Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Zena

In fewer than six hours, the fate of the San Diego Sea Lions would be sealed, no pun intended. The thought of the team potentially moving away and transforming into the Sacramento Salmon made my stomach churn more than the three donuts I'd devoured.

Nolan's kitchen table had become an impromptu command center, a battleground of brainstorming and desperation. His nimble fingers flew across his laptop keyboard, their rhythmic tapping a counterpoint to Rowan's restless pen-clicking. Across the table, Vivian's brow furrowed deeply, her reading glasses perched precariously on the end of her nose as she scrolled intently on her phone. As for me, I was caught in a cycle of scribbling half-formed thoughts on a legal pad and staring at the ceiling, as if the answer might be hidden in the stucco swirls above.

As the ideas to save the Sea Lions continued to flow and get shot down, I felt a growing sense of despair. We were running out of time, ideas, and donuts, not necessarily in that order.

Mario Le Meow sprang from the floor to the table in one fluid motion, his tail swishing back and forth like a metronome. He craned his neck, whiskers twitching, as he investigated the donut box with an inquisitive sniff.

"Is he supposed to be on the table?" I asked.

"No, but that has never stopped him before," Nolan said. "This is basically his house and he lets me know what I need to do to make him happy." He grabbed the cat, setting him back on the floor.

Rowan swallowed a mouthful of his cinnamon roll, then held up a finger. "What about finding a co-owner for the team? Someone to share the load with your father? That would take a great deal of pressure off him."

I shook my head. "Dad's too much of a control freak. He'd micromanage the co-owner into an early grave." I let out a frustrated sigh and grabbed another glazed donut. "If we don't think of something soon, I'm going to post an ad on Craigslist."

Rowan shaking his head in amusement. "Looks like someone's riding the Sugar Express straight to Desperation Station. That's both hilarious and heartbreaking at the same time. Imagine writing an ad like that. NHL team for sale. One billion dollars or best offer."

"Must stay in San Diego," I said. "Includes a slightly used Zamboni and one sexy driver. No tire kickers, please."

Nolan reached over with a warm smile and squeezed my hand. "At least your sense of humor is still intact. Hang in there, we're not giving up. Mom, do you have any more ideas?"

"Okay, instead of sharing the load, what about stepping back and letting a general manager handle all the responsibilities?" Vivian suggested.

Nolan frowned. "He already has a GM, Steve Barlow, and we'd still have the same problem of Mr. Dalton monitoring every aspect of the organization. The day I met him, he told me he makes it his business to know everything about everyone in every department, right down to the exact time his sales manager disappears into the bathroom with the newspaper each morning."

Rowan glanced at me. "Your dad is an intense man."

"That's an understatement," I said.

"What if we figured out a way for him to take control of his emotions, so he doesn't have mood swings and anxiety based on whether the team wins or loses?" Nolan asked, then gestured to his laptop screen. "It says here that some high-profile executives have found success in managing their daily stress through a combination of techniques, which include regular exercise, meditation, and yoga."

I snorted. "Dad doing yoga and meditation? Can you imagine him doing downward facing dog?"

Nolan shrugged. "He was almost doing it when we walked in on your parents in their suite in Nashville."

I crossed my arms. "I told you, I'm visual. Quit sticking that scene back in my thoughts. I'm going to have to bleach my brain again."

Vivian smiled. "You two are so darn cute. You would make a great team if you ever decided to work together."

"I agree, but one thing at a time," Nolan said. "First, we need to keep the team from moving to Sacramento. I don't want to lose my job, not to mention it would be a tremendous loss to the community if the Sea Lions Foundation were to be dismantled. The work Zena is doing there is beyond amazing. She hasn't mentioned it, but she was just recognized nationally for outstanding achievements in the nonprofit sector."

Surprised, I asked, "How did you know that?"

"I've been reading up on your programs and I'm quite impressed," Nolan said. "I was going to mention it yesterday, but we were busy ruining your parents' anniversary surprise."

Vivian frowned. "I'll take the blame on that one."

"You don't have to," I said. "That was a disaster waiting to happen, long before you came along."

Nolan suddenly bolted upright, eyes gleaming. "Wait a minute—that's it!"

Rowan beat me to the punch. "What's it?"

