowd explodes, blue and white lights flashing.
Weston lifts his stick high in the air and his teammates swarm him. Clapping his back, hugging, and fist bumping, together they celebrate the win. Callum skates out of the goal and bumps Weston’s helmet, then embraces his brother in a fierce hug.
Happy tears prick at the corner of my eyes and I blink hard to keep them at bay.
Then Weston glances over at me. Our eyes lock across the rink and my pulse stutters.
The crowd’s still on their feet when Weston breaks away from the pack and skates straight toward the bench. My breath hitches as he moves across the ice, never veering.
He skids to a halt in front of the glass, tapping his stick once, twice .
“Get down here,” he mouths, and my entire body burns knowing all eyes are on us.
I race toward the gate, heart slamming against my ribs. Before I even make it to the boards, he’s reaching over and tugging me onto the ice.
“Weston—”
Dropping his stick, he cups my face in his hands and kisses me like he’s been waiting for me his entire life. And he doesn’t care who’s watching.
Rough. Raw. Real.
The arena erupts. A wolf whistle breaks through the noise, loud and unapologetic.
But we keep kissing, no longer caring.
After a long moment, Weston pulls away and presses his forehead to mine.
“Guess the secret’s out,” I whisper, breathless.
He grins down at me. “Good. I want everyone to know you’re mine.” Brushing his thumb lightly across my cheek, he shoots me a wink. “And if anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with the captain.”