CHAPTER EIGHT
I’M SHAKING, COLD FROM THE rain on my skin and terrified by the fact that they almost got me again. Grabbed me. Hurt me.
I’ll never escape—that defeatist thought tries to work its way into my brain, the same thought that landed me in The Program. But I beat it back. I won’t let it take me. I’m stronger now.
I glance over at Wes in the passenger seat. He’s sunken down, shivering against the chill, holding his arm gingerly. His breathing is stilted, and I know he’s trying not to let on how much pain he’s in.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath, clicking up the speed on the windshield wipers. I repeat the curse, knowing it’s not going to help, but needing the outlet.
“Where are we going?” Wes asks after a minute, his voice gravelly. I turn to him again, worried. I grab my phone and call home.
“Gram,” I say, when she gets on the line. “I need your help. Wes is hurt. Can you meet us at the hospital?”
“What’s going on?” she asks, sounding terrified.
“I can’t explain now,” I say. “But whatever you do, do not talk to Dorothy Ambrose. She’s working with Dr. Warren. Wes got injured, but we can’t be seen in public. Can you help us?”
“Of course,” she says. “But should I call—”
“Don’t call anyone,” I tell her. “Just meet us at the hospital.”
“We’re on our way, honey,” she says. She hangs up, and I click off the phone, glancing up just in time to see I’ve caught a red light. I have to press on the brakes pretty hard, and both Wes and I shoot forward.
He groans in agony and falls back against the seat, his eyes squeezed shut.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “What can I do?”
“Shh . . . ,” he says, and then smiles a little. “Can’t talk,” he adds, keeping his eyes closed. He’s trying to concentrate on holding in the pain. He told me once that when he worked out, he was always really quiet to help keep his focus, concentrate his energy. That must be what he’s doing now.
“You stay quiet,” I say. “I’m going to keep talking. What are we going to do?” I ask rhetorically. “We can’t wait until tomorrow. Dr. Warren must know that I’m onto her. They’re coming for me—us, now.”
Wes’s mom might think to look for us at the hospital, so we’ll have to be careful. I grab my phone just as the light turns green, and I quickly dial Realm as I drive toward the hospital. The line rings, and I start talking the minute it’s answered.
“Won’t make it until tomorrow,” I say into the phone. “They found me at Wes’s with the help of his mother. Guess they’re not worried about drawing attention anymore, huh?”
“They’re desperate,” Realm says, his voice low. “I’m en route now,” he says. “I can meet you in about two hours. The diner I sent the address for is open all night, so it’ll still work.”
“Why were you already on your way?” I ask.
“Because I thought I was coming to rescue you from Dr. Warren. I’m glad you got out of there. I assume Wes is with you?”
“How did—”
“I had no warning,” he says as if heading off my accusation. “Just got a call from a friend right now who said handlers were at Wes’s house. I put the rest together, and like I said, I was coming to save you.”
“Yeah, well,” I say. “I saved myself already. I’m sure you’ll get another chance, though.”
Realm laughs to himself. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Tatum,” he says. We hang up, and I drop the phone into the cup holder, leaning forward to see out the windshield. My wipers can’t quite keep up with the rainfall.
“So I get to meet Michael Realm tonight?” Wes asks, his eyes still closed.
“Apparently,” I say.
“Good.”
I look over at him, trying to guess the meaning in that simple word. But I’m not sure what’s going on in Wes’s head, not anymore. And when he opens one eye to peek over at me, I laugh and turn back to the road.
“I’m sorry you got hurt,” I tell him, wishing I could reach over and touch him, but worried it’ll make him worse if I do.
“Thanks,” he says. “And I’m sorry my mother’s a maniac who’s essentially trying to kill you.”
“Right?” I say, looking sideways. “Didn’t expect that.” We both smile and I focus on the road, and speed us toward the hospital.
• • •
My grandmother is waiting for us under the cover of the awning at the back of the hospital. It’s the outpatient center, usually locked at night. We park, and after we get out, Pop is quick to jump into the driver’s seat.
