Page 137 of Irreversible

“No. You smelled exactly like I remembered.”

God, I hope not.“Like what?”

He pauses, a flash of poignancy lighting up his eyes. “Home.” We stare at each other for a few tension-filled heartbeats before Jasper takes my hand and links our fingers together. “The doctor said you’ll be out of here in a day or two. How do you feel about that?”

“I’m more than ready to get on with my life. Being here feels no different than being there. I feel trapped.”

“You’re not,” he murmurs. “You’re safe. I promise.”

“I don’t think everything has sunk in yet. I might still be in shock.” I press my lips together as my eyes glaze over. “Someone was screaming last night, across the hall. Crying and wailing. I thought I was still there; that I never left. I pictured a woman taking her final breath while I was locked inside my cell, helpless to stop it. Part of me wonders if that feeling will ever go away.”

There’s a wrinkle between his eyes. Worry lines tease the bridge of his nose and mar his forehead. “It might take a little while to adjust. You don’t have to rush anything. We’ll get you situated and take things slow.”

I consider his double meaning.

Take things slow.

A life adjustment.

A marriage adjustment.

My mind spins. Will we still sleep together in the same bed? Will he go back to work right away? Will I go back to work…ever?

I’m too much of a coward to ask those questions right now. All I want to do is savor each moment as it comes.

Jasper squeezes my palm, centering me again. “We’ll get through this, okay? Don’t worry. Don’t overthink anything. Baby steps.”

I glance at our intertwined hands. “Yeah. I think I just?—”

My words fall off, clipped at the edges.

A lump forms in the back of my throat.

Inhaling a shaky breath, I twist our tethered hands side to side, studying his ring finger.

The lack of a ring. On his finger.

I hadn’t noticed yesterday, too absorbed with everything else. Too bushwhacked and blindsided. My eyes pan up to his. “Where’s your wedding ring?”

Jasper blinks at me, registering the question one word at a time. It’s like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t wearing it. Instinct has him pulling our hands apart and rubbing his empty, ringless finger, as if he can hide what I’ve already noticed.

“Oh…I, uh…” His brows bend deeper, his face draining of color. “I’m sorry. I forgot to put it back on.”

I don’t know why, but it feels like a small death.

A knife in my gut. A lasso around my neck.

I grind my teeth together, keeping the whimper in my throat. “I see.”

“It doesn’t mean anything. I just…I thought you were gone. It wasn’t intentional.”

“I mean, it was.” Inching away from him, I burrow underneath the covers and try to keep my expression neutral. This shouldn’t hurt so much. “Youintentionallyremoved it from your finger.”

“Not because I don’t love you anymore.”

“No. Because you gave up on that love.”

“Everly.” He shakes his head with sorrow, regret etched into every line decorating his face. “Baby, please. I didn’t?—”

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