Page 207 of Irreversible

But Isaac seems to soften. He studies me across the island as he slowly slips out of his drenched leather coat, layering it over an adjacent stool. “You’re young. It’s never too late.”

My lips twitch, and I continue my task. “I’ve considered psychology.”

“You do love to talk.”

Another bitten-back grin. “That’s the thing, though. I spent two years acting as some kind of makeshift therapist, trying to help those people who never stood a chance. Talking them through their fears, listening to their regrets. Trying to give them something to hold on to in a place where there was no hope.” I falter, slicing through a carrot, feeling the tight grip of those memories and the icy chill of the ghosts left behind. “I couldn’t save any of them. Not one.”

Isaac’s gaze is uncharacteristically steady, almost gentle. “Maybe it’s not about talking or listening, but finding answers.”

I pause mid-chop, absorbing his words. “Finding answers?”

“Forensics.” He leans against the counter, watching me closely. “Think about it. You’re curious, observant—always digging deeper. You’d still be helping people with no voice, just in a different way. You’d be helping the ones they leave behind.”

The idea settles in my chest, surprisingly natural, as though it’s been waiting for this moment to emerge. Not just studying, but uncovering the truth.

Finding justice.

I think of all the victims who came and went, their stories left unfinished. I imagine the mothers, daughters, husbands, all waiting for their loved one to come home. My eyes glaze over, prickling with tears, a quiet resolve blossoming inside me.

Forensics.

Yeah…maybe I could do that.

Someday.

I nod, exhaling a breath as I set the knife down on the counter. But before I can reply, Isaac stands from the stool, winding around the small island until he reaches me, his hands curling around my waist and tugging me to him.

Deflating, I peer up at him, my body responding to the heat in his eyes, the intensity of his grasp. “Dinner first,” I murmur, my fingers crawling up his chest and bracketing his shoulders.

“Mmm. I have a different menu in mind.” He bends, brushing his lips along my ear. “Thinking of you in a forensic lab, wearing a little lab coat, all this hair pulled back…fucking sexy.”

“There would be corpses.”

He hauls me up by the thighs, coiling my legs around his hips. “At least they won’t interrupt.”

“Romantic.” I kiss him, biting down on his bottom lip until he groans. “I’ll bring the scalpel, you bring the flowers.”

“Thought it was cigarettes and bubble tea.” He smirks through another kiss.

Isaac carries me to the bedroom, tossing me onto the unmade bed. The mattress bounces beneath my weight as his body covers mine, and I arch up, drawing our faces together. It’s the usual frenzy of clothes tearing, hair being pulled, stretched limbs—nails, teeth, moans. My knees are shoved back, folding me in half, as he cages me in with both hands and slams inside.

I bow, bend, break into pieces.

It begins with urgency, hard thrusts and eager cries. I half-expect him to rip off a pillowcase and tie my wrists to the bedposts, spinning me inside out, upside down, until I’m seeing double and begging for mercy. But instead, he wraps my legs around his middle and lowers himself on top of me, our chests flush together. He cups my cheek, his touch tender.

I find his eyes.

We hold.

A new feeling churns between us, his movements slowing. There’s a crease between his brows, a sentiment I can’t pinpoint. My breath hitches on a whimper. I lift my hands, sifting my fingers through his mess of slow-drying hair, but I don’t squeeze, don’t pull.

I savor.

Soft hair, soft eyes.

Intimacy coils around us, and I feel everything—more than his body pressed to mine, slick and hard. More than the dark intensity we’re used to chasing. It’s something that reaches under my skin and wraps itself around my ribs, clawing through the damaged chambers of my heart and stretching tight. His eyes glimmer with an affection I rarely see, like he’s holding something fragile in his hands and doesn’t know if he’s allowed to keep it.

Doesn’t know if he knows how.

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