Page 70 of Ice Ice Maybe
Mitch scoffed. “I’ve got plenty of money, and another team will snatch me up in a heartbeat. That is the least of my worries. I signed with the Sea Lions because of you, Zena. Only you. And now that the possibility is lost, my time is done. I’m out of here.”
I stepped forward, trying to salvage the situation. “Finish out the season, Mitch. After that, take your time to explore other offers. Don’t bail on the team like that.”
His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why do you care what I do? You should be thrilled I’m leaving.”
I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words to salvage the situation. “Mitch, listen. You’re an incredible player. I’ve always respected your skills on the ice, and at no point did I want to see you play badly. That’s the truth.” I paused, letting that sink in. “But this decision to quit—it’s bigger than just you or me. Think about the team, the fans, the kids who look up to you.”
There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, so I pressed on.
“What happened between Zena and me wasn’t planned. It just happened. But right now, you need to put that aside because the team needs you. The city needs you. Don’t make a decision you might regret. Keep being the hero for the world and in no time, you’ll find the person you’re meant to be with. Take a day to think it over. I genuinely want to see you and the team succeed.”
Mitch looked like he was going to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he stormed out without a single word, the door slamming behind him with a finality that echoed through the room. Zena and I stood frozen, the weight of what had transpired settling over us like a heavy fog.
As the silence stretched between us, our eyes met, a thousand unspoken questions passing in that single glance. What had I done? And, more importantly, what tsunami of consequences were we about to face?
Chapter Eighteen
Zena
The Nashville morning greeted us with a crisp breeze and the promise of more chaos as Nolan and I entered Frothy Monkey to grab breakfast. We’d agreed that caffeine and carbs were essential before diving into the Mitch-shaped mess we’d created. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon practically yanked us through the door by our nostrils.
As we emerged back outside with our order—two steaming cups of liquid sanity, two muffins, and a pair of bacon, egg, and cheddar bagel sandwiches, we spotted an empty bench bathed in sunlight. It was too tempting to resist, especially when the alternative was returning to our hotel room, aka the scene of last night’s disaster.
We had barely unwrapped our sandwiches when our attention was caught by two women who looked to be in their late thirties to early forties, sitting on a bench nearby and drinking coffee. One was blonde, and the other had long auburn hair, like mine. They were dressed in form-fitting yoga outfits that suggested they’d come from a workout, their energy levels betraying a serious caffeine buzz.
Their animated conversation was impossible to ignore, their voices carrying easily over the mild bustle of the morning crowdwalking by. As they gesticulated wildly, nearly spilling their to-go cups, I found myself drawn into their enthusiastic exchange despite my best efforts to focus on my breakfast.
“I feel bad that the Predators got hammered, and I may sound like a traitor, but don’t you love the way Mitch Redding moves?” the woman with auburn hair gushed. “Look at those legs and those hips!” She appeared to be showing her friend a photo or video on her phone. “I’d love to see him twerk while he skates.”
Her friend laughed. “He’s the enemy, and you’re definitely a traitor, but there are plenty of women who would pay to see that. He could even do a tour. Twerking on Ice!”
The first woman held up an index finger. “Or better yet, Twerk du Soleil!”
Nolan turned to me and whispered, “Okay, what exactly is twerking?”
“It’s a suggestive dance where you thrust your hips and?—”
He held up his hand. “Stop right there. If I visualize Mitch doing that, my food will come back up.”
“I’m sure he cleans up nicely in a suit,” the blonde replied.
“I prefer a swimsuit, so I can see those abs,” auburn hair said. “I hear he’s single, you know.”
“You can have him,” the first woman said, playfully swatting her friend’s arm. “I watched an interview on social media a few days ago, and he’s better with his mouth shut. He’s a little too arrogant for my taste.”
“A little?” Nolan joked, earning him a smack on the side of his leg from me.
“Keep it down,” I hissed. “They might hear you.”
“You mean like me and half the street can hear them?” Nolan raised an eyebrow at me. “Is this what women talk about when men are not around?”
I shrugged. “Jing and I are too busy running mental laps around most men to bother talking about their physical attributes.”
Nolan chuckled. “I have no comeback for that. You win.”
“I would do anything to meet Mitch,” the woman said. “And I would marry him in a heartbeat. I like my men wild and untamed.”
I shook my head and whispered to Nolan, “Love is blind.”
