Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Zena

I suspected this day would be full of surprises, but seeing my dad handcuffed and hauled away to jail by a Tennessee State Trooper for being a "super-speeder" was most definitely not on my bingo card. Now, here we were, perched on the edge of uncomfortable plastic chairs in the police station's waiting area, the air thick with my anxiety and the faint smell of burnt coffee and donuts.

"What's taking so long?" I asked, my leg bouncing nervously. "They should have released Dad by now."

Nolan glanced at his watch. "It's been forty-two minutes."

"What if they send him to Rikers Island Prison and he becomes some murderer's boy toy?" I blurted out, my imagination running wild.

Nolan raised an eyebrow. "For speeding?"

" Super speeding, Nolan! And they might add on reckless driving!" I said. "And don't forget the expired out-of-state driver's license."

"Let's not start envisioning the worst," Mom said. "One thing is for sure, he will not be happy when he gets out of there." She sighed heavily, leaned closer, and whispered so Nolan couldn't hear. "Just when we were making progress on our relationship, this happened. I have a feeling this will set us back."

The double doors swung open, and out walked Dad, chortling. His arm was slung casually around the officer as if they were old college buddies. It made no sense whatsoever.

"So there I was," the officer said, "face to face with this guy wearing nothing but a Batman cape and rubber duck floaties! Turns out he was sleepwalking!" He slapped Dad on his back and they howled like it was the funniest thing ever.

Mom and I exchanged bewildered glances.

Dad was laughing—actually laughing!

The sound was so foreign and unexpected that for a moment I wondered if an alien had inhabited his body. When was the last time I'd heard that rich, rumbling chuckle? My fingers twitched, half tempted to grab my phone and take a video. After all, who would believe me without photographic evidence of this rare phenomenon?

"There they are!" Dad announced, grinning from ear to ear. "I want to introduce you all to Officer Waterman. He's a transplant from San Diego. He's also a hockey fan and will be at the game tomorrow night! Anyway, he's a real stand-up guy with some old-fashioned, honest-to-goodness Tennessee charm and hospitality."

The officer beamed. "Please, call me Jim. We're practically family now."

Dad nudged Jim playfully. "Especially after that strip search! Do I need to tip you for that?"

The two burst into uproarious laughter while the rest of us sat there, jaws practically on the floor. Dad never made jokes. Ever. What the heck was going on here?

"Are you free to leave?" Mom asked hesitantly.

"Free as a bird. This was all a misunderstanding that I could clear up with the proper papers." Dad shot us a wink.

Why did I feel those papers were official US currency? Had he actually bribed a police officer to get out? And how is excessive speeding a misunderstanding?

"Jim has offered to show us a local spot famous for their fried chicken," Dad added. "And the chicken is spicy!"

"You got that right!" Jim said. "But allow me to give you a crash course in Southern lingo: in Tennessee, spicy chicken is called hot chicken. And trust me, what passes for ‘hot' around here would make your California jalape?os taste like bell peppers."

I blinked twice, twisting to the officer. We were going to go eat hot chicken with the guy who arrested Dad? This was getting more bizarre by the minute.

Jim nodded enthusiastically. "You're going to love Hattie B's Hot Chicken! It's so good you will lick your fingers, and after that, you'll even want to lick mine!"

More sniggering ensued from the two of them as I almost threw up in my mouth. Nolan and Mom were both frozen, and I thought that maybe I'd dozed off and was dreaming.

"Let's get going!" Dad exclaimed. "Life is short. I know better than anyone after almost kicking the bucket with that strawberry."

Dad and Jim strode out, still chuckling like schoolboys, while Nolan, Mom, and I exchanged mystified looks.

"Were those strawberries laced with hallucinogens?" Nolan asked. "It's like I've stepped into the Twilight Zone."

"You and me both." I nodded, still stunned. "I've heard of people having radical mental shifts after near-death experiences, like they finally discovered the meaning of life, but this is too bizarre for me to process right now."

The table at Hattie B's Hot Chicken was a sight to behold, laden with an array of Southern delights. Fried chicken in various heat levels dominated the spread, accompanied by Belgian waffles, tangy coleslaw, pimento mac and cheese, and crinkle-cut fries. Banana pudding rounded out the feast, promising a true Nashville culinary experience.

Nolan, Mom, and I watched with bated breath as Dad reached for his first piece of "Shut the Cluck Up" chicken. We'd all chosen the "Hot" level, but Dad had insisted on the highest spice level, brushing off our concerns and the employee's warnings. As he took his first bite, we tensed, ready for potential disaster. Almost immediately, Dad started sweating, reaching for his sweet tea. But to our amazement, that was the extent of his reaction. His face turned red and his nose ran, but there was no need to rush him to the emergency room.

