Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Nolan

If someone had told me two weeks ago that I'd be living this bizarre reality, I would've laughed myself right off my Zamboni. Life in San Diego had been blissfully simple: keep the arena ice pristine for the players and make sure Mario Le Meow's litter box didn't become a biohazard.

Those were the good ole' days.

Now? I was tearing through Nashville in a borrowed luxury car, with a stranger in the backseat, and the girl of my dreams riding shotgun. Our mission? Retrieve a stolen wedding ring from a twitchy Neanderthal hockey player who once dated the woman I've somehow fallen for in record time.

My world had flipped faster than a hockey player's stick in a face-off, leaving me wondering which end was up. And yet, as I glanced at Zena beside me, I couldn't help but think that all this chaos was worth it.

As we neared the police station, Zena's phone rang again, for the third time. She glanced at it, her face paling as she ignored the call.

"It's Dad again," she said with the enthusiasm of someone getting ready for life-threatening surgery. "Obviously, he already knows."

I nodded grimly. "No doubt. Let's hope your mom's keeping his heart rate below freakout level."

"Dad will be calm once Mitch is released, and he's on that plane to Tampa," Zena said, her voice tight with worry.

"And he will be," I assured her, though worry was all I felt. "I'll do whatever it takes to make that happen."

"I don't understand why Mitch doesn't want to play tomorrow," Bonnie said. "He's one of the best players in the league and he had such a great game last night."

"It's a long story," I said, not wanting to get into it with her. "Let's just say that sometimes, what happens off the ice can affect what happens on it. Even the best players have their demons to face. But hopefully, everything will be resolved and he'll be playing in Tampa tomorrow."

"And the ring?" Bonnie asked. "What does that have to do with all this?"

"That's a big misunderstanding," Zena said, coming to my rescue, since I wasn't sure how to answer the question. "I think Mitch was having a little fun by taking it, but we need to get it back because it's not our property."

I couldn't have said it better myself.

As we turned the corner and the police station came into view, my stomach dropped. "Okay, this is not good."

The parking lot had transformed into a media frenzy. A line of news vans occupied one side, their satellite dishes already raised and operational. The air was filled with a cacophony of voices as reporters spoke into microphones, some gesturing toward the police station entrance. I was certain I knew who they were all talking about.

Bonnie leaned forward from the backseat. "This is a madhouse."

"It certainly is," Zena said with dread. "The news vultures have caught the scent of Mitch's arrest."

I parked the car and turned to Zena, our eyes meeting. "Cross your fingers your parents aren't already here."

Our mission was clear, but far from simple. We needed to get to Mitch before Mr. and Mrs. Dalton did, discreetly convince him to give us the ring back, and keep Mrs. Dalton in the dark about its existence.

I glanced in the rearview mirror. "Do you want to wait here for us, Bonnie? Hopefully, it won't be too long."

"And miss all the action?" she answered. "No way."

"Okay, but how are we going to get inside?" Zena asked, eyeing the throng of people in front of the entrance. "I doubt they're letting many people in."

I shrugged. "It's simple: We're the ones bailing out Mitch."

We pushed through the throng of reporters, their questions a dull roar in my ears as we made our way inside. Security was a slew of metal detectors and pat downs, but luckily, there were no complications and no signs of Mr. and Mrs. Dalton. Finally, we reached the reception desk.

"Can I help you?" the officer asked.

"We want to bail out Mitch Redding," I stated, trying to keep my voice steady since I had no idea if I could or how the process worked.

The officer behind the counter nodded, glanced at his computer, then put his mouse and keyboard to good use.

Scrolling, clicking, scrolling, clicking …

I drummed my fingers on the counter, wondering what was taking so long. Surely Mitch hadn't been here long enough to get lost in the system. Soon, my fingers were tapping out a rhythm so frantic, I half-expected the officer to ask if I was secretly morse coding a cry for help.

Instead, he blew out a frustrated breath and glared at my hand.

I sheepishly stilled my impromptu percussion session and hid my hand behind my back. "Sorry."

A minute later, the officer glanced at me. "Here we go, Mitch Redding. Okay, bail is set at three thousand dollars."

My eyebrows shot up so fast I was surprised they didn't fly off my forehead and stick to the ceiling. "Okay …"

"You can pay the cashier to your left." He gestured to the man sitting behind the glass window. "You'll need to sign in before you go to the waiting area."

With sticker shock on the brain, I thanked the officer and stepped up to the cashier, opening my wallet.

"Use Dad's credit card," Zena said.

"This time, I have no problem with that." I slid the credit card toward the cashier, then signed the receipt.

As the three of us entered the waiting room, Belle looked up from her phone, her face lighting up as she jumped up to hug Bonnie.

"Thank goodness you're okay!" Bonnie exclaimed.

