Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

Zena

Nolan's words bounced around inside my head, as out of place as a disco ball in a monastery.

I resign, effective immediately.

There was no way.

This was Nolan we were talking about—the guy who got misty-eyed talking about the perfect ice surface, and who probably dreamed in Zamboni patterns. Quitting his job? I didn't believe it for one second.

My eyes narrowed as they darted between Nolan and Mitch. Something fishy was going on, and it reeked of a particular caveman con job, especially judging by the smug look on Mitch's face. There was no doubt he was behind this.

"Where is this coming from?" I asked Nolan, hoping he would expose Mitch and put an end to this resigning nonsense. "You love your job."

"And nobody does it better than you," Mom said. "I'm sure you know by now that I'm quite fond of you, Nolan, and we love having you in our lives." She smiled and rubbed the side of his arm. "You can't escape us that easily."

"I agree one hundred percent," Coach Quinn said. "You're a valuable asset to the Sea Lions."

"I second that emotion." I said. "You're not going anywhere."

Mitch placed his hands on his hips and glared at me. "You have no say in this. It's Nolan's life, and he decided. Stay out of it."

Dad stepped forward. "Don't you dare use that tone with my daughter!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Dalton," Mitch said. "I'm just saying if the man wants to quit, he has the right to quit. The purpose of our lives is to be happy."

"Sorry, but I'm not buying your Dalai Lama act," I said, fury bubbling up inside me. "Admit it; you made Nolan do this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mitch said. "Nolan quit, which I fully support. End of story."

"You're a horrible liar," I said.

An officer approached us, his expression stern. "Folks, Mr. Redding has been released, so you need to take this outside."

We filed out of the police station, and as soon as we hit the sidewalk, we were surrounded by reporters and cameras, with microphones thrust in our faces. We were caught in a perfect storm of media frenzy and family drama, but needed to retreat to find a private place to sort this out. We tried to step off to the side of the BMW in the parking lot, but they continued to swarm us like bees.

Nolan tried to edge his way through the crowd, his head down, shoulders hunched. He was using the commotion as cover, but I wasn't about to let him disappear without knowing the real reason for his resignation. I lunged forward, weaving between microphones and camera lenses, and grabbed his arm.

"Where do you think you're going?" I said, pulling him back.

Before I could interrogate him about Mitch's involvement, the questions from the press came rapid-fire, each one adding to the chaos.

"Mr. Redding, were you under the influence when you were arrested?" a reporter asked.

"Of course not! I took the Ferrari for a spin and got a little carried away with the power," Mitch answered. "Don't start spreading rumors. I'm a responsible driver."

"Is this going to affect your performance in Tampa?" another reporter shouted.

"Who said I was going to play?" Mitch asked, his smirk infuriating.

"Can you elaborate on that?" the reporter pressed, sensing a scoop.

Another reporter thrust a microphone in Dad's face. "Mr. Dalton, how do you expect to win if Mitch Redding is not in the lineup?"

"No comment!" Dad's face reddened, his composure visibly slipping. He turned to a nearby cop. "Excuse me, officer. We need a place for a private conversation. Can you help us out?"

The cop's eyes widened with recognition. "Anything for the legendary Mitch Redding," he said, a hint of awe in his voice. "I'm a Predators fan myself, but a true hockey fanatic acknowledges when someone plays well, even if they're on the opposing team."

Mitch, surprised by the praise, managed a nod. "Thank you. I appreciate that."

"Follow me," the officer said, leading us away from the media scrum toward the side of the station.

Dad turned to Belle and Bonnie, who had been silent, but watching with a keen interest. "Please stay here, if you don't mind. We need to have a private discussion."

They both looked disappointed, but agreed.

We followed the officer through a gate into a secured parking area where police cruisers stood in neat rows. The reporters' questions faded as the gate closed behind us, leaving us in relative quiet.

"You can talk here," the officer said, gesturing to the secluded space. He lowered his voice and added, "Technically, you're not supposed to be in this restricted area, but my brother is the station house officer. You'll be fine as long as you make it quick. I'll be right over there if you need anything, but remember, we're on borrowed time here. Ten minutes tops." He stepped back, giving us some privacy but remaining within earshot.

"Thank you," I said.

Dad's shoulders sagged with relief, but the reprieve would not last long. Now, away from prying eyes and ears, we had to face the mess we'd created.

"First things first," Dad said, turning to Nolan. "Your resignation is not accepted. That's final."