As we ate, Dad dominated the conversation, regaling Officer Jim with stories from his courtship days with Mom. It was a side of him I'd rarely seen: warm, animated, and full of nostalgia. He recounted their first date at a drive-in movie, how he'd spilled popcorn on her lap. Mom chimed in, laughing as she remembered his attempts to appear "cultured." The stories flowed, each one revealing a softer, more human side of my father. As I watched them, I felt a glimmer of hope. This near-death experience had truly shaken something loose in Dad, reminding him of what mattered. For the first time in years, I dared to believe that he might finally refocus on his relationship with Mom, and by extension, with me as well.

As Nolan drove to the hotel, Mom reached forward from the back seat, placing her hand on Dad's shoulder. "Everett, are you okay?"

Dad was still smiling.

Smiling!

"I've never been better," he declared. Out of nowhere, he asked, "Nolan, have you ever thought about moving up in the company? Doing something else instead of driving the Zamboni?"

Surprised by the question, Nolan quickly glanced to his right at him before getting his eyes back on the road. "I love my job, sir."

"Well, we'll table that discussion for another time," Dad said cryptically.

After arriving at the Hutton hotel and leaving the BMW with the valet, we checked-in and were immediately escorted up to the breathtaking two-level Hutton Suite. The massive 3000 square foot space had a huge living area that included a marble fireplace, contemporary furnishings, a dining room, office, three bedrooms with en suite bathrooms, a full size kitchen, and floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a stunning view of Nashville.

Nolan pointed to the familiar luggage neatly aligned side-by-side near the railing at the top of the spiral staircase. "Our suitcases are here."

Dad nodded, a pleased smile on his face. "Not a surprise. Captain Jack is quite efficient, isn't he? Remind me to give him a raise. Okay, follow me!"

He gave us an enthusiastic tour of the suite's lower level, since he had stayed there the last time the Sea Lions played the Predators in Nashville.

Continuing the tour upstairs, Dad pointed to the first door. "Zena, this is your room here. And Nolan, you're at the end of the hall on the right."

Nolan and I exchanged confused glances.

"Oh, we're not sharing the same room?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral.

Dad looked puzzled. "Why would you be? Mitch isn't here, so you don't have to pretend to be anything you're not. Besides, you'll finally have some privacy, right, sweetie?"

I tried to remember the last time he called me "sweetie" but could not recall. I simply nodded and lied. "You wouldn't believe how much this man snores. It was a wonder I could even sleep."

It was also a wonder how much I was going to miss that.

"And Zena drools on all the pillows," Nolan smirked. "I swear, the woman is like a Saint Bernard. A cute one, but still …"

I was about to say something flirty, but luckily stopped myself since Dad was watching us. Instead, I playfully pushed Nolan's arm before retreating to my room, disappointment settling in my chest. The room was beautiful, spacious, and all mine, exactly what I would have wanted last year, last month, or even last week. But now, as I rolled my suitcase against the wall and sat on the king-sized bed, it felt strangely empty without Nolan.

After unpacking, we congregated in the suite's spacious kitchen, debating our evening plans.

"I'd love to save some sightseeing for tomorrow, before the game," I said, a hint of excitement in my voice. "But I've never been to a real country bar. What do you think about checking out one of the honky tonks and dancing the night away?"

"That sounds perfect," Nolan said.

We turned to Mom and Dad, trying to mask our hope that they wouldn't want to join us. To our relief, Dad spoke for both of them.

"Your mother and I are going to hang out here in the suite," he said, his arm draped casually over her shoulders. "We can pop open a bottle of wine and chat about the future as we enjoy the sunset on the balcony." He winked at Mom.

"That sounds like the perfect evening," I said, genuinely happy for them, but internally doing cartwheels at the prospect of quality time with Nolan. "Don't be surprised if we come back at two in the morning, but we'll be whisper-quiet."

Mom waved her hand dismissively. "That's fine. I'm sure we'll probably turn in early, anyway."

Nolan and I headed out, rounding the corner and walking almost thirty minutes to Lower Broadway, also known as Honky Tonk Highway. The street was alive with neon lights and the sound of country music spilling from every doorway: Whiskey River Saloon, Layla's Honky Tonk, Robert's Western World, Tootsie's Orchid Lounge, Legends Corner and so many others, all within a four-block stretch.

"With all these clubs and bars, how are we going to choose one?" Nolan asked, gesturing at the array of famous venues surrounding us.

"I have no clue …" I shrugged, pointed to the lively establishment directly in front of us, then grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the entrance. "We're here, let's try this one."

As we stepped inside Honky Tonk Central, the energy was off the charts. The three-story venue was packed and a country band was in full swing on each level, their twangy guitars and heartfelt vocals filling the air. Cowboy hats bobbed in time with the music as couples twirled across the dance floor, while others ate, drank, and soaked up the great music.

