Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

I followed him, noticing that Harper’s eyes weren’t on mine as I lowered myself into the warm water, but on my abs. Huh, guess she saw something she liked, too. My body was a product of its function. I worked out to play hockey, to make sure that I was in peak physical shape. But in this moment? I was also glad I worked out to see that the results caught her eye.

Lukas and Faith sat on the opposite side of the hot tub from Harper and me, far enough apart that her older brother wouldn’t beat the shit out of him, but close enough to tell they were a couple. An engaged couple at that. What the hell was it with Sharks meeting and marrying their girls in months? Didn’t anyone believe in dating anymore? In the ritual of getting to know someone down to their littlest flaw before proposing marriage?

“So how is the helmet coming?” Lukas asked Harper.

“That’s a complicated question,” she replied, pursing her lips as she decided on the best answer. Watching her think was intriguing. “The chemistry component is great. That’s done. I think I’ve found a way for the foam inserts to inform a player when they’re no longer effective.”

“Really?” I asked. That would be huge, not just for our own equipment, but for kids who didn’t replace helmets like toothbrushes.

“Yep! Plus, if we can see where a player is taking the majority of their impacts, we can develop better, more supportive inserts for those areas and really customize each helmet for the most effective protection.” Her eyes lit up when she was talking about her research, the hazel color shifting in the light and bringing out different streaks of blue and green.

“So what’s the next step?” Lukas asked.

“I need to get sensors on players to understand where they’re taking the impacts, first. It’s not like some NHL player is going to trust me with their brain until I actually have a helmet that will protect them.” She bit her lower lip.

My dick jumped in response.

What the actual hell? I’d seen a ton of women in bikinis and hadn’t had this reaction. Not that I was against getting laid. I was all about an easy conquest that didn’t fuck with my hockey career. Too often, they did.

But something about seeing all that bare skin covering Harper yanked her straight from ‘think-of-her-as-Shark-family’ in my brain to straight up fuckable.

“So you need players to put sensors in the helmets they’re already wearing?” Lukas clarified.

“Right.”

“I’ll do it,” he offered. “You’re welcome to study my hits.”

“I wish,” she sighed, letting her head rest against the lip of the tub. “That’s one of the reasons I signed on with Seattle Brain Health. I approached Lewis Paulson, your new owner—”

“Resident dickhead,” I muttered.

“He is!” Harper agreed. “He told me there was zero chance in hell he was letting me put sensors in your helmet. In fact, he said that altering your current helmets in any way would void your contracts.”

“Damn, he wasn’t playing,” Lukas answered.

“Why, though?” I questioned as the steam rose in waves between us. “There are a hundred different ways to adjust a helmet, and we all do it to get that perfect fit. How is this any different? How thick are the sensors?”

She did that thinking thing again before saying, “About as thick as a slice of pepperoni. Ugh, all that lost, unavailable data.”

“It has to be because we’re tampering with a brand—it must void the helmet itself, and therefore void our contract,” Lukas said, working it out in his head.

“I’m so sorry, Harper. That has to be so frustrating,” Faith offered.

“It is. Especially since I have an amazing job offer after graduation if I can just get this thing built and tested.”

We let the subject drop, but it wouldn’t leave my thoughts for the rest of the party. Something like that could revolutionize helmets and the way we looked at our equipment. If a helmet was ineffective after so many hits, shouldn’t we know what point that was? If we were consistently getting hit in one area, shouldn’t that spot have reinforced protection?

What would have happened to Nicholas if he’d been wearing something like that? If he’d had a warning system better than just an expiration date?

Could something like this help Nixon now? Fuck, his career in the NFL had him taking way more hits than I did on the ice. If it would have saved our brother Nicholas...if it could still save Nixon or the players like him, wasn’t it worth risking my contract? What about the kids coming up in the sport?

This wasn’t about money, or dreams, or even a Shark jersey. It was about the bigger picture. The greater good.

As the party died down, I saw Harper getting ready to leave, and jumped out of my conversation with Bentley and Chloe to just about chase the woman through Connor’s house. I hadn’t even known she was leaving, which was a stupid thought since it wasn’t like she owed me an itinerary or anything.