Page 18 of Cut Off
“Hold this for a sec.” She thrusts a light reflector at me, and I take it, grateful to have something to do with my hands besides fidget.
“Higher, please. And tilt it toward you a bit.” Her glasses slide down her nose as she squints at me, assessing the light. “Perfect. Don’t move.”
I freeze in position, feeling ridiculous but willing to do whatever she says. Maybe it’s because Zoe Lane commandscompliance, even from stubborn assholes like me. Maybe it’s the way she doesn’t hesitate, just expects things to go her way.
“This is silly,” I mutter, more to myself than to her. “I should just issue a press statement.”
“The people need to see your face and hear in your voice how much this has affected you. No way.” She fiddles with her camera settings, not even looking at me. “Believe me, I don’t want to show my face, either, which is why I do an audio-only podcast. But for this, we need a visual, so I’m stepping way out of my comfort zone here.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Trust me, it’s necessary. People will connect with you as a human being, not just a hockey player who knocked someone up.”
I wince. “That’s not what happened.”
“I know that, you know that, but the Donny Dexters of the world will spin it however it gets the highest ratings.” She looks up from her camera, her expression softening. “This way, you get to tell your truth—what’s in your heart—first.”
She steps closer, her eyes narrowed on my head. Before I can ask what’s wrong, she’s licking her thumb and reaching for my hair. “You have a cowlick.” She smooths over a section.
The touch zaps my spine. It’s ridiculous. It’s her spit and my hair, for fuck’s sake. But it’s the casual way she touches me, like we’re comfortable with each other, that makes my chest tighten. Zoe Lane is touching me, and that’s apparently all it takes to short-circuit my brain.
“There.” She steps back to assess her work. “Much better.”
I clear my throat, regaining my composure. “Thanks.”
She’s magnetic fire, and if I don’t run fast and furiously away from her, I’ll get sucked in and cremated. That’s why I kept myself from hooking up with her after Maisie’s Christmasparty, when we both had too many spiked eggnogs. I’ve never wanted someone like that, but I also knew my life was about to blow up with me moving teams and towns. That’s why I ghosted her after she texted to see if I wanted to grab coffee. Because I’m a walking train wreck, she’s my sister’s best friend, and—most importantly—she’s way too good for me.
Now, I need to focus on my son one hundred percent. I can’t put that boy through any more drama, so relationships are completely off-limits.
“We’ll do a quick run-through of the questions,” Zoe says, oblivious to my internal crisis. She’s all business, clipboard in hand, pencil tucked behind her ear in a way that should be nerdy. Except with her, it’s not—it’s fucking hot. “Remember, short answers, stick to the facts, and keep the emotional stuff minimal but authentic.”
I nod, trying to focus on her words and not on the way her hair catches the light or how her glasses make her eyes look bigger, more intense. My attraction to her makes zero sense. She’s not my usual type—not a model, influencer, athlete, or a puck bunny. She’s this impossible mix between a librarian and a pit bull, and that does things to me that defies all logic.
“Earth to Jonah?” She waves a hand in front of my face. “Listen up.”
“I’m listening,” I lie. “Short answers. Facts. Authentic emotion. Got it.”
She looks skeptical but continues with, “When I ask about Rosie, keep it simple too. College relationship, amicable split when you signed with the NHL. You knew nothing of Eli. No need to go into the messy details.”
The “messy details” being that Rosie broke my heart and hid my own child from me. But Zoe’s right—keep Rosie out of it as much as possible.
“And when we talk about Eli, focus on the future, not the past. You’re his father, you’re committed to being in his life, you’re putting his needs first.”
“That part’s easy,” I say quietly. “It’s true.”
Approval flickers across her face. “Good. That’s good.”
We run through a few more practice questions, Zoe nodding after each of my responses. Despite the absurdity of the situation—my son sleeping at some foster family’s house, my career potentially imploding, my sister’s best friend prepping me for a podcast confession—I feel strangely calm. Zoe has that effect, somehow. She makes the chaos seem manageable.
“Ready?” Her finger hovers over the button that’ll broadcast my personal business to the entire internet.
“Fuck no,” I reply honestly. “But let’s do it.”
“You got this.” Her face is all business. “Really.”
We settle into our positions—Zoe in the interviewer’s chair, me on my own couch looking like I’m about to face a firing squad. Zoe counts down with her fingers silently, then she transforms before my eyes. Her posture straightens, her voice takes on a professional cadence, and suddenly, she’s not just Sydney’s quirky friend but a legitimate journalist.
“Good morning, everyone. I’m Zoe Lane, and this is a special edition ofZoe Knows. Today I’m joined by NHL star Jonah Holt, who has an important personal announcement to share. Jonah, thank you for speaking with us today.”
