Page 20 of Cut Off
Agent:Damage control in progress. Several endorsement possibilities. Kid-friendly brands love a good redemption story.
I silence my phone except for a few key contacts, but when it buzzes again with Lily Hernandez’s number, I answer.
“Ms. Hernandez.” I try to sound more put-together than I feel.
“Mr. Holt. I just saw your announcement. I understand the pressure you must’ve been under to make it so quickly.”
“Yeah, well, the media machine waits for no one.” I fight to keep the bitterness out of my tone.
“Indeed.” She pauses, and my stomach drops. “Mr. Holt, I wanted to discuss your case before our scheduled meeting on Friday.”
“Is everything okay?” I ask, but something’s wrong in her tone.
“I’ve been reviewing your situation, and I have some concerns about your ability to provide consistent care for Eli given your professional commitments.”
The bluntness of her statement hits. “I’m his father.” The words come out unsteady.
“Yes, and that’s important. But being a parent, especially to a child who’s experienced trauma, requires consistent presence. Your hockey schedule involves significant travel, late nights, and unpredictable hours.”
“My mother’s offered to help.”
“That’s excellent, and family support will certainly strengthen your case,” she acknowledges. “However, giventhe temporary nature of family visits, it would significantly improve your position if you had full-time, live-in childcare to ensure Eli has round-the-clock, guaranteed supervision.”
“You mean a nanny?” The word feels strange in my mouth.
“Yes, or a similar arrangement. Someone who could provide stability when your career obligations take you away from home.”
“I’ll get a plan together,” I tell her. “I’ll call you back.”
After hanging up, I drop my phone on the couch like it’s suddenly too heavy to hold.
The implications of Ms. Hernandez’s words are clear: get help—in three days—or risk losing Eli.
7
The Deal
ZOE
Room Bloom is exactly what it sounds like—a sprawling warehouse of overpriced furniture. I trail behind Jonah as he pushes a cart through the children’s bedroom section, finally freaking out at how quickly my life has imploded. Eight hours ago, I was a semi-respectable production assistant, and now, I’m unemployed and furniture shopping with Jonah Holt.
“What about this one?” Jonah points to a race car bed that looks like it was designed by someone who’s never actually seen a race car.
“If you want Eli to think you’re trying too hard, sure.” I’ve been ignoring texts and calls all day as I check my phone, watching our video climb to over a million views in less than seven hours. “Your interview’s doing amazing, by the way.”
Jonah nods, his mind clearly elsewhere. I don’t blame him. His parents and sister can’t leave his aunt until she’sset up with an at-home care nurse, and he has less than seventy-two hours to transform his bachelor pad into something resembling a home for a kid before the social worker’s visit. Not to mention he’s got a game tomorrow against the Blizzards.
“I appreciate this,” he says, and I look up from my phone. His usual scowl’s replaced by gratitude.
“Don’t get sappy on me, Holt.” I push past him to hide the warmth creeping into my cheeks. “Come on, the normal beds are this way.”
We round the corner into an aisle filled with more sensible options—twin beds, full beds, the occasional queen for the teenager. Jonah gravitates toward a display in the corner, his eyes lighting up. “Look at this.” He points to a metal bunk bed setup with a desk underneath. “This is cool, right? And practical with the desk space.”
I stare at him in horror. “Are you serious? That thing is a death trap.”
Jonah frowns. “What? It’s sturdy.”
“It has a low safety rail on the top bunk.” I point to it. “Do you want your kid to roll off in his sleep and crack his skull open?”