Seeming to accept Dad's words, Nolan turned to Mitch. "Hey, I held up my end of the bargain, but as you can see, Mr. Dalton rejected the idea."

Mitch's face contorted with rage. "We had a deal! You quit!"

Nolan stood his ground, a glimmer of defiance in his eyes. "Well, if you want to get technical, I said I resign, which can easily be taken out of context."

"Resign, quit, it's the same thing no matter how you slice it," Mitch scoffed, waving his hand dismissively.

"I disagree," Nolan replied, his voice growing stronger with each word. He straightened his shoulders, standing taller. "I resign from accepting circumstances that don't align with my beliefs. I resign from tolerating negativity. I resign from letting others dictate my choices." He locked eyes with Mitch. "In short, I resign from playing your games, Mitch. I'm choosing a better path."

I watched as Nolan's demeanor transformed, the weight of Mitch's threats visibly lifting from his shoulders. What had begun as quiet surrender was blossoming into defiance, and Nolan was stepping into his power right before our eyes.

"Give me back the ring! Now!" Mitch snarled.

Dad's eyes widened in panic, then he leaned closer to me, whispering urgently, "Please don't tell me that's my ring he's talking about."

I whispered back, trying to sound reassuring, but vague, "Nolan has your ring. It's safe and sound."

"What ring?" Mom asked, her curiosity piqued.

Before I could formulate a response, Mitch blurted out, "Nolan and Zena's engagement ring. What else?"

"What?" Dad's eyebrows shot up as he looked between Nolan and me.

Mom, however, erupted with joy. "That is wonderful!" she exclaimed, lunging forward to envelop Nolan and me in a bear hug. "You two certainly don't waste any time, but when you know, you know!"

I stammered, caught off guard. "Mom, it's not?—"

"What news!" Mom continued, her eyes sparkling. "My little girl, engaged again! Zena, we have so much planning to do."

Nolan cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "Mrs. Dalton, there's been a misunder?—"

"How is this even possible? You two are only friends," Dad interrupted, his face full of concern.

Mom swatted Dad's arm playfully. "Oh, Everett, leave them alone. Love moves in mysterious ways. Your parents fell in love on their first date. It happens!" She turned back to us, beaming. "So, do you have a date in mind?"

Mitch scoffed. "How do your parents not even know that? Even I know it's on the twenty-eighth of this month."

"What?" Mom and Dad exclaimed in unison, their shocked faces a perfect mirror of each other as they both realized it was their anniversary and also the same date as both of their surprise vow renewals.

Nolan jumped in, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Mitch was just blabbering, which is typically followed by drooling and the need of a good burping. He was also just leaving since he has a flight to catch."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Mitch said, his smugness shifting into overdrive. "Nolan is the one who is leaving since he quit."

"Stop it! He's not quitting!" I said. "And get a life while you're at it!"

"You should talk," Mitch said. "You're living in a dream world if you think this guy has anything to offer you. Instead of getting your panties in a bunch, maybe you should thank me for helping you get rid of the dead weight."

That was it. The match that lit the fuse.

"Enough!" I erupted, my voice cutting through the chaos as I pointed an accusing finger at Mitch. "Nolan is a thousand times the man you will ever be. In fact, you're so insecure, the only thing your pea-sized brain could think of was to blackmail him! You stole that ring and used it to force Nolan to quit. Admit it!"

The words exploded out of me, fueled by a mix of fury and indignation. Mitch had no idea what he'd unleashed, but I couldn't stand there and take it any longer.

He sneered. "There's no proof I stole it."

"Oh, really?" I shot back, then turned to the police officer, my eyes blazing. "Officer, isn't it true that all possessions of an arrestee are recorded?"

He nodded, his expression neutral. "That's correct."

I whirled back to Mitch, my finger stabbing the air between us. "So there's proof you had the ring in your possession. And you confessed to blackmail in front of everyone by saying you had a deal! You demanded the ring back when Nolan didn't cave to your threats." I let out a humorless laugh. "You should thank your lucky stars I'm not pressing charges against you. Now, go get on the flight to Tampa like a good boy before I change my mind."

The words hung in the air, sharp and damning.

Mitch's face contorted as he realized the trap he'd walked into.

The officer stepped closer, his gaze popping back and forth between the two of us. "I don't know what is going on here, but you should know that robbery and blackmail are serious accusations."

Mitch shook his head. "Don't listen to her. She's been smoking crack."

The officer turned to me. "Are you under the influence of an illegal substance, ma'am?"

