Page 82 of Cut Off
He stands behind me and lifts one wrecked curl back into the general vicinity of where it was, and our eyes meet in the mirror.
“Okay,” he says, low. “Acceptable.”
“Acceptable?”
“Stunning.”
“Better.”
He picks up the coat. Drapes it over my arm. Opens the door an inch. Listens. Peeks. Steps back.
“All clear.”
We slip out into the hallway. The carpet feels eight thousand miles long. We walk past the framed fish photo and the fire extinguisher and back into the lobby like two people who absolutely just stepped out of a lounge to take a private business call. My heart’s going so hard I can feel it in my teeth. Jonah’s hand is in the small of my back—back where it lives—and I can feel his thumb moving in tiny circles through the silk like he can’t quite stop touching me.
A staffer in a black vest nods at us as we pass. I nod back. Regal. As if my underwear is not, at this exact moment, balled up in a clutch.
We hit the chilly night air, and the valet whistles for our car. I let out a breath that’s been trapped in my chest since the moment the lounge door opened.
“Holt.”
“Let me guess: this didn’t happen.”
“Right.”
22
In the Stands
JONAH
The cold rink air stings the nostrils as I grab my bag, half asleep, and throw myself into autopilot: tape my stick, snap on pads, yank my skates tight. My left hip throbs from our last scrimmage, but whatever. Pain’s part of it.
Zoe’s fucking leaving for Seattle. I’m happy for her but not for me. Except I have to get happy about it because this is her dream, and she deserves that every single thing she’s wants in this world and more. Eli’s going to miss her like hell. And me, well… I can’t even think about it.
But all I am is her employer, and Eli’s part of her job. She’s got to live a life for herself, and not us. Maybe if I tell myself that enough times, I’ll start to believe it.
But besides that, I’m feeling good. I got a letter from Gwen’s lawyer, probably some ambulance chaser, demanding his client get full custody of Eli, $25,000 monthly childsupport, and $2.25 million in back child support commensurate with my income.
It sounded bad, but when I called my family lawyer, she said it was actually a good thing. The courts will smell her scam from a thousand miles away. My case is strong: I’m Eli’s biological father with ample resources to care for him, and Rosie stated I take custody of him in her will.
Coach is “motivational” today, which means barking orders. The main objective: prove we’re not hot garbage before next week’s game.
Once I’m skating on the ice: heaven. Glide, dig, turn. Let the emptiness swallow the noise of the upcoming hearing. Heart rate climbs, muscles burn, everything sharp and simple. I zero in on puck management, block out the rest.
Except when I round the bend, there’s movement in the stands. I blink—once, twice, thinking it’s a mirage. But no. There’s Eli. Bundled up: puffed-out coat, blue jeans, mittens, that ridiculous Trout team cap barely hanging onto his ears. Beside him: Zoe, grinning. The two of them smack in the front row, and my heart flat-out skips.
Eli has the day off school for a teacher’s workday, and Zoe brought him here.
And he’s watching me. Pinning me down with those ice-blue eyes, head cocked, curiosity simmering. He points, says something to Zoe. Even from here, I see her wide smile as she answers, her hand nudging his shoulder. He leans forward.
God. I could stand here and get mowed down by a freight train, and it wouldn’t hit harder than that kid’s stare.
Carter says, “Is that your family?”
I blink, the answer not immediately obvious to me.
And holy fuck, it is. I have a family.
