Page 167 of Irreversible

“I’ll always worry. You’ll understand when you settle down again and have children one day. The path you choose for yourself isn’t always the path you want for them.”

I stare down at the floor, my throat tightening.

I don’t know if I want to “settle down” again.

After living in a box for two years, all I want to do is liveoutsideof that box. Proverbial, figurative—all of it. I don’t want to be trapped anymore.

But it’s not the time for that conversation. “I get it. I’ll call you later. Give the kitties kisses for me.” Macaroni squawks something indecipherable and likely offensive in the background. “Mac, too.”

Mom’s voice quiets as she whispers, “I will. Love you.”

“Love you.” I disconnect the call and spin around to face Queenie. “Sorry. Mom is unraveling.”

“You finally told her, huh?”

I slither out of my coat and hang it in the locker before closing the door. “I did. She didn’t take it as well as I had hoped she would, given her passion for this industry once upon a time.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Jillian is a free spirit, but her spirit is consumed with you. You can’t blame her for questioning this.”

“I guess.” Part of me knew that, and I think that’s why I waited so long to tell her. “You don’t have any kids, right?”

“Nah. I’m too selfish for that.” She shrugs through a smile. “And I don’t mean that in a negative way, honey, just a realistic way. Some people only know how to take care of themselves, and there’s no shame in embracing who you are and what you want. My life belongs to this stage.” She lifts from the wall and waves a hand at the dancers behind her, who are prepping for their routines. “Besides, my girls are like my children. That’s enough for me.”

Smiling softly, I move into the dressing room and fetch my outfit for the night.

It’s “Career Day.”

The club often sets up different themes to keep things interesting. Holidays are a given, but there has also been a retro ‘50s night, a masquerade, an under-the-sea mermaid vibe, and a nod to the Victorian era. Queenie asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I considered going the entomology route and dressing up as a ladybug or a butterfly, but since I just did the bumble-bee persona, I settled on a scientist instead.

A sexy lab coat, extra high heels, and a pair of bold cat-eye glasses sounded fun.

As I’m finalizing my smoky eyeshadow and securing my short black wig with bobby pins, a knock sounds on the dressing room door. I get up and poke my head out, spotting Len outside with a clipboard.

“You’re almost up,” he says. “Do you have a song in mind for your routine?”

“Oh, um…” I chew on my cheek, pondering the request. “Not really. Surprise me.”

He gives me a once-over, taking in my costume. “You got it. See you in ten.”

“Thanks, Len.”

Ten minutes later, my name is announced as I’m fidgeting backstage with my heart in shambles. All I can think about ishim and if he’ll be here tonight—a shadowy face in the crowd, watching me dance, drinking in my curves, my movements, my skin.

Calling to me.

Waiting for me in that VIP suite after the show, so I can peel apart this morbid fascination, once and for all.

I don’t know if he’s Isaac. I don’t know if I’m setting myself up for crushing disappointment, or if the trajectory of my life is about to change.

A part of me says it’s him.

A part of me says he’d never do this.

Isaac wouldn’t tease me like this; he wouldn’t unstitch all my newly threaded pieces with games and disappearing acts. If he’s alive, then he knows how much I’m hurting and how much I’m missing him. And the Isaac I know—therealIsaac—would take me in his arms at last and hold me while I released myself from this final, painful burden of thinking I sent him to his grave.

I just don’t know which part of me is right.

The crowd goes wild when I grace the stage and school my face into a flirtatious smile. As I pluck open the first button on my lab coat, a song starts to play.

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