Page 84 of Cut Off
Zoe shrugs. “Talk to the neighbor politely after she’s gone.”
My jaw ticks, but the fight drains out of me. I glance past Zoe at the car one more time. I want to hurl something through the windshield, but I just lift my chin and stare her down for a long, silent second.
“Jonah.”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go inside.”
I breathe out, then turn toward the house and start walking. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome.” Then she reaches over and threads her fingers through mine, and we go inside holding hands, not talking about it.
23
The Death Star
ZOE
Eli’s in the living room, mid-sentence, hands flying as he diagrams a complicated play from yesterday’s game that I don’t quite get.
But here’s the thing. He’s talking about hockey. Showing that he’s proud of his dad.
I’d freeze this in amber if I could.
Jonah steps into the room, both arms over his head, and his shirt rides up just enough to make me intrigued. Very intrigued.
“Mac and cheese for dinner,” I say, because I need a project that distracts Jonah from his thoughts.
Eli perks up. “From scratch?”
“Is there any other kind?”
“Exactly.” He gives me a professorial look.
I shoo him toward the kitchen. “Come on, head chef. You’re on cheese-grating duty.”
Once we’re in the kitchen, I pull out ingredients for dinner, Eli joining me. Jonah drops onto a stool at the island and just watches us.
He doesn’t pretend to be busy. Doesn’t scroll his phone. Just plants his elbows on the counter and watches the two of us like we’re the most interesting show on TV.
Which I hand to Eli along with a grater and a bowl. “So. Walk me through yesterday’s game again. Don’t leave anything out.”
Eli’s face goes serious as he sits on the stool beside Jonah, as he launches into a play-by-play that begins with the warm-up.
“—and Kingston did the thing where he goes around the net twice, which is silly because—”
“Yeah, why does he do that?” I pour milk into a measuring cup.
“He thinks it makes him look fast.” Eli’s now grating like he’s getting paid by the shred. “It doesn’t. Anyway, then Evan Carter—”
“Number twenty-three,” I cut in.
Both of them turn to look at me at the same time. Father and son. Same exact incredulous expression.
“Twenty-two,” Jonah corrects.
Eli keeps going. He gets through the whole first period, with corrections, with footnotes, with several detours into the philosophical question of why the puck does what it does.