“I’m in the first spot,” he says, motioning to the parking lot. “We’re switching cars for now.”
“Good idea,” I tell him. He hands me his keys and then takes the Jeep around to the other side of the building.
My grandmother and I get Wes into the hospital, and my grandmother has a nurse waiting for us, a woman she’s known for a long time. Nurse Belmont is sweet—I sometimes see her when I need a quick appointment. The bonus of having a guardian who’s the hospital administrator.
We go into the triage room, and after a quick exam, she tells Wes that she thinks he’s separated his shoulder. She doesn’t even ask how it happened. The swelling has already begun, so she’s unable to see the extent of the damage. He’ll have to let it settle for a few days.
As Wes sits on the table with his shirt off, his hair wet, I realize that he’s barefoot. On top of that, his shoulder is lower on the right side, drooped down at a significant angle. It’s turning blue, a bruise spreading quickly.
“I’m going to wrap up the shoulder and give you a sling,” Nurse Belmont says. “You okay with shots?” She rolls her stool over to a drawer and takes out a syringe.
Wes’s teeth chatter, and I think he might be in shock. I walk over to him and lean my cheek against his temple, rubbing his back. His skin is freezing cold.
“I love shots,” he says, miserable, and Nurse Belmont laughs.
My grandmother paces the room nervously, and I’m glad she was able to help us. Wes wouldn’t have gotten far without some kind of assistance tonight. As it is, I still have a terrible pain in my head, a new one in my leg. We’re getting our asses kicked over here.
“Tatum,” my grandmother says gently. “Can we talk?”
“Yeah,” I say, and tell Wes I’ll be right back. He reaches for me first, wincing, and murmurs something about giving him a kiss. It’s so pathetic in the most adorable way, so of course, I lean in and do just that. I really hope Nurse Belmont gives him some good drugs for the pain.
My gram leads me to another room. My grandfather joins us, shaking the rain off his jacket. While my grandmother inspects my head wound, I tell her what happened with Dorothy. She doesn’t say anything at first but gets an ice pack and holds it to my head. My grandfather gets aspirin from where my grandmother points it out, and I take two with a sip of water.
“Concussion,” my grandmother says sternly, looking down at me. She’s still holding the ice on my head, and I smile at her.
“Mild,” I say.
“Yes, but still a concussion,” she says. “I’d make you stay here for monitoring, but clearly that’s not a good idea. I’m hoping you have a better one. Because right now, my idea would involve getting Dr. Warren and Dorothy Ambrose sent to prison.”
“We’ll get there,” Pop says, and turns to me. “Have you updated Realm?”
“I’m meeting him in about two hours,” I reply.
“Good,” my grandmother says. “First, you should call Nathan and see if he can bring Weston some shoes.”
“Right,” I reply. I take the ice pack from her hand, holding it myself, and call Nathan to update him.
He and Wes have about the same shoe size, so fifteen minutes later, he comes by and drops off a pair of sneakers with socks, and two jackets for us.
He’s obviously worried, but our plan remains intact. I need his help rooting out the other handlers. Foster probably already knows who to look at.
After Nathan’s gone, I go back into the room with Wes, finding him lying on the table, groggy. His arm is in a black sling. He smiles slowly when he sees me.
“Hello, beautiful,” he says easily. I blush, a little embarrassed. And Nurse Belmont smiles at me.
“I gave him something for the pain, as well as a steroid. He should keep the shoulder iced when he can, and come back in a few days. We have to refer him to see if he’ll need surgery.”
I tell her I understand, but Wes isn’t listening. He’s gazing at me, hopped up on whatever Nurse Belmont gave him. He smiles broadly, and I have to laugh.
“We should go,” I tell him. He nods like that’s a good idea, but he’s slow to get up. Pop comes into the room to help him.
The nurse tells us the brunt of the painkiller will wear off in about a half hour, and after that, it’ll leave him a little fuzzy around the edges.
