Page 118 of Slap Shot Scandal
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.”
