Page 149 of Irreversible

I couldn’t leave another thing I cared about behind.

“He is.” I twirl my straw around in circles. “I miss you.”

The mood fills with melancholy as we both gaze up at the shimmying treetops. “You’re welcome over any time, Everly. It kills me that you’re so far. I understand it, but…”

“I know.”

The past year winds through me in a tangle of icy tendrils.

After my hospital stay, I moved in with my mother for four months, until a black cloud of depression, too many painful reminders, and a slew of zealous reporters obsessed with following my every move became too much to bear. I packed my things and hit the road, landing in the San Francisco Bay area. Nobody recognizes me there. I can be invisible, blend in.

It’s not the life I imagined while hidden away, trapped between four walls with only my name to keep me tethered to my identity, but it’s what I needed. The transition has kept me sane, functional, and alive.

The divorce was finalized two months ago.

I’m officially Everly Mayfield now: ex-model and ex-wife of renowned talent agent, Jasper Cross. The split was as amicable as it could have been, given the circumstances and my torn, obliterated heart. I never saw it coming. And I think those are the moments when you find out who you really are. What you’re made of and what you’re capable of overcoming. The blindsides keep us grounded, reminding us of our resilience.

Jasper still texts me.

Allison still calls.

I haven’t responded to either of them.

Mom’s sigh filters over to me, a doleful backdrop to my thoughts. “Allison stayed over for a few days to take care of the animals while I was in Puerto Rico. She asked about you.”

“I’m sure she did.” My lips flatten into a thin line. Part of me resents the fact that Allison is still a big part of my mother’s life. My mother ismine,and my best friend has already stolen so much from me. I don’t want her to have Mom, too. Still, there’s another part of me that claws for understanding and forgiveness. It’s a toxic teeter-totter of emotion that often gets the better of me. “I haven’t spoken to her since that day at the hospital.”

“Maybe you should. Maybe it’ll help you heal.”

“I’m healing in my own way.”

“Which sounds a lot like running.”

I grind my molars so hard my jaw aches. Mom has always been honest, to the point of contention sometimes. I don’t want her honesty. I did what I needed to for survival, and survival can be ruthless. No one knows what an uphill, knuckle-bleeding battle it is until they’re in the thick of it. “You should be on my side,” I tell her, my words shaky. “I’m your daughter.”

“Sweetheart, I am on your side. Always and forever. But Iseeboth sides, too. I’m only offering a different perspective.”

“And I’mliving onthe side nobody wants to be on. I was held captive for years while my husband and best friend declared me dead, then started screwing each other behind my back. It’s a betrayal I can’t fathom, a pain that will never go away.”

Tears glitter in my mother’s eyes as her face falls, her light brows gathering into a desolate frown. “They grew close when they lost you. It was traumatic for everybody. They latched on to each otherbecauseof you, not to spite you. It wasn’t planned; it wasn’t a calculated arrow to your heart. It was just…a common thread. A form of solace.”

“I can’t listen to this again.” I stand from the chair as tea splashes over the rim of my glass. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Everly.”

“Please. I can’t.” I falter, my back facing my mother. “Maybe I should stop coming over every month. It’s too…hard. These reminders and lectures.”

She sits up in the chair. “Don’t say that. These visits mean everything to me.”

“Then maybe you should stop tainting them with your misplaced opinions.”

“I’m only trying to help,” she reasons, her voice hitching.

“Help whom? The two people who shredded me to a pulp? Who ripped my future out from under me like a dirty old rug?”

“You.Always you.”

“It doesn’t feel like it.”

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