Page 57 of Cut Off
We sit in silence for a while, the only sound being Eli’s gradually steadying breaths. I don’t know how long we stay like this—me and Zoe on the floor; him huddled in the corner—but eventually, his eyes begin to droop despite his obvious efforts to stay awake.
“We’re not going anywhere,” I promise him. “It’s okay to sleep.”
He looks at me. “You’ll both stay?”
“Right here. All night if you needus to.”
He nods, his body finally relaxing. I watch as he fights against sleep, then gradually succumbs, his breathing evening out, his grip on Flash loosening just a fraction.
Once he’s asleep, Zoe and I stay put, backs against the closet wall, legs cramped in the small space. I promised we wouldn’t leave. So we watch over my son as he sleeps, and I’m wondering how I’m supposed to heal wounds this deep when I can barely figure out what to feed him for breakfast.
Tomorrow, I’ll call the therapist because I’m in way over my head here. I need strategies, and someone who actually knows what they’re doing.
But tonight, like every day, I just need to be here. In a closet, on the floor, with Zoe, watching my son sleep. It’s not nearly enough, but it’s all I have to give right now.
I close my eyes, not to sleep but to offer a silent plea to whoever might be listening—to Rosie, to the universe, to that God Eli asked me about. To help me be what he needs. Help me get this right. Help me be a father worthy of this kid who’s already lost too much.
Eli shifts in his sleep, clutching Flash closer. I open my eyes to watch him, this miracle I didn’t know existed until just over two weeks ago, this person who carries half my DNA but all of my heart now.
“I’m here,” I mutter, though he can’t hear me. “I’m not leaving.”
“Me neither,” Zoe whispers.
Of course she’ll stay—that’s who she is.
What a day.
Exhausted after last night, I worked all afternoon with a trainer, one-on-one, just running drills. I’m home now, my body feels good, and my anger’s tamed.
But my dick, on the other hand…
It’s in a league of its own.
I’d like to blame testosterone, but the truth is, it’s her. It’s always her.
Zoe Lane.
Two mind-blowing kisses, and it’s like she’s in my bloodstream, under my skin. They’re all I can think about as she floats around the kitchen in a clingy tank top and sleep shorts, or sometimes she’s in jeans so tight I have to reroute my brain to remember basic math. She bends over in the fridge looking for coffee creamer, and suddenly my entire existence is a highlight reel of her curves and the way her hair brushes against the counter.
Every day since the pantry a week ago, I do the right thing. I keep my hands to myself. I respect boundaries. I act like a goddamn monk while I’m actually losing my mind.
Every morning, my balls ache so much I’m one stretch away from calling in a medical consult.
Cold showers? Daily. I might as well throw out the hot water heater and go full Siberian training camp.
So here I am, standing under glacial spray, my dick so hard it could cut glass. One hand on the tile, the other around myself. Thick and already leaking, angry-red at the tip. Like it’s about to detonate if I so much as think about her smile.
Of course, I think about her smile.
That’s the problem.
I close my eyes. Instantly—she’s there. Naked in my shower, soapy water sliding down every inch of her. Her body, all curves and softness. The way her ass rounds out as she bends over, daring me to lose control. The arch of her back,the little shiver she does when I touch her just right. She’d look over her shoulder, mouth open for whatever filthy command she’s about to give me.
I imagine gripping her hips, spreading her wide, my fingers slipping between her legs. I know how she’d sound—impatient, bossy, begging me to get on with it already. In my head, she’s dripping wet, needy, squeezing around my fingers as she nears the edge.
“Like that,” she’d moan. “God, yes, right there—don’t you dare stop.”
The fantasy’s so vivid I can smell her—sweet and sharp and so fucking real I almost believe it. Slick with need, her body would clamp down on me, her thighs shaking as I work her over until she can’t think straight.
