Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Nolan

Zena and I were sitting comfortably at a private table with two Miller Lite beers at the Circa Casino Sportsbook, the largest sports betting experience in the world and a sports-lover's dream. The energy was electric, with a thousand people spread across private boxes, booths, and leather recliners, all fixated on the plethora of screens surrounding us.

The place was a sensory overload, with the monitors covering every inch of the walls, showcasing every sport imaginable: rugby, soccer, auto racing, basketball, cricket, you name it. Our eyes were drawn to the massive central screen displaying the Sea Lions hockey game against the Las Vegas Golden Knights.

The server approached with our food and placed it on the table. "Two mushroom swiss burgers with seasoned sweet potato fries. Enjoy."

"Thank you," I said, reaching for a fry. "We ordered the same thing again."

Zena raised an eyebrow. "You're obviously doing it on purpose, to get on my good side."

"I'm already on your good side," I said. "And don't pin this one on me. I'm the one who introduced you to the culinary masterpiece that is the surf and turf burrito at Lucha Libre. And let's not forget your copycat shrimp linguine order at Island Prime, since I had ordered that before you. Face it, you're riding my taste bud coattails."

Zena's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Coattails? Is that what we're calling it now? Because from what I saw earlier in the room, there wasn't anything that resembled coattails involved, Mr. Sexy Buns."

I nearly choked on my beer. "Aha! I knew you peeked! And here I thought you had more class than to ogle a man in his natural state. Did you do it on purpose?"

"I wasn't ogling, and of course it wasn't on purpose," Zena said with a laugh. "I wandered into a surprise presentation of the eighth wonder of the world. It was well-worth the price of admission."

"Yeah?" I said. "Well, I've got your price of admission right here!" I reached over and snagged two sweet potato fries from her basket, popping them into my mouth with exaggerated satisfaction.

Zena gasped in mock outrage. "Fry thief!"

Our shared laughter was interrupted by a chorus of groans, curses, and boos from the nearby booths of Golden Knights fans.

"What did we miss?" Zena asked, both of us glancing up at the screen to see Mitch high-fiving his teammates.

"Looks like he scored again," I said.

We clinked our beer bottles in celebration.

The TV camera panned to Zena's parents in the first row, with a graphic identifying "Sea Lions Owner Everett Dalton II." Next to them, we spotted the couple we'd given our tickets to, cheering ecstatically, then kissing.

"Look! There's the couple!" Zena practically yelled. "Look how happy you made them. They're having a blast."

"That's good to see," I replied, feeling the warmth of doing something meaningful. "And the plan is working, so I won't have your dad breathing down my neck. Win-win."

Five minutes later, San Diego scored another goal. A disgruntled fan in front of us yelled, "Sea Lions suck!"

We exchanged amused glances.

Suddenly, Zena glanced at her phone, her eyebrows shooting up. "Apparently, hell has frozen over."

"What's up?" I asked, curiosity piqued.

She showed me the screen.

It was a text from Mr. Dalton:

Dad: Zena, I wanted to apologize for my earlier behavior. Nolan was right, I should never talk to my daughter that way. It was disrespectful and rude. I've been under a lot of pressure lately, but that's no excuse. I'll try to do better. Please forgive me.

I read it twice, surprised that such humility came from one of the most powerful men in the country, the same guy who fired someone for not doing him a favor. Maybe the man had a heart after all.

"Wow, that's unexpected," I said.

"He's never apologized to me before. For anything," Zena said, her voice a mix of shock and wonder. "Although he has never insulted me before, either."

"Do you think your mom might have nudged him?" I asked.

Zena smirked. "Maybe. Even so, it couldn't have been easy for him."

A noise from the crowd momentarily drowned out our conversation, and we both glanced up at the screen. The Sea Lions scored another goal.

We clinked bottles, then I said, "I guess some people can change if they really want to make an effort."

Zena nodded, sipping her beer. "Thanks to you. I admire what you did, by the way. Nobody ever stands up to him. People treat him like a god because of his money. His rags-to-riches story is inspiring, sure, but character and how you treat others matter more to me."

"I get that," I said. "Coincidentally, my dad was the same way. His life revolved around the stock market. I couldn't stand being around him because his mood swung with every market shift."

"Sounds rough," Zena commented.

"It was, for all of us," I admitted. "He lost all our money he invested when the stock market tanked. For him, it was worse than dying."

Zena winced. "Your poor mom."

I nodded. "She gave him an ultimatum: get a new job and focus on our family, or she was out of there and taking me with her."

"Good for her," Zena sighed. "My mom's reaching that tipping point, too. Something's got to give with my dad, for everyone's sake. And also for his heart." She took a sip of her beer. "What does your dad do now?"

"He ended up getting a very cool job as a tour guide at Miller Brewing Company in Milwaukee," I said. "And you know what? He loves it."

Zena's eyes widened, and she glanced at her bottle of Miller Lite Beer. "Is that why you ordered these beers while I was in the bathroom?"

"Guilty as charged," I clinked my bottle against hers. "I always think of Dad when I have one. It's like his whole life got a reset, you know? And honestly, he's happier now than I've ever seen him. My mom as well."

"There's nothing like a happy ending," Zena said with a smile.

And there was nobody happier than me at that very moment because this felt like an actual date. The conversation flowed effortlessly. I paid less attention to the game and more to the way Zena's eyes crinkled when she laughed, or how she'd gently touch my hand and lean in closer to hear me over the noise. This was real, and nobody could tell me otherwise.

Before we knew it, the final buzzer sounded and the Sea Lions had won 4-1, with Mitch scoring two impressive goals.

Back in our hotel room, we'd decided we were both tired from a long day and opted for reading in bed and going to sleep early.

I emerged from the bathroom and said, "Your turn for teeth-brushing duty. Oh, and don't forget to wear your Simpson's T-shirt to bed."

"You still haven't told me why you are so obsessed with me wearing it," she said, eyeing me suspiciously. "I want to know."

"It's designer sleepwear—all the rage in Milan," I quipped. "Wear it with pride."

"I'm going to find out," she said, not believing me for a second, then disappearing inside the bathroom.

I changed and hopped into bed, trying to look nonchalant with my book. When she finally reappeared, the shirt hung adorably large on her. I couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"Happy now?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"Ecstatic," I replied, extremely pleased with my plan to avoid seeing her in some sexy lingerie.

"Whatever …" As Zena slid into bed and adjusted her pillow, the T-shirt rode up her legs like a squirrel scaling a tree.

My eyes betrayed me, refusing to look away.

"Can I help you with something?" Zena teased, catching my laser-focused eyes.

"Just admiring the, uh, stitching," I stammered.

"You're still a terrible liar," she said.

"The worst," I admitted as her phone buzzed.

Zena read a text message, and her eyebrows furrowed. She glanced over at me, opening her mouth and closing it.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"It's Dad again," she said with a shrug. "And I'm afraid I have some good news and some bad news."

"Hit me with the good news first," I said.

"Dad's thrilled with the result of the game," she said. "He said to pat yourself on the back for a job well done. Also, the couple sitting next to them shared the story of the tickets and couldn't stop talking about us."

"Okay, and the bad news?" I asked, bracing myself.

"My parents are going to be joining us for the next game in Nashville," Zena said.

I nodded, blinking, thinking about it. "Honestly, I was expecting a lot worse news than that. In the grand scheme of things, that's really not so bad at all."

"I wasn't finished," she said.

"Oh …" I swallowed hard, not liking the sound of that. "What else is there?"

Zena wrinkled her nose. "We're going to be staying with them in their suite."