The Complication (The Program #6)(58)

“I thought I was protecting him,” I say. “Protecting us from me. Instead, I made him sick.”

“You told him to see other people,” Foster corrects. “He did. You didn’t force him to do anything, Tatum.”

“But then I wanted him back,” I explain.

“Uh-huh,” Foster says. “And that happens in regular relationships that aren’t being manipulated by the fucking Program. The way I see it,” he says, “you’re doing more damage now. He’s better. You’re better. Why lie to him? It’s going to mess him up.”

“Listen to Foster,” Nathan relents. “You’ve both made mistakes. Admit to them, accept them. I’m sorry, but lying isn’t an option anymore.”

“Besides the two of you,” I say, “everyone else in my life tells me to stay away from him.”

“Yeah, well, you should trust us, obviously,” Nathan says, and Foster nods. “Talk to Wes,” Nathan continues. “You don’t have to dive into your entire sordid past yet, but give him the option to find out. Don’t steal his life away.”

The words hit me hard, and I sit back in the chair, staring down. I think Nathan’s right—I have to give Wes the option of knowing the truth—the full truth. I owe him that much.

“Where do I even start?” I murmur. “I brought him to this point. My constant lying, even if I did it to protect him. I’m no better than my grandparents, than Dr. McKee or Marie Devoroux. I’m—”

My phone buzzes, startling me. I check it, and my heart jumps. I quickly look at Nathan, and he leans forward, reading my alarm.

“Who is it?” he asks.

“The Adjustment office,” I murmur in the same breath I say hello, the phone at my ear, my gaze locked with Nathan’s.

“Tatum,” Marie says, the sound of her voice jarring me. “Have you heard from Melody Blackstone? I can’t get hold of her, and her mother said she was gone this morning. Her room cleaned out.”

“Oh . . . ,” I say, watching Nathan’s expression. “No, I haven’t heard anything. I—”

“I’m worried,” Marie cuts in. “I need you to come by the office.”

“Are you serious?” I ask, annoyed she’d even suggest it. “After everything you and Dr. McKee did to—”

“Dr. McKee is dead,” Marie says harshly. “And this isn’t negotiable. I’ll see you shortly.” Marie hangs up, and I lower the phone.

“Marie?” Nathan asks. “What does she want?”

“She said Melody is missing. And she wants me to come by the Adjustment office.”

Foster’s mouth falls open as he darts a look between me and Nathan. “Not to be that guy,” he says, brow furrowed, “but it’s a trap. Don’t go.”

“I’ll be with her,” Nathan says instantly, tossing money onto the table. He’s worried about Melody. Despite everything, he’ll still protect her.

Foster checks the time on his phone. “Shit. I have a test fourth hour—I can’t miss it. But I’ll be done by noon. Find you after?” he asks.

“Of course,” I say, still thinking about Melody. Wondering if she has anyone to turn to. Worried that she really is in danger. We should have looked out for her.

“For real, though,” Foster adds, getting up from the chair. “Answer my call at twelve or I’m showing up at the office to rescue you.”

Nathan promises Foster that we’ll check in, his mind clearly somewhere else. Foster glances at me, concerned, and touches my arm in good-bye before walking out.

? ? ?

“Do you think she’s all right?” Nathan asks quietly from the passenger seat as we drive toward the Adjustment office. I look sideways at him and see him chewing on the corner of his thumbnail.

I almost say yes automatically, but I think about Marie and Dr. McKee, how they were always honest with each other. Sort of like Nathan and me. At least, the way we try to be.

“I don’t know,” I tell him. “But I truly hope so.”

“What if she . . . ?” Nathan creases his forehead and turns away.

My heart aches, and he doesn’t have to finish his sentence. We’ve lived through a suicide epidemic. The possibility is always on the table.

There are no cars in the strip mall parking lot when we pull in. It’s early, and none of the few remaining businesses are open yet. The frosted-glass windows of the Adjustment office are lit up, the lights on inside. I can’t help it—I check around for handlers. For their van. For any sign that Foster was right about this being a trap. But it’s a quiet morning in Oregon. Nathan starts to open his door, but I reach out to grab his arm.

“I’m scared,” I say.

“If she or anyone tries to hurt you, I swear, I’ll go nuclear,” he says. “Remember that time in Chuck E. Cheese’s when—”

I smile. “When Rex Wisteria pegged me with a plastic ball from the pit?”

Nathan nods, looking proud of himself. Nathan isn’t exactly a fighter, but he beat the shit out of that kid when we were in eighth grade. Of course, Rex deserved it. He’d been torturing me at school, and when he saw me at the restaurant without my grandparents, he tried to continue. Only this time Nathan was there, and he pounced. A fight in a Chuck E. Cheese ball pit is certainly something to behold. Rex never messed with me again.