Page 6 of Cut Off
It’s a thank you, and I’ll take it.
“Last time, Donny. I mean it.” I don’t look up from my monitor.
He laughs as if I’ve just told the funniest joke he’s ever heard and continues on his merry way, probably off to check all the date requests on his socials.
On my way back to my desk, I get a high-five from Rick Chesson, our anchor.
I’m focused on the next segment when my phone buzzes.
Unknown number. I don’t like answering those, but in this business, you never know when someone’s calling with a hot tip.
“Zoe Lane, W2Beaver.” I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder as I continue working.
“Jonah Holt’s heading to the Dickens police station with two officers.” The voice is male, low, and unfamiliar. Before I can ask who’s calling or any follow-up questions, the line goes dead.
I freeze, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Jonah Holt. The name sends an electric current through my body, a complicated mix of annoyance, attraction, and embarrassment.
Jonah Holt, pro hockey player for the Boise Trout. Jonah Holt, my best friend Sydney’s older brother. Jonah Holt, the guy I’ve had a secret crush on since I met him at Sydney’s birthday party four years ago. The guy who almost kissed me at Sydney’s family Christmas party a few months ago, only to call things off right before, then ghosted me.
Talk about a blow to my already fragile ego.
Jonah’s had some trouble with the law, but that was years ago. Nowadays, he can be a hard nose and a jerk at times, but he’s a good person who stays in his lane. Unless he’s regressed.
But getting in trouble in Dickens? He has a place here, but he spends most of his time in Boise. and he has a big game in two days against his former team that he should be prepping for. Not that I’m tracking him.
Another buzz from my phone: a text from an unknown number again—a photo this time. I open it to see Jonah being escorted to a police car by Officers Stevens and Roads, two Dickens PDs I know from covering local stories. The image isn’t great quality, like it was taken from a distance and zoomed in, but it’s definitely Jonah. His auburn hair is unmistakable, as is the barely-contained fury in his posture.
I tap my pen against my desk, thinking fast. This could be a real story. Local NHL star in police custody would be huge for our ratings. Plus, I have contacts at the station who might tell me what’s going on. This could be my ticket for that elusive promotion.
I pull up Officer Krista Patel’s contact. We went to high school together, and she owes me for keeping her brother’s DUI out of the news last year. I text:
Me:Hey, Krista, heard Jonah Holt’s at the station. What’s the story?
While I wait for her response, I draft potential angles for the piece. “Local Hockey Star in Legal Trouble.” “Boise Trout Defenseman Facing Charges?”
I’m not being petty about the Christmas incident. Really. This is just business.
The fact that he humiliated me and then ghosted me has absolutely nothing to do with my journalistic interest in his current predicament.
My phone buzzes with Krista’s reply:
Krista:Not what you think. Family matter. Not under arrest. But WEIRD.
Family matter? Jonah’s parents live in Dickens. Sydney used to, but now lives in Boise with her fiancé, Brooks.
Sydney! I need to tell her what’s going on. I go to text her and realize I can’t tell her this before her own brother does. Also, she’s out of town—with her parent at her aunt’s house to help her aunt recover post-surgery.
Yikes, poor Jonah. He has to deal with whatever this is without any of his family around.
I grab my bag and jacket, slinging both over my shoulder as I head toward Jerry in the control room.
“Following up on a lead,” I say. “Need to step out.”
Jerry waves me off without looking up. “We’re good till tomorrow. Go.”
As I head for the parking lot, I remind myself I’m going as a news producer, not as someone who cares about Jonah and whatever mess he’s in. I’m going for the story and, yeah, for my career. Not because I still think about how blue his eyes looked in the Christmas lights, how his strong hands felt so good against my skin before he chickened out, or how his laugh sounded when I made a joke about hishockey stick.
I’m just doing my job. And if it happens to blow up Jonah’s life a little bit?
