The Complication (The Program #6)(10)

I study him to see if this is all a ruse somehow, like he might remember. Otherwise, why would he worry? Why would he ask me to lunch? I’m probably projecting, but then again, maybe it’s still there—our love. But the way his soft brown eyes study me, trying to figure me out, confirms he’s not the old Wes. Not the one I knew.

“This morning, when you saw me,” I say, lowering my gaze to the table, “my best friend had just told me something devastating. Life altering. And I . . . I’m not handling it all that well.”

There’s a sudden and aching fear creeping into my lungs, squeezing. Grief surrounds me. I’m scared because it feels like I’m all alone in this. In my whole life, I’ve never been truly alone until now.

“You can tell me,” Wes says, and I look up at him. “I know I’m sort of a stranger,” he adds, “but I don’t have any ulterior motives. At least none that I can remember.” He offers me a small smile.

The server appears and drops off our coffees. I nod a thank-you and wrap my hands around my hot mug.

“To be honest,” I tell Wes. “That’s why you might be the only person I can trust right now.”

“Exactly.”

I watch him, his concern, and imagine things are different between us. The way they used to be. But that only lasts a moment because there is no “used to be.” Wes and I were just as big a lie as the rest of it. The only real thing is now. This moment.

“What did your friend tell you, Tatum?” he asks. “What could be so bad?”

“I was in The Program,” I murmur, the words breaking my heart. “I was in The Program, and I don’t remember any of it.”

Wes tilts his head, seeming confused. “Isn’t that the point?”

“No. I was supposed to forget my problems, or at least what they considered problems. But I remember the bad stuff. I mean, some of my memories are wrong, but overall, I have them. It’s The Program that’s gone. They made me forget the wrong stuff. They’ve done something. They changed me.”

“You’re not who you used to be,” Wes says, grabbing sugar to pour into his coffee. “Funny story, neither am I. Seems we have that in common, Tate. Two lost souls.”

He called me Tate—he must remember that. Or maybe it’s proof that, given the chance, most of us would make the same decisions, same mistakes, even if we don’t realize we’re making them. Maybe that’s what fate really is.

“I don’t know what to do now,” I confide. “Because it’s not just that I forgot. No one told me. My family, my friends, they kept it a secret. How can I face them, knowing they kept something so huge from me?”

“I can relate,” Wes says, stirring his coffee, the metal spoon clinking on the ceramic. “My parents act like I’ve been away at summer camp. None of us has said a word about my past. So I can tell you that eventually, you’ll accept it. And you’ll forgive your family because you have to.”

I’m not sure if Wes is right, but the level of sadness in his voice bothers me. Forgiveness is voluntary. There should be no “have to” about it.

“Besides,” Wes adds. “I’m starting to believe that our memories can be a dangerous place. Part of why I’m so damn charming is because I don’t remember how royally fucked my life has been. So I refuse to look back,” he continues. “I’m afraid it will kill me. You’re welcome to join me in my blissful ignorance if you’d like.” He smiles, hopeful.

That’s why he didn’t immediately bring up my inexplicable presence at his meeting with Dr. Wyatt. Blissful ignorance—it can have its advantages in this world. And honestly, I want to say that I’ll join him. But I can’t let this go so easily. It’s not fair—it’s not fair to me. To be lied to. Betrayed. I have to know how deep it goes before I can put it behind me.

“You’re not going to take my offer,” Wes says, sounding disappointed.

“Not yet. But . . . maybe I can once I have answers.”

Wes lifts one eyebrow like he doesn’t believe me, sets his spoon aside, and takes a sip of his coffee. He hums out that it’s good.

“Well,” he says. “Speaking of answers, we should get back to that psychotic administrator. Dr. Wyatt, was it? She’s kind of weird. Why does she care if I was in The Program?”

“She’s obsessed with returners,” I say. “Monitoring them and looking for signs of another outbreak, I guess.”

“Outbreak?”

I stare at him blankly, not sure how to begin explaining an epidemic that killed so many of our friends. I could never illustrate the gravity of it. What it did to us.

“Oh,” Wes says. “You mean the suicides? I read about that,” he adds quietly. Which means he knows the reason both of us ended up in The Program—they thought we were a danger to ourselves. True or not, that was the excuse they used to erase our pasts.

“Dr. Wyatt is acting like they did something else to me,” Wes says, lifting his eyes to mine. “Do you know what she was talking about?”

I swallow hard, but before I can figure out what to say, the server drops off our pancakes. They smell both sweet and buttery, and Wes lets the question drop as he digs into his food.

We’re quiet for a while, and when we’re nearly done eating, I absently look over to the counter. My stomach sinks when I see Kyle Mahoney there, picking up two coffees to go. Her white-blond cascade of hair, her tan legs and bare shoulders—I’m not imagining that Wes’s eyes drift toward her.