“Will I be sore later?” Wes asks. Nurse Belmont actually laughs out loud.
“Yes. Absolutely.”
Nurse Belmont says good-bye to me, and after I give my gram a hug, promising to call her soon, the two women go off to discuss tonight’s situation. This is the first time I’ve seen my grandmother as the person Dr. McKee described. A woman connected, leading even. It never occurred to me the kind of sway she had at the hospital until now.
Pop walks us out and gets Wes into the car. We look around, checking to make sure we’re not being watched, and then I tell Pop that I love him.
“Be careful,” he says, sounding desperate. He looks like he might cry, and honestly, I don’t blame him. If this weren’t my story, I’d think it was already too late. But I won’t give up.
It’s The Program or me. And I decide it’s going to be me.
• • •
Wes sleeps on the way to the diner, waking up when I park in the lot, hidden toward the back in a spot with no lights. The rain has finally stopped, leaving everything soaked and wilted. We’re a half hour early, and the restaurant appears to be deserted. There’s only one other car near the back door, probably someone who works there.
“I don’t think we should go inside,” Wes says, groaning as he adjusts his position in the seat. “Let’s see who arrives first. Get a better idea what we’re dealing with.”
“I agree,” I say, and look sideways at him. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m . . . ,” Wes starts, wincing once. “I’m kind of irritated that the drugs are wearing off.” He smiles and turns to me. He holds out his good hand to call me toward him.
I move over as far as I can and rest my head on the edge of his seat rather than on his shoulder. I slip my hand into his, and he intertwines our fingers and rests them on his lap.
“I don’t regret it,” he says. “If you’re thinking I’m regretting getting involved with you again, I don’t.”
“That’s because you’re fucking insane,” I say, making him laugh. “You should run far away.”
“I’ll never run. Not unless it’s with you.”
I smile to myself. “You’re being really sweet,” I say, watching the building, getting lost in the feeling of his fingers stroking mine.
“You can be sweet too,” he replies playfully. “If you wanted to . . . I don’t know, distract me from the parts of my body that are now separated from each other.”
I lift my head and look at the side of his face. He’s got his eyes closed, a soft smile on his lips. His entire expression relaxed. He’s such an idiot, and I love him for it.
It would be completely inappropriate to hook up in the car while his arm is in a sling. After we were attacked. While on our way to more disaster. But I’ll be honest, the more reasons I think of not to, the more I want to.
Wes bites on his lower lip in anticipation, and I’m helpless in how badly I want him. How I want to take up his entire world, and him mine.
“We could just try it,” he whispers. “Or I can do all the work. I don’t mind.”
To be honest, he’s pretty good at what he does, but not tonight.
I lower myself toward his lap, and his breath catches in his chest—a little surprised. He slides his good hand into my hair, gently brushing it aside. And then he murmurs in a serious voice, “If I get erased tonight and end up forgetting this, I’m going to be so pissed.”
And then we both crack up laughing.
• • •
“Now, I’m not a doctor,” Wes says a little later, blinking like he’s trying to clear his head. “But we probably could have skipped the drugs and gone straight to that.”
“Something to keep in mind for next time,” I reply like he’s making sense, and check my reflection before flipping up the mirror. It’s ten minutes past the time when Realm was supposed to arrive, and I’m beginning to get worried. Although Wes isn’t currently in any pain, and, I would daresay, he’s in a spectacular mood considering our situation, this state of euphoria won’t last forever. He needs to rest.
“Should we do this?” I ask, motioning toward the restaurant.
“Probably not,” he says. “But it’s not like I’m going home tonight. At least in there I can have a slice of pie.” He reaches out his hand to me, and I squeeze it before we both get out of the car.
Wes adjusts his sling several times, but he still manages to beat me to the door. He pulls it open, a set of bells jingling, and he holds it for me to walk in first.
I’m immediately smacked with the smell of grease and syrup, the air warm and a little sticky. I sweep my eyes around the empty restaurant, and my heart sinks when Michael Realm is nowhere in sight.