"No! The strongest thing I've had was a cup of coffee, but—" I held up my palm, trying to maintain control, but failing. Luckily, a brilliant idea popped into my head to turn the tables on Mitch. "Officer, how much time in prison is a person looking at for non-aggravated robbery, plus blackmail?"

"Good question," he said. "Basic robbery is a Class C felony, which typically carries a sentence of three to fifteen years. The blackmail charge is a Class E felony, which is usually one to six years. So, if convicted on both charges, we're looking at a potential range of four to twenty-one years in prison. But the actual sentence can vary based on prior record, specific circumstances, and whether a judge runs the sentences concurrently or consecutively."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation. "Mitch, we need to talk. Privately."

"Please, make it quick," the officer said. "We need to head back to the main parking lot."

I stepped away from all of them, turning back to face Mitch. "Look, you've got a big problem on your hands, but I'm willing to cut you a deal. If I report you, which I don't particularly want to do, you would be arrested on the spot and be looking at four to twenty-one years in prison. Those are the officer's words, not mine, and we have witnesses. Your career would be over, you would be a disgrace to the league. I doubt that's what you want."

I wasn't cruel enough to press charges, but I needed him to fall for my bluff. Judging by his stiff posture and occasional glances back toward the cop, I was pretty sure he had.

Mitch crossed his arms. "What do you want from me?"

"It's simple," I replied. "Play in Tampa tomorrow, and every game until the end of the season. Make the playoffs and do everything you can to win the Stanley Cup. Do that, and I won't press charges. I promise that Nolan and I won't go to Tampa, and we'll leave you alone from now on. All you have to do is play to the best of your ability for the remaining games."

"Why are you doing this?" Mitch asked, his eyes narrowing and his voice skeptical.

"Because I have to protect the team and do what's right," I said. "No more games between us, Mitch. We're two different people, and there's no future for us together. Focus on hockey. Focus on winning. Plus, you met Belle. She seems like a delightful girl. You like her, right?"

Mitch nodded reluctantly. "Yeah, I do. Though I'm not crazy enough to marry her after just meeting, like some people I know."

"To each their own," I said. "Do we have a deal?"

He finally nodded and said, "As long as you both leave me alone."

"You got it," I said.

We rejoined the group, and the officer approached us. "Miss Dalton, I'm confused, do you want to report a crime?"

"No," I said firmly. "It was a misunderstanding." I turned to Mom and Dad. "Mitch has agreed to play in Tampa."

"Fantastic!" Coach Quinn said.

Dad blew out a relieved breath. "Thank goodness. Mitch, we need you to speak to the press quickly. Tell them there was a mix-up, but that everything has been resolved. Let them know you're heading out to catch your flight to Tampa, because you are definitely going to play."

We thanked the officer for his help, and he opened the gate for us to head back out to the main parking lot. Immediately, the reporters circled us like sharks smelling blood, then the onslaught of questions came right at us:

"Mr. Dalton, did you knowingly hire a thug to play for your team?"

"Can the Sea Lions survive without Mitch Redding?"

"Is Miss Dalton caught in the middle of a love triangle?"

"Everyone just settle down," Mitch said. "There was a misunderstanding, but everything has been worked out. I'll be playing in Tampa, and I'd like to put all the teams in the NHL on notice: Watch out because we will not take any prisoners."

Nolan sidled up next to me and bumped my arm. "How in the world did you pull that off?"

I smirked. "You should know by now—I can be very persuasive."

"That's an understatement," he said.

I allowed myself a moment of cautious optimism.

We had almost demolished Dad's romantic surprise gesture of the ring for Mom, and put the team's playoff dreams on thin ice, but things were looking up. With Mitch agreeing to play and the immediate crisis averted, perhaps we could salvage this situation after all.

Too bad my relief was short-lived.

As I turned to share a triumphant glance with Dad, my blood ran cold. His complexion had faded to an alarming shade of gray, his features twisted in discomfort. A chill crept up my spine as the realization hit me. It was as if we were all actors in a play, and I'd realized we'd veered wildly off-script, hurtling in the direction of a climax none of us were prepared for. The worst, it seemed, was yet to come.

Dad's mouth opened and closed wordlessly, like a fish out of water. He swayed on his feet, looking more fragile than I'd ever seen him.

"Everett?" Mom's voice trembled. "Are you all right?"

Time seemed to slow down as Dad's eyes rolled back and he clutched his chest. Then, before anyone could react, he collapsed to the ground like a marionette with cut strings.