Page 81 of Ice Ice Maybe
“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 hadbegun 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.
