The Complication (The Program #6)(8)

“You sure you weren’t just trying to get me to come over?” Wes asks, leaning against the Jeep.

Suddenly the engine sputters and dies out. Wes laughs loudly, staring at me wide-eyed like he caused it to stall by making a bad joke. He tells me to pop the hood again, and we try, unsuccessfully, to get the engine running.

After a few minutes, I give up and climb out from behind the wheel. Wes still stands in front of the Jeep, his hands folded on top of his head as he stares at the engine.

“Well, shit,” he says. “Do you have jumper cables?”

“I don’t,” I say.

Wes scans the parking lot. “I can ask around,” he says. “Someone should—”

“It’s fine,” I say, not wanting him to worry about it. “I’ll call my grandfather. Thanks for trying, though.”

Wes closes the hood and comes over to where I’m standing next to the Jeep. He picks up his backpack from the concrete, pulling one strap over his right shoulder. He doesn’t walk away immediately, and I don’t want him to. There are so many questions burning in my mind. In my heart.

Do you love me?

Did you know I was in The Program?

Can I ever let you go?

I finally gather some nerve and open my mouth to ask about our meeting with Dr. Wyatt. A simple start. But before I can, Wes peeks around the open driver’s door and motions inside the Jeep.

“Mind if I check it out?” he asks, his eyes flashing with anticipation.

“Oh,” I say. My question falls away, and I wonder if that was his intention. “Sure. All yours.”

Wes has always loved my Jeep. He’d change the oil and get it washed for me. Every so often I’d let him drive and gaze at him as he drove too fast. The fact he wants to see it now strums my heart, and I don’t want to ruin the moment. It’s too familiar, too right.

Wes climbs inside the Jeep, making himself comfortable in the seat as he inspects the dash and the gearshift. He looks over at me.

“What year is this?” he asks as if he can’t tell. He probably can’t. It’s been rebuilt a bunch of times, something Wes no longer remembers.

“She’s about ten years past her prime,” I say, studying his every movement. Looking for flashes of him.

“Nonsense,” Wes replies, running his hand lovingly across the steering wheel. “She’s perfect.”

Just then I catch something out of the corner of my eye. I turn and see a guy, slightly hidden by his car, across the parking lot. He looks away, pretending he hasn’t been watching us, but I recognize him. I saw him in the Adjustment office; he knows Marie Devoroux. What was his name? It was unusual. Realm. Michael Realm, I think.

“Hey,” I say to Wes, tapping his arm. He looks down at where I touched him before lifting his eyes to mine. “Do you know that guy?” I ask, nodding toward Michael Realm.

Wes leans out, but I stop him.

“Covertly,” I say.

He sniffs a laugh and then ducks down to look in the side-view mirror. He narrows his eyes. “The tall guy?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he your boyfriend?” Wes asks. “I’m jealous.”

His comment catches me off guard, makes me blush. I stare at him for a moment, surprised by how easily he flirts with me, and hoping it means more than it probably does.

“No,” I say quietly. “He’s not my boyfriend.” Wes puts his fingers over his lips like he’s trying not to smile at my answer. I turn back to Michael Realm. “I met him once,” I say, growing distracted as I search my memory. “I’m sure it’s him.”

“Well, I’ve never seen him before in my life,” Wes says. In reality, Wes was with me when I met him.

I watch Michael Realm a little longer, knowing it’s too much of a coincidence that he’s here the same day Wes came back. Same day Dr. Wyatt questioned us. I just don’t know how he plays into all of this.

“What is he doing here?” I say more to myself than Wes.

“Did you want to go talk to him, or . . . ?”

“No,” I say. “That wasn’t what I . . . I’m not interested in him.”

“Good,” Wes responds. “I was worried I’d have to be more obvious.”

I laugh, and the sound of it—the lightness of it—is startling. Surreal and free of consequence. “I’m not sure you’re being that subtle,” I say, making him smile. The truth is, I like how he’s flirting with me. I like how it makes me feel, how it overshadows the absolute wreckage of my reality.

Wes leans back in the seat, carefree. He doesn’t have the weight of his memories, his past. He’s not a tortured soul. At least, not anymore. I barely remember this version of him. In fact, I’m not sure I ever knew this version of him.

I throw an incautious glance in Michael Realm’s direction, and he hurriedly gets into his black car. He could be here to remind me of Dr. McKee’s warning to stay away from Wes—to keep his past from him. I promised I would. I begged the doctor to save Wes’s life, and he did.

This is the cost.

I look at Wes and know that I can’t ask him the questions I want. I can’t tell him who he is to me, who we are to each other. Even though he’s right here in front of me, he’s never felt so far away.