Page 115 of Slap Shot Scandal
The Uber stops in front of the Inn, and Piper and I climb out. Everything’s normal here, calm, a sharp contrast to the chaos we left behind at the party.
“Now what?” Piper glances at me, her brows knit with worry.
“Now I do damage control. Try to spin this the best I can. Come on.”
We hurry into the lobby, going past the bar to head upstairs. As we walk by, I catch a glimpse of the TV behind the bar.
“Oh fuck…” I mutter, frozen as I stare up at the screen. The bright red ticker tape on the 10’ o clock news alerting everyone to a breaking story involving the Coastal Crushers.
Scandal.
Exactly what the team’s supposed to be avoiding.
My bag vibrates and I break out of my trance. I need to get my head in the game here.
Pulling out my cell, my stomach sinks.
Piper touches me lightly on the arm. “You don’t have to take that.”
“I do.”
Answering, I hurry back outside. Trying to get away from the crowd, anyone who may overhear.
“Hi, Dad.”
“What in the actual fuck did I just see?” My dad’s angry voice bellows through the speaker, my eardrum ringing from the intensity.
“You saw the video.”
“Me and everyone in America, Harbor. My daughter, the PR rep, at some booze-fueled frat party. A player draped all over you, while another player beats the hell out of some drunk. I saw you dragging the Hayes name into the gutter.”
My voice tightens, along with my chest. “Bennett was protecting me, Dad. That man touched me?—”
“You think that matters? That any team owner or GM in the league gives a fuck about why it happened, Harbor? Stop playing the victim. You’re an embarrassment. You were supposed to be better than this.”
Tears well in my eyes. From his harsh words—and because he’s speaking the truth.
I let everyone down tonight.
“I was doing my job, Dad.”
“Your job? Your job’s to stay clean, above reproach.Fucking invisible. Not be in the video. The star of the motherfucking show, at the center of the storm. PR has one job, Harbor: to control the narrative. Now youarethe narrative. Well done.” His tone’s low and derisive, disappointment leaking down the line.
A tear escapes, sliding down my cheek.
He’s right. I failed tonight.
“You’ll never have your own legacy. And now you’re fucking up mine. All because you can’t separate your personal shit from the real work. The Hayes name means something in this industry, and you’re destroying it.”
“Dad—”
He cuts me off. “You were never built for this game. Not like I was. I warned you, Harbor. Told you time and again—stay out of the big leagues. Now hang up, get out, and let the professionals fix what you broke.”
The line clicks and I stare down at the phone, hot tears streaking down my face. My chest heaves as I hyperventilate, my worst nightmare coming true.
Let the professionals fix what you broke.
Tipping my head back, I swipe at my wet cheeks and stare up at the twinkling stars in the inky night sky. Take a few deep breaths, letting the sound of the ocean waves wash over me.