"Turn the Sea Lions into a non-profit corporation!" Nolan exclaimed, his words tumbling out in excitement. "Mr. Dalton could take the team public and offer shares. The fans would own the team, not your father."

Rowan's eyebrows shot up. "Like the Green Bay Packers …"

"Exactly!" Nolan beamed. "It's perfect. I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner."

I felt lost. "The fans own the Packers? Since when?"

Vivian chimed in, "Since 1923. The team was in financial trouble, so the community banded together and created a publicly owned corporation. Fans bought shares and became part owners!"

"There are fan-owned teams in the UK, Argentina, Brazil, in many places," Rowan added. "You're a genius, son."

Nolan was on a roll and added, "It solves everything. Mr. Dalton loses the stress of sole ownership, the team stays in San Diego, and Zena's non-profit expertise makes her perfect for the board of directors. Do you think your dad would be open to the idea?"

Hope filled my senses as I grabbed my phone and tapped his number. "Let's find out. I'll put him on speaker, and you can explain what it entails. Hopefully, he'll be okay with it."

Dad answered immediately. "Hello, sweetie."

"Hey, Dad. I have you on speakerphone," I said. "Nolan came up with a great idea that would allow you to give up your responsibility with the Sea Lions, without technically selling the team."

"I'm certainly eager to hear it," he said.

After Nolan explained the idea, we all waited with bated breath for Dad's opinion. It didn't take long before he burst our bubble.

"I appreciate the effort, but the NHL Charter prohibits fan-owned teams," he said. "Even the NFL banned the business model after Green Bay did it."

Just like that, the positive energy was sucked from Nolan's kitchen. We sat there in stunned silence. I eyed the box of donuts again, ready to drown my sorrows in something fluffy and sugary.

"Hello?" Dad's voice boomed through the speaker.

"Yeah, we're here," I said, deciding against another donut. "We thought we had something viable."

Rowan piped up and said, "There has to be a loophole, some way to work this idea within the bylaws of the league."

"I'm not seeing it," Dad said.

"Hold on to your hats, folks, I'm pretty sure I found something much better than selling the team, and the NHL approved it in 2021," Nolan said, studying his computer screen and then nodding.

"You have my full and undivided attention," Dad said.

"Restructure the Sea Lions into a limited partnership," Nolan said. "You would become a partner with minimal involvement, while a management company becomes responsible for day-to-day operations. A few hockey teams have already adopted this business model with great success. There's no reason you couldn't do the same."

We all turned to the phone like it held the winning lottery numbers. The silence stretched, thick as playoff tension. I held up my hand, crossing fingers and eagerly waiting for Dad's response.

Finally, he said, "Nolan, you might be onto something here. I'm aware of limited partnerships, and this idea certainly has legs. Let me run it by my lawyer and get his thoughts on a restructure. I'll get back to you."

After I ended the call, a spark of hope reignited in the kitchen as Rowan high-fived Nolan and said, "That's my boy."

"I've got high hopes, thanks to you," I said, leaning toward Nolan and kissing him. "Your mom's right. We make a pretty good team."

He grinned. "Tell me something I don't already know."

As we waited for Dad's call, the minutes crawled by slower than Nolan's Zamboni. We'd polished off the entire box of donuts, too many cups of coffee to count, and Vivian was now trying to distract me by showing me Nolan's baby photos.

"Look at that tush!" Vivian exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "This was Nolan's first modeling gig."

I couldn't help but giggle. "Oh my, what a charmer! I bet he was the talk of the baby catwalk."

Vivian nodded solemnly. "Oh, absolutely! He had all the other babies drooling."

Rowan smirked. "I think they might have been teething, but still …"

"Great. You're all a bunch of comedians," Nolan said, shaking his head with slight amusement. "Stop looking at my assets."

"Whoops—I hate to cut into the fun, but we've got to head to the airport," Rowan said, glancing at his watch. "Good thing we're already packed."

Vivian gave me a knowing smile. "I'll share more photos in the car."

Thirty minutes later, Nolan pulled his car next to the curb at the terminal, then pulled their suitcases from the trunk.

He wrapped his arms around his mom. "It was a brief trip, but I'm glad you came, Mom."

Vivian smiled. "Next time we'll stay a month."

"Okay—let's not get crazy," Nolan said with a chuckle.

Rowan bear-hugged Nolan. "Always good to see you, son." Then he turned to me and said, "Zena, it has been an absolute pleasure. Please come visit us in Milwaukee."