Nolan grabbed two Miller Lites from the bar, but it didn't take long before we had set them down, the dance floor beckoning us. His hand found mine this time as we attempted to follow along with the line dance, amused at our missteps. The energy was infectious. All around us, people were singing along, their voices joining the band's in a joyous chorus.

As the night deepened, so did our connection. The frenetic energy of earlier gave way to slower rhythms, our bodies swaying in sync. Nolan's touch was a constant, electric presence. His fingers grazed mine, played with the soft hair at my nape, and traced feather-light patterns on my lower back. Each point of contact sent shivers through me and left me craving more.

With every shared laugh, every lingering glance, every gentle touch, the facade of our fake relationship crumbled further. Words seemed inadequate, almost intrusive. Instead, we let our eyes speak volumes—vulnerability, hope, admiration, and something even deeper that made my heart race. In the cocoon of dim lights and country melodies in the honky tonk, we were no longer playing roles. We were just us—raw, real, and terrifyingly open. And I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

The opening chords of Lonestar's "Amazed" filled the air. Nolan's arms encircled my waist, drawing me impossibly closer. As the lyrics "it just keeps gettin' better" floated around us, his lips found mine.

The world outside our embrace ceased to exist. The kiss was a revelation, tender yet passionate, familiar yet thrillingly new. It spoke of unspoken feelings, of a connection deeper than either of us had expected. My fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, anchoring myself in this moment that felt both surreal and more genuine than anything I'd experienced before.

As we slowly parted, I savored the lingering warmth of his lips. Our eyes met, and in Nolan's gaze, I saw my own emotions reflected: wonder, joy, and a hint of exhilarating trepidation. The air between us was thick with unspoken promises and possibilities.

In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty that this was real. We had crossed a line, and there was no going back. It was terrifying and thrilling in equal measure.

Nolan leaned next to my ear and said, "You look like you might want to get some fresh air."

I smiled and leaned closer. "There you go again, reading my mind."

Hand in hand, Nolan and I strolled along the riverbank, the Nashville night enveloping us in its warm embrace. The city lights danced on the water's surface, creating a magical ambiance that matched the butterflies in my stomach. As much as I was enjoying it, as midnight approached, I was getting tired.

"Ready to head back?" I asked, stifling a yawn.

Nolan nodded. "Now, you are reading my mind."

After the taxi ride back to the Hutton Hotel, we took the elevator up to the suite and tiptoed inside, trying our best to channel our inner ninjas. But as we rounded the corner into the living area, all thoughts of stealth evaporated.

There, on the couch, were my parents.

Naked as the day they were born.

Dad's pale posterior shone in all its glory, a fleshy beacon we never asked to see. His black socks, still clinging defiantly to his feet, added a touch of absurd formality to the scene—as if his bare bottom was attending a black-tie event. Meanwhile, Mom's legs shot skyward like twin flagpoles, saluting this monument to middle-aged indiscretion.

Mom cried out for more, her voice a mix of passion, desperation and, wait, was that a yodel?

My brain short-circuited.

A scream escaped from my throat, louder than Mom's enthusiastic demands. My thoughts were quite the opposite: Less! Much less!

Dad shot off the couch like a champagne cork at New Year's, grabbing throw pillows to cover his situation . He tossed a couple to Mom, who caught them with the dexterity of a major league outfielder. Nolan had already executed a perfect 180 on his heels to avoid looking and was probably contemplating gouging his eyes out. I was pretty sure I'd need therapy after this.

"You were supposed to be sleeping!" I shrieked.

Dad's face was redder than our rented BMW when he sputtered, "That was the plan! But, well, one thing led to another. And what about you? What happened to coming back at two a.m.? You have two more hours!"

"We were tired!" I wailed.

Dad sighed. "Sweetie, we?—"

I held up my hand. "Save it. There's nothing you can say right now that would make this better."

He shrugged. "There's ice cream in the freezer."

I groaned. "This is so awkward!"

Mom, seemingly unfazed by the whole situation, piped up, "It would have been much more awkward if you'd caught us the first time on the kitchen counter." Her hand flew over her mouth, then she hiccupped.

I was pretty sure my soul left my body at that moment. "Mom!"

Dad grimaced. "She might be a tad bit tipsy." He pointed to the empty bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table.

Nolan's snort earned him a swift smack on the arm with the back of my hand. This was no laughing matter. It was a mortifying incident destined to haunt me until my dying day.

There was only one solution: immediate evacuation.

I bolted up the spiral staircase, taking two steps at a time in my desperation to reach the sanctuary of my bedroom, silently praying for someone to end this game of "Southern Fried Fiasco" bingo before I hit a full blackout.