Page 209 of Irreversible

But…maybe words aren’t needed. We clung to them for those bleak months, hollow echoes through walls we couldn’t cross. But now, there’s more. I canoffermore, so much more than a whisper in the dark or a hand pressed to a cold, unyielding barrier.

Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around his bicep and rest my temple against his shoulder. That’s how we sit for a long time. Me, curled around his broken pieces, holding them together.

Seconds stretch into minutes—I don’t count them.

Then Isaac straightens beside me, inhaling deeply as he whispers, “She’d appreciate you taking care of it for her.”

My eyes close, more tears falling loose. I nod softly, squeezing him tighter.

His hand lifts, a warm palm cradling the back of my head as he threads his fingers through my hair, gently, like a silent thank you.

He presses a kiss to the side of my head.

And this moment, this frozen-in-time second, is all I need to carry me forward. Every second I counted alone on the other side of that wall—desperate to see him, begging for something to hold on to, aching for justone more—all perish under the weight of this one.

A quiet space to grieve.

To remember.

To rebuild what was lost.

We eat chicken pot pie side by side on my lumpy couch, listening to the steady drum of rain splashing against the window. Hours later, he leads me to the bedroom, where we lose ourselves again—clothes slipping away, skin warming skin, kisses lingering. I fall asleep nestled into the curve of his arm, my hand splayed over his chest, feeling the rhythm of his heartbeat.

When I wake the next morning, Isaac is gone.

But he left something behind.

Sitting beside me on the nightstand is a full glass of cranberry juice.

48

The voice on the GPS announces my upcoming destination at the same time a text pings through on my phone. Now that I have more than one contact, it’s harder to know what to prioritize.

The minute I’m stationary, I’m going to change Everly’s tone to something sexy.

Just as I’m navigating around a tight curve, a pair of high beams hits me full in the face. I lay on the horn, barely avoiding sliding into the ravine, while the oncoming car swerves into its own lane just in the nick of time. Adrenaline hits my bloodstream, kicking my heart rate into high gear.

“I really hope this asshole shows his face,” I mumble to myself. White knuckled, I turn into the parking lot of a seedy motel, where a man we connected to Vincent was last seen. If I wasn’t already in a bad fucking mood, now I’mreallyfeeling the need to beat someone into the ground.

We scored a tip that led me to this dive a little over an hour south of San Francisco, with good reason to believe my target is directly correlated to the lab where we were kept a year ago. Since I’ve made it my personal mission to take every last one of them out myself, I had to check it out.

Hopefully, he’ll have some information on the man I’mreallylooking for, because I’m prepared to extract it by any means necessary.

Leaving the city has me on edge, but things have been quiet since I arrived. I upped my personal surveillance around Everly, convinced a retired officer I know from the precinct to watch her, and ignored the little voice telling me everything was going to go to shit the second I left.

I park in an area of the lot that gives me a good view of anyone coming or going and turn off the engine. Judging by the people milling around outside, this place is clearly a hub for aninterestingcrowd. Several working women loiter near open doors while transients stagger through the parking lot.

And there’s definitely a drug deal going down a few yards away. They’re not even attempting to be subtle; the local precinct has obviously given up on this place.

A few people gave me the side-eye as I pulled in, but it’s nothing concerning. I’ve always had the ability to blend in anywhere I go.

Once I’ve gotten settled, I retrieve my phone, pleased to see Everly’s name on the lock screen. I wonder what it would take to convince her to send me a dirty picture…

Though her text is innocuous, I’m distracted enough that I barely process the person approaching my vehicle before there’s a knock on the window.

Get it the fuck together, Porter.

“Hey, sweetie, you looking for some company?” A scrawny woman wearing a cocktail dress better suited for a teenager headed to homecoming in 1991 stands on the other side. Shaking my head, I wave her away and turn back to the missed message.

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