Page 126 of Irreversible

I can’t.

Jasper takes my hand in his, twining our fingers together. “It’s okay.” He gives my palm a comforting squeeze, watching the agony splay across my face. “They’ll find your friend.”

“I…I can’t leave him. Jasper, you don’t understand, I?—”

“It’ll be okay. Your mother will meet us at the hospital. Everything’s okay now.” Our fingers unlink as I’m pulled away from him. “You’re going home.”

Home.

Tears moisten my cheeks as I look over Jasper’s shoulder at the flame-engulfed building. Smoke billows up to the sky, warping the star-studded canvas with graphite spirals. I feel the heat on my skin.

Fire. People. Jasper.

Warmth.

But a chill snakes down the back of my neck. My teeth chatter. I wrap both arms around my body as shivers encompass me from toes to top.

I’ve dreamt of this moment every day for years.

Years.

Every second counted, I manifested this very scene.

Freedom. Safety. Rescue.

The bad guys lose.

I win.

But as I’m placed into the ambulance with my husband at my side and my whole life ahead of me…

I can’t help but feel defeat.

30

Isquint through the myriad of flashing lights.

Cameras snap and click.

But I’m not on a runway. I’m not in a studio with professional photographers and made-up models. No galas, no champagne, no expensive gowns and glitzy high heels.

I’m being carted up a sidewalk in a wheelchair toward a hospital door, while reporters ambush me. Cupping a hand over my forehead, I glance left and right. They’re everywhere.

It’s blinding.

“Everly Cross!”

“How do you feel?”

“Mrs. Cross! What happened to you?”

“Where have you been?”

“Was this a media stunt?”

The last question has me jumping out of my chair. An EMT grips me by the shoulder, pushing me back down, but I resist and scramble free. I fly out of the wheelchair and storm over to the sea of cameras, my bare feet scuffing on the pavement.

“Ma’am, let’s get you inside,” the EMT calls over to me.

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