Page 108 of Ice Ice Maybe
I felt the blood drain from my face.
This conversation had taken a horrifying turn.
“What a shame,” Mom said. “No more Sea Lions?”
“You can’t do that,” Mrs. Dalton interjected. “That means both Zena and Nolan would lose their jobs, something they’re very passionate about.”
Mr. Dalton sighed heavily. “It’s not like I haven’t considered that, but you’ve all been pushing me to focus on my health. What else can I do? And as for Zena and Nolan, there are so many things they could do that would make them happy. They will have a plethora of options, I’ll make sure of it.”
Zena exchanged a desperate look with me before turning back to her father. “There has to be something else, Dad. I agree with Mom. This is extreme.”
“It may be, but I really don’t see any other way around it,” Mr. Dalton said, his voice heavy with resignation. “Brock gave me until five p.m. tomorrow to respond to his latest offer, which he says will definitely be his last. My heart is telling me it’s the right thing to do. Believe me, I’m not making this decisionlightly, and if you can think of a better option, I’m all ears. If not, I’m going to sell the team tomorrow.”
I glanced at Zena, seeing the same fear and determination in her eyes that I felt. We had twenty-four hours to save not just our jobs, but the entire San Diego Sea Lions franchise. The clock was ticking, and we needed a miracle.
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. Hecraned 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 salesmanager 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.”
