The Complication (The Program #6)(11)

It’s a stab in my heart, and I want to tell him to stop. Stop looking at her. Stop noticing her. But Wes once told me that the heart has muscle memory . . . and that would apply to her, too. I wasn’t the only one who took up space in his life.

I push away the unfinished pancakes and grip my hot coffee cup. When I lift my head, Wes is watching me.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say unconvincingly.

“Is it her?” he asks, nodding at Kyle’s back. “Do you know her? Wait, do I know her? Never mind. Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter.”

“But maybe it does,” I say quietly. “Not just her—but maybe it all matters.” I want to believe his past matters—that I matter to him. But my conscience screams at me. Don’t tell him. Don’t hurt him.

“You think I should know everything,” Wes begins, “but I don’t see it that way. It’s deciding between my past and my future. Which would you choose, Tate? Would you think your old self, your old life—one you don’t even remember—would be worth dying for?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

He watches me for a long moment. “No. I just want to be a normal guy. I want to start over. I want . . .” He furrows his brow and lowers his eyes. “Forget it,” he says, not finishing his thought.

Kyle leaves the coffee shop without even noticing us, and the intensity of the moment seems to fade without her presence. What would Wes think if I told him he’d left me and started dating her? That he broke my heart utterly and completely?

“No offense,” Wes adds. “But you don’t really remember either, not if you were in The Program, right? So let’s accept that we’re different people now and move on. Why spend our lives chasing the past?”

He’s right. We could start over and be whoever we want. Leave this place, leave the past. But almost as a cosmic answer, I see another figure step up to the coffee counter. My heart trips.

Michael Realm glances over his shoulder at me and Wes, and then quickly darts his eyes away when he finds me already watching him. He followed us here.

“We should go,” I say to Wes. I don’t have time to wait for the bill, so I throw down some cash and stand up. I’m truly frightened.

Wes laughs like I’m acting strangely, and he motions to the money. “You don’t have to pay. I’ll—”

“We have to go,” I say in a low voice, more forcefully.

Wes stands up and pushes in his chair. “Fine,” he says, taking one last sip of his coffee. “But buying me brunch doesn’t mean I owe you anything, if that’s what you’re—” He stops joking when he sees I’m not playing around. He swallows hard and holds out his hand for me to take. I almost do, but that would be a signal—proof that Wes and I are building something.

And I don’t want Michael to see that. I don’t want to give him any ammunition against us. I walk past Wes, my arm brushing against his, his hand left hanging out. I swear I can feel him wilt slightly, but then he shoves his hands in his pockets and walks with me out the door and into the afternoon.

I quickly grab my helmet and put it on, watching the door of Lulu’s. I’m on the bike before I realize Wes is standing there, staring at me.

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” he says, “but are you on the run from the cops or something?”

“What?” I ask, surprised. He smiles.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “Mostly. But the fact that wasn’t immediately obvious is worrisome.” He puts on his helmet and gets in front of me on the bike. I slip my arms around him and lean in closer, my heart racing as I wait for Michael Realm to appear.

“Sorry,” I say. “I’m just a little freaked out right now.”

“Why? Because I—”

“No, nothing about you,” I say. “It was this guy.”

“Huh,” Wes says, kicking the bike to life and revving it loudly. “Another promising development.”

“It was the guy I saw earlier—the one I pointed out in the parking lot?”

Wes turns to me, his eyes concerned. “He’s following you?”

“Us.” I pause. “Or me, I don’t know.”

“And why would he be doing that?” Wes asks, his voice ticking up.

“I’m not exactly sure,” I say. “At first, I thought it was because you just returned, you know? But now I’m thinking it might be me. I don’t know. Let’s just get out of here.”

“Done,” Wes says, telling me to hang on. We ride out of the parking lot, on our way back to school, when I lean forward, my lips near his ear.

“Would you take me home instead?” I ask. Despite everything going on, home seems the safest place to be.

“Of course,” Wes says, and I give him my address.

I glance back and make sure that no one is following us. I notice the first return of clouds clinging to the sky and immediately miss the sun. Wind blows through the trees, and Wes has to tighten his grip against it.

At the next stoplight, Wes turns slightly to talk to me. I love this angle of him, so familiar. I lean in closer.

“So who is this guy?” Wes asks as if he’s just curious. “What’s his name?”