Page 202 of Irreversible

“So that’s a yes.” His expression darkens, his grip tight around the wineglass. “He seems…unhinged. A loose cannon.”

“I repeat—my relationships are not your concern.”

“I worry about you. Living here alone, stripping for strangers, getting involved with these types. You deserve more—stability, financial security. And this…” He gestures vaguely, as if the life I’ve built is barely worth acknowledging.

“Stop.” I drop the chopsticks with a loudclink. “You don’t know me anymore, and you certainly don’t know what I deserve.”

He blinks, rubbing a hand down his chin. “Right.” His coiffed hair glimmers under the atmospheric light fixture, a contradiction to the muddled look in his eyes. “Just…consider it. Please.”

“Consider what, exactly? Your so-called modeling proposition? Or you?”

His jaw tightens. “I’m not here to meddle in your love life or confuse you. I just think…well, maybe we both gave up on something unfinished.”

“We were finished the moment you started with her.”

“You think this has been easy for me? Watching you walk away, after spending two years praying to God-knows-what that you would walk through that front door one day? Signing those goddamn divorce papers?” He squints at me, perspiration dotting his upper lip. “You just left. Without a backward glance. Like our marriage wasn’t worth salvaging.”

I gape at him, wondering how his version of this story could be so vastly different from mine. “Need I remind you that you letmego? Before I ever had a chance to walk through that door.”

He leans forward and jabs a finger at his chest. “Igrievedyou.”

My throat strangles at his words. Frowning, I stare at him across the table, a deeply buried pain carving out my insides. I shake my head through the barbed wire in my lungs. “Not long enough.”

He goes quiet, the strain dissolving from his posture. Slouching forward, he drops his face in his hands and scrubs a palm over the top of his head.

Silence festers.

I want to shapeshift out of my skin.

Our order arrives moments later, and I dive into the elaborate spread of sushi, hoping the flavors will distract me from the tension simmering between us. When the silence stretches uncomfortably, I finally glance over at him. “Do you love her?” I ask through a bite. “Allison?”

Jasper looks up, his face momentarily clouded with something that resembles guilt. He drops a sushi roll onto his plate, as if it weighs too much. “Yes.”

I brace myself, expecting the pain to strike like a rusty razor blade, to carve through the numbness and into my heart. But the feeling never comes. I thought his admission would shake me, disrupt my equilibrium, but instead, I feel an odd sense of calm.

“Then what is this?” My voice lowers, curiosity mingling with the remnants of our argument. “Why are you here?”

“Because I care about you, too,” he forces out, his tone almost pleading. “And I can’t help but feel like I gave up on you too soon. You’re falling apart, and I feel responsible.”

I scoff, insulted. “I’m not falling apart. I’m rebuilding.”

He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing mine, desperation lacing his touch. “The life we shared, it was?—”

“Over,” I finish for him.

His brows furrow as he squeezes my hand. “Good,” he says softly. “It was good.”

I pull my hand away and plop a napkin on my lap. “Look, I have a new life now, and so do you. You just said you love her. Why would I want to come between that?”

“Allison misses you, too. You’re not a wedge, Everly—you’re a missing piece.”

I swirl my sushi roll in a bowl of soy sauce until it’s inedible. “I thought this was about modeling.”

“It is,” he says, but there’s a tremor in his voice, something raw. “But it’s also more than that. It’s about forgiveness. Moving forward.”

My mind races, cluttered with memories of what once was.

I consider what moving forward really means, knowing now that Jasper isn’t the one who fills my thoughts anymore. Instead, I picture brown eyes and worn jeans—a warmth so different from silk ties and polished façades.

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