Page 79 of Ice Ice Maybe
“What’s the status?” Coach Quinn asked.
“The bail has been paid,” I replied. “Now we wait. It could be thirty minutes or it could be hours.”
“When’s the flight to Tampa?” Zena asked.
Coach Quinn checked his watch. “In three hours. We’re going to be cutting it close, but there’s wiggle room with chartered flights. Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.”
I turned to Zena. “Your parents are going to walk in any second. We need Mitch out now.”
As if it were willed by my thoughts, the door suddenly opened, and Mitch emerged with an officer. Belle rushed to him, fawning over his well-being as if he’d been imprisoned for years instead of ninety minutes.
Mitch spotted me and scowled. “What are you doing here?”
“Nolan bailed you out,” Zena explained.
Mitch looked surprised, then nodded and patted his pocket. “Only because you want something.”
“You got me there,” I admitted. “Please give me a minute of your time, and I promise I will never bug you again. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Surprisingly, he agreed and followed me over to the vending machines, away from Belle, Bonnie, and Zena.
“What do you want? Make it quick,” Mitch said.
“Please—I need that ring back,” I said, hoping he saw the desperation in my eyes. “Look, you’re not a thief, and the ring isn’t mine. I need to return it to its rightful owner.”
“Whose is it?” he asked
“I’m not at liberty to say,” I answered. “But I guarantee that the ring will never be on Zena’s finger. Ever.”
Mitch’s eyes narrowed. “And what do I get out of it?”
Surprised by the question, I only came up with, “The satisfaction of doing the right thing.”
He scoffed. “Not good enough. Try again.”
I sighed as the pressure mounted. “It’s not like I have anything to offer you. What do you want? You obviously have something on your mind.”
“I don’t want to see your face in Tampa,” Mitch said. “Take the next flight back to San Diego.”
“Done!” I agreed quickly. “As long as you’re on the flight with the team and you play in the game tomorrow.” I held out my hand for the ring.
“I’m not finished,” Mitch continued. “I don’t want to see you in San Diego when I get back.”
My stomach dropped. “That’s impossible. I work at the arena. There’s no way around that.”
“Sure there is—quit your job,” Mitch said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
I jerked my head back in surprise. “You can’t be serious.”
“Do I look like I’m joking?” he said, his gaze hardening as he crossed his arms. “Ditch your job or I quit the team and keep the ring as a memento.”
I stared at him, disbelief washing over me.
“Tick tock, pretty boy,” he said. “How badly do you want the ring back?”
With the worst timing ever, Mr. and Mrs. Dalton entered the waiting area.
The pressure intensified.