I beamed and hugged him. "I'd love that."

"We'll need to get something on the calendar before the holidays." Vivian's eyes twinkled mischievously before she hugged me tightly. "And no more fake engagements, you two. I want to see a real ring on that finger soon."

Nolan sighed dramatically. "Gee, Mom, it's a shame you're so bashful and don't speak your mind."

"Oh, hush," Vivian retorted, winking. "You and I know a good thing when we see it."

As they disappeared into the terminal, Nolan pulled me close. "My parents adore you."

I melted into his embrace. "The feeling is mutual."

Our lips met in a kiss, only to be interrupted by a gruff voice. "Drop-offs only. You need to move your car."

"Sorry, Officer," Nolan said sheepishly as we scrambled into the car.

As we pulled away, I glanced at the time on the dashboard and felt my stomach clench. "Still no word from Dad. We're down to three hours."

Nolan took the exit out of the airport, then reached over and squeezed my hand. "Don't worry, it's going to happen. Hey, I know a place that might help us relax a little and clear our minds. You feeling spontaneous?"

I nodded. "Definitely."

Twenty minutes later, we stood atop Mount Soledad, with a glorious panoramic view of San Diego sprawling before us. The Pacific glittered in the distance, a cool breeze carrying away our worries.

"This is incredible," I breathed, leaning into Nolan's side.

He wrapped an arm around me. "I come here whenever I need perspective. Somehow, seeing the entire city and the bay laid out like this makes everything else seem more manageable."

"I agree," I said, suddenly feeling a little more relaxed.

As we drank in the view in a comfortable silence, I knew whatever happened with the Sea Lions and our future, we'd deal with it together.

My heart leaped into my throat when my phone rang, and in my haste to answer, it slipped through my fingers like a greased puck.

"Butterfingers," Nolan teased as he scooped it up and handed it to me.

"Okay—here we go," I said, tapping the screen. "Dad? Please tell me you have good news."

"The lawyer says Nolan's limited partnership idea is viable," he said. "Wheels are already in motion to implement it. The Sea Lions are staying in San Diego."

Elation surged through me like an electric current. I flung myself at Nolan, wrapping him in an embrace so enthusiastic it almost knocked us both over.

"We did it!" I squealed, my arms locked around him in a grip that would make an octopus envious.

Nolan's laughter rumbled through his chest as he lifted me off my feet, spinning me in a celebratory twirl. When he set me down, our lips met in a kiss that made the world fade away.

Dad's voice cut through our euphoria. "We need to celebrate! What's your schedule like tomorrow?"

Still giddy, I said, "I have meetings most of the afternoon, but the morning's light."

"Perfect," he said. "I already know Nolan's off, since there's no game. Meet us at the airport in two hours. I'm having the pilot prep the jet. We're flying to Santa Barbara for a special evening and will stay the night there."

"Wow!" I said. "Okay, see you soon."

As the call ended, Nolan and I exchanged looks of excited disbelief. Who knew saving a hockey team could be so exhilarating?

Two hours later, we settled into the leather seats of Dad's private jet. Almost immediately, the intercom came to life with Captain Jack's familiar voice.

"Welcome aboard," he said. "Once we're airborne, our flying time to Santa Barbara this afternoon will be a short thirty-five minutes. Current weather there: clear skies and a delightful seventy-nine degrees. We're currently third in line for takeoff. Please sit back, make yourselves comfortable, and enjoy the flight."

Nolan shook his head in amusement. "This has to be the shortest flight I've ever taken."

Dad nodded and said, "Two hundred miles isn't far in a car, but with LA traffic, a normal three-hour drive can easily stretch to five. Not worth it."

Once we were in the air, the flight attendant distributed champagne flutes, as usual.

Dad raised his glass, "To the Sea Lions!"

"Cheers!" we chorused, the crystal clinking melodiously.

Dad glanced across at Nolan. "I want to thank you again for your help, son."

"Happy to help, sir," he replied.

Dad's eyes softened as he gazed at Nolan. "I've been meaning to ask, are you still giving hockey lessons to underprivileged kids?"

Nolan nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, though I had to find someone to cover for me when we were on the road with the team. Why do you ask?"

Dad was gentle, almost paternal when he said, "Just making sure you're still getting time on the ice. And you're still hitting the gym regularly, correct?"

