Page 166 of Irreversible

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The animal looks at me so pointedly, I can almost hear his thoughts:Why are you just standing there, dumbass? Can’t you see I’m getting wet?

The lone light over the door lends a sort of iridescence to his rain-slicked fur as I walk over and look down. Slowly stretching one front paw, he unfurls his claws and digs them into my jeans.

“Fine, I can take a hint.” I fish down into the bottom of my jacket pocket, pull out a key, unlock the door, and hold it open a foot until he slinks inside.

The thought of following him in, going upstairs, and knocking on her door gives me pause. What would she do? What’s the worst thing that could happen if I walked up and introduced myself?

I let out a mirthless laugh.

Maybe she thinks that after a few unraveled confessions in the shadow of death, she knows who I am. But purging a few dark secrets through a wall doesn’t change the truth.

Could I ever be good for a woman like her?

No.

I watch the rivulets of water slide down to the metal handle, collecting in droplets that quiver and fall into a puddle on the concrete. At the entryway, lined with mailboxes. At the cat, bounding up the stairs.

Then I take a long, slow breath in through my nose and release my grip on the handle.

Slowly, it closes, locking Everly safely inside.

And I turn away.

41

“You’re doingwhat?”

Wincing, I inch the phone away from my ear as I march down the sidewalk in my heels and a tan trench coat. Perhaps this was a conversation better suited for an in-person visit. “I didn’t want to tell you when I was down there because I didn’t know if it would last. It was one of those spontaneous, split-second decision things, you know? I ran into Queenie a few months ago at a local coffee shop. I told her I was in a rut and feeling antsy, so she suggested it, and I… Well, I thought doing something totally outside my comfort zone would snap me out of this funk I’ve been in.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I figured you, of all people, would understand.” I swerve around the corner, inhaling a lungful of engine fumes. “Are you disappointed in me?”

“No. Of course not.”

“You sound pissed.”

“Taken off guard, not pissed.” Hertaken off guardsigh travels through the speaker, but it sounds like apissedsigh. “Everly, are you sure this is the best route for you to take?You’ve been through a lot. The idea of strange men leering at your naked body isn’t sitting well with me.”

My stilettos clink against metal steps as I enter the club through the back door and make my way down the winding hall. Len greets me outside the dressing room with an endearing wink, and I shoot back a distracted smile. “It’s topless only. Not to mention,youwere a stripper for seven years,” I remind her.

“I’m also a mother.Yourmother. I can’t protect you when you’re four-hundred miles away, and that industry isn’t always…savory.”

“Everyone has been amazing. Supportive, nurturing, empowering.” Queenie sends me a worried frown from the beauty counter as I veer toward the lockers, but I shake my head, assuring her I’m fine. “And you don’t need to protect me. I’m capable.”

“I know you are. You’re strong and resilient,” she replies. “But you’re also beautiful, vulnerable, and only five-foot-two when you’re not slouching. I’m not worried about the women; I’m worried about the men. The patrons. I’ve had my fair share of disturbing run-ins.” She pauses. “You should carry a weapon with you. Pepper spray, at the very least.”

“I have some. Don’t worry.” Truthfully, I don’t know why I have some. It appeared in my purse the other day, likely courtesy of Queenie.

Mom sighs again as I open my locker and discard my satchel. Then she adds, “What about modeling? If it’s the attention you’re missing, I’m certain Jasper has connections that can re-spark your career. I’d feel better about that avenue.”

My fingers tighten around the phone at the mention of his name. “I don’t want to do modeling. There’s too much…noise.” When I glance up, Queenie is leaning against the far wall, watching me with a glimmer of concern in her eyes. “I don’t want my name in lights, my face in magazines, or people wavingcameras at me everywhere I go. Everly Cross—the model—is associated with abduction, a black-market ring, scandal, and divorce. I’m Everly Mayfield now. I’m just…Bee.”

“Bee?”

“My stage name.” Fidgeting in place, I glance at the wall clock, feeling restless as my start time draws nearer. “Listen, I need to go. I’ll come visit you next week and we can talk more about this. Don’t worry, okay?”

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