Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

“No!” He shook his head, sighing. “God, Harper, do you think I have no soul?”

I sank on my stool. Of course I didn’t think that about him. I was just…everything hurt. That connection, that once white-hot band of energy that anchored me to Nathan…it fizzled and sputtered. Weak. Without being allowed to see him, hear his voice…I couldn’t feel it anymore. That grounding feeling I had when I was with him? I was now lost. Fluttering about a dark sky with no end in sight.

“I want you to stop torturing yourself,” he said. “And then I want you to patch things up with Nathan. You owe it to yourself to try. You can’t give up—”

“I went back three times!” I cut him off. “Every time Nixon stopped me. And I can’t even blame him, Asher. He’s his brother. They already lost one brother to the same thing, and causing any undue stress can only hinder the recovery process from a concussion of this magnitude—”

“Oh for the love of God,” Asher cut me off and snatched the remote off the table. Hitting play before I could stop him.

“Asher—”

He shushed me, fixing me with a glare that could’ve been straight from our father’s face. One that had me sealing my lips like I was seven and got caught trying to create a new kind of sulfuric acid in my bathroom.

“Is it true that the experimental equipment in question saved his life?” a reporter asked Paulson, who picked at his lip as he contemplated his answer.

I went statue still on my stool, that pit inside my soul even paused its massive depth.

Paulson finally nodded. “Yes. And while we’re grateful for that, it doesn’t negate the terms of his contract. Which he violated…”

I flinched at his words. Asher muted the TV, sliding a manila folder across the table toward me.

“I don’t believe it.”

“I assumed that wouldn’t convince you,” he said, eying the folder.

I opened it, my eyes darting up to his. “How did you get this?”

He shrugged. “Having money and power comes with certain benefits.”

Apparently, since I was holding a copy of Nathan’s hospital records. “I tried to get them to give me information,” I said, shaking my head. “They wouldn’t because I wasn’t family. And Nixon,” I said, sighing. “Only told me to get lost.”

“Yes,” Asher said. “I met him. Not the nicest guy—”

“He has every reason to be protective of his brother.”

Asher raised his brows.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to throat punch him for not letting me see Nathan.” I shrugged, reading the report, my eyes watering as the first smile I’d donned in three days tugged at my lips.

“Now do you believe?” Asher asked.

“It worked,” I said, tears glittering in my eyes for a totally different reason. “It saved his life.”

“You saved his life,” Asher said, tipping my chin to meet his eyes. “Harper, if he hadn’t been wearing your new inserts…” He took a breath. “I saw the doctor. Spoke to him myself. Nathan wouldn’t be alive, much less as coherent as he is now. I have the inserts and sensors, too. I tried to get them out of there before the Sharks’ owner showed up, but I guess I was too late.”

“Did you see him?”

Asher shook his head. “No, but I’ve heard enough to know he was well ahead on recovery. Speaking coherently when he wakes up. Starting to eat as of today. Normal things.”

“That’s wonderful to hear,” I said, though it sounded like I was anything but glad to hear it. If he was coherent, then he had the ability to contact me, but had chosen not to. I would’ve at least expected a farewell from Nathan, but perhaps he truly saw me as the villain his brother did. Fine, fair enough. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was alive.

“Thank you for showing me this, Asher,” I said, sliding the report back into the folder. “It means the world to me to know I wasn’t the cause of the concussion.” Though I wasn’t sure if I’d ever stop blaming myself. Stop seeing him hit that ice over and over again whenever I closed my eyes. Stop feeling that sense of dread of never seeing him again.

“You know I’ll do anything for you,” he said, tapping my hand. “And you must know that this means the Silas line belongs to you now. The evidence is irrefutable.”

Something like hollow joy sparked in the caverns of my soul. “Thank you,” I said again.

Asher rubbed his palms over his face. “Damn it, is this what love does to a person?” he practically growled. “I hand-deliver two amazing pieces of news and still…nothing.”

“I said thank you,” I snapped.

“With zero joy.”

“I’m sorry. You’ll have to excuse my lack of celebration due to my heart being broken. It won’t affect my work—which I technically don’t have to start for another month. Give me time.”