Page 83 of Ice Ice Maybe
“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 willingto 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 spineas 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.
