Page 123 of Slap Shot Scandal
Once the room’s clear, I gather my notes and bolt for the safety of my office. Anywhere but here.
“Harbor…”
Weston’s leaning against the wall in the hallway. His deep voice echoes off the cinder block walls, stopping me in my tracks. I tighten my grip on the papers in my hand.
“You were incredible in there.” His ocean blue eyes flick over me and my throat constricts.
“Thanks.”
Reaching out, he grips my elbow and I shrink away. I don’t need anyone seeing us like this.
Too close.
Compromised.
“You sure you’re okay? You don’t have to carry all of it alone, you know.” Small crinkles of worry crease around his eyes, and my chest aches. I want to tell him the truth, but there’s too much on the line.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Talk later.”
The lie burns like acid in my mouth. Hurt flashes across his face and my heart aches. I want to be honest with him. To tell him how I feel, that I’m crazy about him.
But I know that’s the best way to burn both of our worlds down to the ground.
Instead, I lock my lips together and stride away.
I’ve already fucked up too many lives as it is. I can’t drag him down with me—not when I’m drowning.
Because the problem with spin is, eventually, it spirals out of control.
CHAPTER 34
HARBOR
Miraculously, I keep the train on the rails for a few more weeks. We’re closing in on the first preseason game, and the party incident is in the rearview.
Beau Lawson officially dropped the charges two days ago, thanks to the efforts of legal.
Bennett’s still benched for the first two games of the season until the league closes their investigation. But he swears it’s good for his aura and not to worry about it.
Piper flew out to her next assignment last week, and her absence left a gaping hole in my life. I miss her now more than ever. Especially since I’m keeping my distance from Weston.
I’m not what he needs right now, and we both know it.
We’ve texted and Facetimed a lot, and he’s snuck over to the hotel a couple of times since Piper left.
But seeing him in public is too risky.
Even kissing in my hotel room feels dangerous.
Once the season kicks off, we’ll reassess. Revisit the rules. Maybe make new ones.
Until then, we’re trapped in the neutral zone—no shots, no movement, just waiting.
I hate it.
But I can’t blow up his life. Not any more than I already have.
So I do what I’ve always done—throw myself into my job. I line up a dozen community events, visit local charities and meet the people in charge. I schedule player media days, coach the rookie on handling the press, process media credentials.
