The Complication (The Program #6)(71)

“Wes,” I say, and swallow hard.

“Hm?” he hums out, flipping the next page of his book. I watch him, the way he creases the binding, causing deep lines; when he licks his thumb to turn the page back like he might have missed an important plot point.

“The other night, you asked how I felt about you,” I say. Wes stills but doesn’t turn to me right away. His Adam’s apple bobs, and then he closes his book. “I want to answer,” I add.

“What are you doing?” he asks, turning to me. He says it like he’s worried I’m going to hurt him. And to be honest, I might. That’s the thing about us, we might hurt each other. But I can’t keep the past from him anymore. I need him to know.

“I want to answer,” I repeat.

Wes’s jaw tightens like he’s getting ready to take a punch. His dimples are deeply set, and his eyes flash with vulnerability.

“I love you,” I say in a rush. “Wes, I love you so much. Always have. We were together from the first day we met, together for years. Not just friends. And things have tried to come between us: the epidemic, the doctors, your mother . . . me—but we find our way back. Our hearts remember, even when we don’t.” I pause when my voice begins to shake, and take a steadying breath.

Wes blinks slowly, his eyes glassy. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t say he loves me, too.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I continue. “And I’m sorry that I lied and said we were just friends—it was stupid. I thought I was protecting you, but . . . I won’t lie to you anymore. I needed you to know the truth about us.”

He still doesn’t speak and lowers his eyes to his lap, his chest rising and falling quickly. Despite his subdued reaction, I feel lighter. The heaviness of carrying the secret gone, just like earlier. It gives me clarity, and I’m grateful for the open space I suddenly feel. I wish I’d told the truth all along.

“Anyway,” I say, not sure if he needs time to digest what I just told him. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading, I just had to get that off my chest.”

“And put it on mine?” he asks, lifting his eyes.

My lips part, surprised by the intensity in his words. “I didn’t mean to. I—”

“You didn’t mean to? You sure?” he asks. “Because I’m wondering why you would tell me all this if you didn’t want a reaction. If you didn’t want to ruin my day.”

“Wes, that is not what’s happening.”

“Then what is?” he asks. A girl a few tables away looks over at us curiously. “What is happening, Tate? Because I was pretty clear how I felt about you, and you pushed me away. You made me feel . . . crazy—like I was making up our connection. You gave me just enough affection to keep me around, and then you’d pull it back. Acting like it meant nothing. Ignoring me. And now you walk up and say you love me?”

“You deserve to know what’s real,” I say, trying to explain.

“And we’re real?” he asks, motioning between us.

I pause and lower my voice. “We used to be,” I say. “I didn’t remember everything, not at first. And the doctors, they told me you’d die if I confessed. But now I know that’s not true. Now I have the whole picture. You have no idea what I’ve been through the last few days.”

“You’re right,” he says. “Because you wouldn’t return my texts. You wouldn’t even have a conversation with me. You’re . . . you’re fucking me up, Tate.”

My heart aches at his words. This isn’t good for him, this sort of emotional shrapnel. He needs time, and if I’m honest, he probably needs distance. Even when I’m trying to make things better for him, I make it worse. I can’t hold his gaze.

“Forget I said anything,” I murmur, and stand up from the chair.

“No,” he snaps. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to just throw words out there and then try to take them back. What do you expect me to do with this information? What did you want me to do?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do. What did you think would happen?”

I don’t want to admit it because it makes me seem manipulative, but I can’t lie to him again. “I thought you’d tell me you love me too,” I admit.

Wes stares at me, and I’m at once exposed and hopeful. He licks his lips, his dimples deepening, and then he shakes his head.

“That’s not how this is going to go, Tatum,” he says coolly. “I’m sorry.”

It’s like a pile of bricks drops on my chest, but I nod, trying not to look as bowled over as I feel. Wes has every right to reject me, especially now. This is the way it was always supposed to end, with him moving on. I have to let him.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, and turn to cross through the library.

The girl who’d been watching us smiles as she texts something into her phone. I can’t help but wonder what she’s saying about us. And then there’s a small voice that says maybe she wasn’t watching for gossip.

Maybe she was watching us for The Program.

I go to my locker, fighting back tears. What started as empowering feels more like devastation, and I deserve all of it. I should have been clear from the start or avoided him. Instead, I’ve strung Wes along. Why should he believe me at this point? The only Tatum he knows is a liar.