Page 109 of Cut Off
She tilts her head. “You ready to do what it actually takes, Jonah?”
I know what she means. Not the version that’s easy. Not the one that fits around hockey, or my pride, or some half-assed rehab plan. She’s talking blood, sweat, humiliation. She’s talking the shit guys like me hate most: change.
I don’t flinch. “Yeah. I’m ready.”
Her face doesn’t move. She lets the words hang.
She likes honest. Fine. I can do honest, if that’s what gets me Eli home.
“Where are you with anger management?”
“Started two nights ago. Doing the exercises and meetings.”
“Good. This has to be real work. Not a checkbox at the Y, not an online certificate. Documented, ongoing. The kind that holds up in front of a judge when Fitch plays that Ring camera moment over and over and calls you a threat.”
She lets that land. Lets me choke on it, if I’m going to.
I nod. “Got it.”
“We need two character witnesses. Not fluff. I want your parents, your teammates, the nanny, his therapist, the social worker, if she’ll go on record. People who saw you with Eli and can tell me something specific. I need details.”
She shuffles a file—probably my file—fine print and tabs and a thousand words about all the ways I’m already fucked.
“Think you can get people to speak up?” She hits me with, “Not just show up, but say things that are real?”
“My parents would die for him,” I say. The words are raw coming out. “My coach will do it. Sydney, too—my sister. Hell, Zoe, the nanny—she knows every inch of what I did for that kid, and she’s in Seattle, but we can ask.”
God, Zoe. Without her, I’m missing a piece of myself. I’m waiting for that to go away, but so far, it hasn’t.
Gardner raises an eyebrow. “She willing to go on record? Even if she’s on your payroll?”
“She’s not scared of the witness stand. And she doesn’t work for me anymore.”
“Even better.”
She makes a note. “Last thing. The timeline. Eleven days left. You don’t slip. You don’t give them an opening.”
Her eyes flick up, ice-cold. “And you haven’t contacted Eli outside scheduled, supervised visits?”
“No.”
“Good. Keep it up. Not a text, not a call. Not a drive-by. Not even an emoji if he reaches out. If Gwen’s lawyer gets a whiff of you violating that order, he’ll drag this out another sixty days, maybe get it permanent. You get me?”
I freeze because my heart just fucking stops.
Not even text him back? Not even if the kid begs?
“It’ll break him,” I say, quiet. “He just wrote me. Not answering will break me.”
She doesn’t blink. “It’ll break your case if you slip. If you want him home, you do every single thing exactly right. I’ll fight for you, Jonah, but you don’t give the other team a single opening.”
She’s not cruel, but she doesn’t bend, either.
That’s how she wins.
I sit, the ache in my chest ratcheting up with every second. The text from Eli is burning a hole in me.
But she’s right.
