Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

I spent another minute or so with him and then headed to the truck. The heat was already blasting through the vents as I buckled my seatbelt.

To call our drive home awkward wouldn’t quite do it justice. We were silent until we pulled into the drive.

“Fuck, I hate fighting with you. I don’t even know when I’m going to get to see you next.” He killed the engine.

“Then stop being an asshole.” Solution was simple. “And I think we play North Carolina in the spring if you’re not too busy.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.” He rubbed his forehead, which was his absolute tell for stress level. “With the helmet shit, at least it’s just the data. It’s not like you’re trying out the new helmet inserts or anything. I’ll get over myself.”

I paused, my hand on the door handle.

“Nathan?”

Well, shit.

“You’re not going to try it out, are you? You’re not her little crash dummy, right?” He seethed, his voice low and menacing.

“I haven’t ruled that out. Not that I’d slap it on my head and skate out, but if it’s tested, then—”

“You can’t do shit until it’s certified. Do you understand me?”

“Not sure when you became Dad, but we’re the same age, Nixon, so back the fuck off!” I finally snapped.

“And you know if the tables were reversed, if I was the one trying out some new helmet just because I was fucking the creator, you’d be all over my ass.” He pinned me with his stare. Sometimes it sucked having a walking, talking mirror.

And it sucked because he was right. But I knew Harper, and what she was capable of.

“Fuck this.” He got out of the truck, slamming the door.

I was on his heels a moment later.

“Nixon!”

He ignored me, blowing through the kitchen door with the force of a hurricane. “Where’s Mom?” I heard him ask.

“She’s in the laundry room,” Harper answered as I entered the kitchen.

Nixon nodded, but instead of heading to the laundry room, no doubt to rat me out, he took the steps two at a time toward his bedroom.

“What was that all about?” Harper asked as she peeled a banana.

“His past fucking up my present,” I answered truthfully.

Her forehead puckered, worry sliding into her eyes. “Is everything okay?”

Before I could answer, Nixon came back down the steps with his bag over his shoulder, ignoring us both as he headed back to the laundry room.

“I’m not sure,” I answered Harper’s question.

A moment later, he emerged from the laundry room, zipping up his coat. “I’m swinging by Dad’s shop. He’s taking me to the airport,” he said to me.

Fuck.

He walked over to Harper and said something I couldn’t hear, but whatever it was it caused her to go pale. Then he turned, crossed the kitchen and engulfed me in a hug.

“I love you. Nothing will ever change that. And I’ll see you in North Carolina if you haven’t gotten your head bashed in by then.” He slapped my back and left, the door shutting with a feeling of finality that I detested.

“What did he say to you?” I asked Harper as she braced her weight on the counter.

She slowly brought her eyes to mine.

“He said that I’m going to get you killed.” Harper’s mouth twisted in a sad smile. “Guess I made one hell of a first impression, huh?”

I sighed and wrapped her in my arms. “That had nothing to do with you and everything to do with the ghosts he lets haunt him.” My lips pressed against her forehead.

“Do you think he’s right?”

I tilted her chin and brushed my mouth against hers. “No, I don’t.”

Nixon’s words stayed with me, though, just as he’d intended. Hell, like maybe I’d needed. They played back through dinner, while I watched Mom and Dad laugh, remembering how much brighter that laughter sounded when Nicholas had been at the table.

They stayed with me as the countdown started in our living room and Harper snuggled closer on the couch.

They were mercifully absent as I kissed her with as much promise as I could give her about the new year, knowing it would rip us apart. We were on borrowed time.

Chapter 14

Harper

The exterior of the Nobel Museum looked like an old estate that some past royal decided to donate in order to preserve the history inside.

Sand-colored stone, immaculately arched windows, and smooth columns glistened under the midday sun as Nathan, Axel, Langley and me walked inside. The interior was slightly more modern with decorative light displays that took up an entire wall, and the welcome desk where a few people were purchasing tickets to the exhibits.

I grabbed my groups’ tickets—we’d been switching off picking up tabs as we toured—and we walked in a comfortable silence through the museum.

Nathan—as he had been throughout most of this trip—was never far from my side. It was in a casual way, those smooth eyes of his seeming to watch me even as he surveyed the artifacts in the first exhibit like he was afraid I might flutter out of sight and never be found again.