Belle waved off her concern. "Oh, please. Mitchy's an amazing driver. As good as anyone on the NASCAR circuit. I was having such a blast until we got pulled over."

Did she call him Mitchy?

I glanced at Zena, who looked equally perplexed.

"What happened when you got pulled over?" Zena asked Belle.

"They impounded the Ferrari and arrested him for speeding," Belle shrugged. "The officer mentioned something about reckless endangerment, or something like that, but I don't see the problem. Mitchy said that Ferrari could go over two hundred miles per hour, and we barely hit a hundred and forty."

"Yeah, only double the speed limit," I muttered.

"Exactly!" Belle beamed, missing my sarcasm entirely.

I kept eyeing the entrance, dreading the Daltons' arrival. Mitch needed to come out first, or we'd be in deep trouble. Beside me, Zena's leg bounced nervously. I squeezed her hand reassuringly.

"Everything will be fine," I said.

Coach Quinn walked in, which meant the Daltons were close behind him. My anxiety kicked into high gear, and I was grateful a racing pulse wasn't a punishable offense, or I'd have been sharing a cell with Mitch.

"What's the status?" Coach Quinn asked.

"The bail has been paid," I replied. "Now we wait. It could be thirty minutes or it could be hours."

"When's the flight to Tampa?" Zena asked.

Coach Quinn checked his watch. "In three hours. We're going to be cutting it close, but there's wiggle room with chartered flights. Excuse me, I need to use the restroom."

I turned to Zena. "Your parents are going to walk in any second. We need Mitch out now."

As if it were willed by my thoughts, the door suddenly opened, and Mitch emerged with an officer. Belle rushed to him, fawning over his well-being as if he'd been imprisoned for years instead of ninety minutes.

Mitch spotted me and scowled. "What are you doing here?"

"Nolan bailed you out," Zena explained.

Mitch looked surprised, then nodded and patted his pocket. "Only because you want something."

"You got me there," I admitted. "Please give me a minute of your time, and I promise I will never bug you again. There's something I need to tell you."

Surprisingly, he agreed and followed me over to the vending machines, away from Belle, Bonnie, and Zena.

"What do you want? Make it quick," Mitch said.

"Please—I need that ring back," I said, hoping he saw the desperation in my eyes. "Look, you're not a thief, and the ring isn't mine. I need to return it to its rightful owner."

"Whose is it?" he asked

"I'm not at liberty to say," I answered. "But I guarantee that the ring will never be on Zena's finger. Ever."

Mitch's eyes narrowed. "And what do I get out of it?"

Surprised by the question, I only came up with, "The satisfaction of doing the right thing."

He scoffed. "Not good enough. Try again."

I sighed as the pressure mounted. "It's not like I have anything to offer you. What do you want? You obviously have something on your mind."

"I don't want to see your face in Tampa," Mitch said. "Take the next flight back to San Diego."

"Done!" I agreed quickly. "As long as you're on the flight with the team and you play in the game tomorrow." I held out my hand for the ring.

"I'm not finished," Mitch continued. "I don't want to see you in San Diego when I get back."

My stomach dropped. "That's impossible. I work at the arena. There's no way around that."

"Sure there is—quit your job," Mitch said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I jerked my head back in surprise. "You can't be serious."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he said, his gaze hardening as he crossed his arms. "Ditch your job or I quit the team and keep the ring as a memento."

I stared at him, disbelief washing over me.

"Tick tock, pretty boy," he said. "How badly do you want the ring back?"

With the worst timing ever, Mr. and Mrs. Dalton entered the waiting area.

The pressure intensified.

I was cornered.

I ran my hand over my face, thinking …

"Fine," I said.

"This better not be a trick," Mitch warned. "I want you to resign immediately since Mr. Dalton is here."

"You have my word," I assured him. "Now, give me the ring."

Mitch slapped it into my palm with a satisfied look.

I turned to face the Daltons, shooting a wink at Zena and patting my pocket to let her know I had gotten the ring back.

"Is everything sorted?" Mr. Dalton asked, eyeing Bella and Bonnie suspiciously. "And who are the two women?"

"Two of Mitch's groupies—Bonnie and Belle," I said. "As for our situation, yes, it has been resolved. Mitch will be on the flight to Tampa with the team."

Mr. Dalton nodded, seemingly pleased. "Good work. Now, let's get back to business. Enough with the improvisation. We need to regroup and update the plan for the rest of the season. We can brainstorm on the flight."

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Dalton," I said.

He eyed me suspiciously. "Why not?"

Mitch's ultimatum echoed in my mind like a ticking time bomb. I took a deep breath, knowing that my next words would change everything.

"Because …" I paused, the finality of my decision weighing heavily on me, and my voice firm despite the turmoil inside. "I resign, effective immediately."