"Of course," Nolan replied, suspicion creeping into his tone.

Dad took a sip of champagne, his eyes twinkling. "Good. Because I've been thinking of a way to repay you for all you've done for our family."

"That's not necessary," Nolan said.

"I disagree," Dad said matter of factly. "Since Mitch will miss the rest of the season with his torn achilles, and we have no chance of making the playoffs, I have been presented with a unique opportunity to do something special for you. Something you'll no doubt remember for the rest of your life. I've made arrangements with Coach Quinn for you to suit up for the Sea Lions against the Dallas Stars in Texas, the last game of the season."

Nolan hesitated, then glanced at me. "Is he serious?"

"He never jokes about hockey—you should know that by now," I said.

"But I haven't played competitively since the accident," Nolan said. "And I'm not even on the roster."

"I beg to differ," Dad said. "I added you to the roster the day before you came to my office and agreed to date Zena. It was my insurance, in case I needed leverage to convince you to go along with the plan. There's already a jersey with your name on it. Lucky number thirteen."

Nolan turned to me again, his eyes wide with disbelief.

I nodded, smiling encouragingly.

Dad leaned forward in his seat. "It's time for you to feel the rush of NHL ice under your skates, son. Experience what it's like to play in the best hockey league in the world, the anticipation buzzing in your veins, the adrenaline surge as you hop over the boards for your first shift in front of eighteen thousand diehard hockey fans."

Nolan's eyes glistened, and he shifted in his seat.

"Life is unpredictable, that's for sure," Dad continued. "And who knows why you were in that exact place and time to get caught up in a freak skiing accident with an out-of-control teenager on the slopes." He shrugged. "But even if it's just for a few shifts, this will be your chance to live the dream that was snatched away from you, and show the world that the heart of a hockey player still beats strong within you."

Nolan swallowed hard as he struggled to find words.

"I don't know what to say, sir. Thank you doesn't seem enough," he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper as he wiped his eyes. "That's the best gift anyone could have given me. Except for the gift of your daughter, of course."

"You've earned it," Dad said, raising his glass. "Now, let's celebrate."

After we raised our glasses and toasted, Mom said, "We have a special dinner planned, plus a night at a fantastic hotel on the water in Santa Barbara. And we can even chat about the trip we're planning after the last game of the season."

"I can't wait!" I said, then tilted my head to the side when Nolan seemed pensive. "Everything okay?"

"That depends …" He glanced at Dad, a hint of panic in his eyes. "Please tell me we have separate hotel rooms this time."

Dad chuckled. "I made sure of it. We learned our lesson in Nashville."

The tension melted from Nolan's shoulders, then he raised his glass. "To separate rooms, and to Zena, the woman who makes every day an adventure."

The four of us toasted and said cheers.

While Mom went to talk with the flight attendant in the back of the jet and Dad made a phone call, I used the opportunity to have a private moment with Nolan.

I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear. "Can you handle sharing a hotel room with me again?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he said.

I smirked. "I can handle it just fine. You're wearing those infamous black boxer briefs, right?"

He grinned, a playful spark in his eyes. "Of course. What about you? Did you pack the silky red nightgown or the Simpson's T-shirt?"

"Both," I whispered back, enjoying the way his eyes widened.

"Both?" he echoed, clearly disappointed with my answer. "Which one are you planning to wear?"

I gave him a coy smile. "That depends on you and your behavior. Though I have to say, right now, I'm a little disappointed in you."

"Why is that?" he asked, looking genuinely perplexed.

I shrugged playfully. "For a man who's supposedly in love, you sure don't express it very often."

Nolan gasped in mock offense. "I said it first thing this morning when you walked through my door!"

"Eight hours ago? That's almost yesterday," I teased. "You need to seriously up your game if you expect to see that red nightgown again. The clock is ticking, mister."

His eyes sparkled with amusement. "Challenge accepted. I love you. But fair warning. I love you. You might tire of hearing me say it all the time. I love you."

I smirked. "There's no way I'm going to get tired of hearing it."

"Well then," Nolan said, his lips tantalizingly close to mine, "prepare yourself for an onslaught of sentiments being thrown your way, Miss Dalton."

"Bring it on, pretty boy," I breathed, closing the distance for a kiss that promised much more to come.