Page 96 of Ice Ice Maybe
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nolan
I pulled into the Dalton Building’s underground parking garage in downtown San Diego, my mood as bright as the morning sunshine I’d left outside. Today was all about surprises: first, ironing out details for Mr. Dalton’s vow renewal, then playing cupid for Jing and Tyson at Lucha Libre Taco Shop over lunch.
As I cruised down the rows of gleaming luxury cars looking for an open parking spot, I couldn’t help but grin when I spotted Zena’s dinged-up blue Chevy Malibu. I loved how down-to-earth she was for someone who came from a billionaire family. I parked in the open spot next to her and killed the engine, looking forward to seeing her for what I was sure would be a better culinary experience than the one we experienced last night with Mom.
Stepping out of my car, I made my way upstairs to the lobby, strolling past the glass sculptures and indoor palms toward the elevators as my Skechers squeaked on the polished marble floor. As the elevator arrived with a cheerful ding, I stepped in, pressing the button for the top floor.
As the elevator doors began to close, an arm shot through the gap. My heart sank as Mitch’s scowling face came into view.
“This is like a recurring nightmare,” he muttered, stepping inside next to me. His eyes widened as he noticed the illuminated top floor button. “Why am I not surprised?”
“I was here before you, so don’t blame this on me,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “And shouldn’t you be at practice?”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “Not that you need to know my schedule, but practice isn’t for another hour. I’m here because there’s a problem with the direct deposit of my first paycheck.”
I nodded, but couldn't resist saying, “Oh? I assumed they’d send a fleet of armored trucks to your house and dump a mountain of gold coins on your front lawn.”
Mitch glared. “You know what? Maybe it’s best if we don’t talk.”
“Fair enough,” I agreed, miming zipping my lips again.
More than happy to mentally escape this metal box of awkwardness, I focused on the floor numbers ticking by.
5, 6, 7, 8 …
Suddenly, a loud clunk echoed through the elevator, and we jerked to a stop. The light inside suddenly grew dim.
Mitch’s head whipped in my direction, his face in complete horror. “What the hell did you do?”
I raised my hands defensively. “Nothing! I was standing here, like you.”
He lunged for the control panel, jabbing the top floor button repeatedly. When nothing happened, he started pounding on it.
“That’s not helping,” I said. “It’s probably a glitch. I’m sure it will fix itself in no time.”
“Nothing fixes itself,” Mitch said, banging on the emergency button with the side of his hand. “Hello? Hello?”
A bored voice crackled through the speaker. “Yes?”
“We’re stuck in the elevator!” Mitch yelled. “Get us out of here!”
“We’re aware of the problem,” the man said calmly. “The power is out in the entire building and we’re running on a generator right now. We ask you for a little patience.”
“And I’m asking you to hurry!” Mitch roared before pacing the small space. “I have important things to do, and I also don’t want to be late for practice.”
I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The NHL’s fiercest player was unraveling before me.
“Mitch, calm down,” I said. “It’s going to be fine.”
“I can’t calm down!” he snapped, his voice cracking. “I’m claustrophobic, okay? And don’t you dare tell anyone or I will break your face.”
Even though we had never seen eye-to-eye on anything, my compassionate side wanted to help him. He was obviously suffering and I could not imagine what claustrophobia felt like.
Slipping into coach mode, I started with, “We’re going to get through this, okay? Trust me. This is what you’re going to do: take deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth.”
