Defender (Seattle Sharks 9)

“I know.” I focused on the ice. On the game that shot off like a gun. Instantly intense, no preamble about it. This playoff game was as important as Nathan said, not that I doubted him, but seeing and hearing about it were two totally different things. “I wonder how it will be,” I said, leaning close to Faith now so she could hear me over the crowd. “For those who have to go? A mostly new team of players. New coach. New city.”

“Sounds a little terrifying,” she admitted. “Though, you’d never know it from Lukas. He’s prepared no matter the outcome.” She smiled a bit at that.

“And you?” I wouldn’t mind it if Lukas was transferred and I managed to get my best friend out of the move, too, not that I’d say it out loud.

She gazed out to the ice, her eyes tracking Lukas like a hawk. “As long as we’re together, I don’t care where we live. I’m so lucky that my business can be conducted from anywhere.”

True. She could just as easily run a sports athlete concierge service from Charleston as she could from Seattle.

We settled into a contemplative silence as we watched the nail-biting game, my eyes on Nathan, and on the helmet he wore—not just fitted with sensors, but fitted with my brand new foam inserts.

My foam.

The inserts I’d designed and hand-crafted.

With the sensors now gathering the data we needed to secure the Reapers’ line.

I’d tried to talk him out of it last night. Tried to tell him he wasn’t obligated to wear the inserts simply because I’d finished them.

But he’d refused to listen.

Disregarded the risks when I recited them to him over and over.

He’d hushed my racing mind with a kiss and assured me there was no other insert he wanted to wear.

And so now, there he was, gliding across the ice like a streak of lightning with my formula protecting his head. Something so beyond precious in his line of work.

I might vomit from the nerves twisting in my stomach.

In an attempt not to, I took deep breaths, and focused on the game, willing all my energy to Nathan as he pushed and skated and did what he did best. This was important to him, and it was important to me—for so many reasons. Not the least of which the data from the helmet, but for him. For his team. His career.

The opposing team didn’t pull any punches, though. They skated hard, pushed harder, and damn, some of the hits looked downright dirty. The penalty box on either side always had someone in it, if not several someones. My teeth ached from clenching my jaw so much.

Then, finally, I released a happy breath as the puck was passed to Nathan—he was always brilliant when it came to defending, and now that the spotlight was on him—

Two opposing players raced for him from two different directions like two predators herding prey.

One blink.

One.

He was there, with the puck…

The next, he was hit by the force of the two players, a collision that shook all three players so hard they stumbled.

And Nathan was in the middle, receiving both forces of impact, and right at the heart of those hits?

His head.

He hit the ice like a sack of bricks.

And he didn’t get up. Didn’t move a single muscle.

I bolted from my seat, storming down the steps until my hands were pressed against the glass. Faith was behind me, her hand gripping my shoulder.

“Get up,” I said, my voice cracking.

Get up. Get up. Get up.

The ref skidded to a stop beside Nathan, shoving Lukas and Connor out of the way.

A frantic wave of the ref’s arms had my knees buckling so much I had to clench Faith’s hand to stay upright. Coaches and trainers blocked my view as they examined Nathan.

“Nathan,” I said his name like he might hear me and get up.

But before I could catch my breath, a backboard was rushed onto the ice, two paramedics sliding Nathan’s limp body onto it.

They strapped him on.

Hurried him off the ice.

And out of sight.

I sank to the floor, trembling as I gaped at Faith, who held me.

“He’s wearing my inserts,” I whispered.

“What?” Faith gasped.

“My inserts, Faith,” I couldn’t speak louder than a breath. “Faith…God, he’s wearing my inserts.”

Faith blinked a few times, then stood and offered me her hand. “We have to go. He’ll be needing you.”

I nodded, collecting the shattered pieces of myself, and stood.

The entire ride to the hospital I couldn’t stop shaking.

* * *

Thanks to some downtown Raleigh traffic, it took us a full thirty minutes to get to the hospital. Thirty minutes of not knowing if Nathan was awake or okay or what kind of injury he’d really sustained.

Thirty minutes of telling myself to breathe until I knew.

That’s all I could do.

And I didn’t remember rushing the halls of the hospital. I didn’t remember asking the reception where they’d taken Nathan. One minute I was in Faith’s car and the next I was being blocked from Nathan’s door by a massive chest and a pair of fiercely dark brown eyes.