The Complication (The Program #6)(87)

I’ll never escape—that defeatist thought tries to work its way into my brain, the same thought that landed me in The Program. But I beat it back. I won’t let it take me. I’m stronger now.

I glance over at Wes in the passenger seat. He’s sunken down, shivering against the chill, holding his arm gingerly. His breathing is stilted, and I know he’s trying not to let on how much pain he’s in.

“Fuck,” I say under my breath, clicking up the speed on the windshield wipers. I repeat the curse, knowing it’s not going to help, but needing the outlet.

“Where are we going?” Wes asks after a minute, his voice gravelly. I turn to him again, worried. I grab my phone and call home.

“Gram,” I say, when she gets on the line. “I need your help. Wes is hurt. Can you meet us at the hospital?”

“What’s going on?” she asks, sounding terrified.

“I can’t explain now,” I say. “But whatever you do, do not talk to Dorothy Ambrose. She’s working with Dr. Warren. Wes got injured, but we can’t be seen in public. Can you help us?”

“Of course,” she says. “But should I call—”

“Don’t call anyone,” I tell her. “Just meet us at the hospital.”

“We’re on our way, honey,” she says. She hangs up, and I click off the phone, glancing up just in time to see I’ve caught a red light. I have to press on the brakes pretty hard, and both Wes and I shoot forward.

He groans in agony and falls back against the seat, his eyes squeezed shut.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “What can I do?”

“Shh . . . ,” he says, and then smiles a little. “Can’t talk,” he adds, keeping his eyes closed. He’s trying to concentrate on holding in the pain. He told me once that when he worked out, he was always really quiet to help keep his focus, concentrate his energy. That must be what he’s doing now.

“You stay quiet,” I say. “I’m going to keep talking. What are we going to do?” I ask rhetorically. “We can’t wait until tomorrow. Dr. Warren must know that I’m onto her. They’re coming for me—us, now.”

Wes’s mom might think to look for us at the hospital, so we’ll have to be careful. I grab my phone just as the light turns green, and I quickly dial Realm as I drive toward the hospital. The line rings, and I start talking the minute it’s answered.

“Won’t make it until tomorrow,” I say into the phone. “They found me at Wes’s with the help of his mother. Guess they’re not worried about drawing attention anymore, huh?”

“They’re desperate,” Realm says, his voice low. “I’m en route now,” he says. “I can meet you in about two hours. The diner I sent the address for is open all night, so it’ll still work.”

“Why were you already on your way?” I ask.

“Because I thought I was coming to rescue you from Dr. Warren. I’m glad you got out of there. I assume Wes is with you?”

“How did—”

“I had no warning,” he says as if heading off my accusation. “Just got a call from a friend right now who said handlers were at Wes’s house. I put the rest together, and like I said, I was coming to save you.”

“Yeah, well,” I say. “I saved myself already. I’m sure you’ll get another chance, though.”

Realm laughs to himself. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours, Tatum,” he says. We hang up, and I drop the phone into the cup holder, leaning forward to see out the windshield. My wipers can’t quite keep up with the rainfall.

“So I get to meet Michael Realm tonight?” Wes asks, his eyes still closed.

“Apparently,” I say.

“Good.”

I look over at him, trying to guess the meaning in that simple word. But I’m not sure what’s going on in Wes’s head, not anymore. And when he opens one eye to peek over at me, I laugh and turn back to the road.

“I’m sorry you got hurt,” I tell him, wishing I could reach over and touch him, but worried it’ll make him worse if I do.

“Thanks,” he says. “And I’m sorry my mother’s a maniac who’s essentially trying to kill you.”

“Right?” I say, looking sideways. “Didn’t expect that.” We both smile and I focus on the road, and speed us toward the hospital.

? ? ?

My grandmother is waiting for us under the cover of the awning at the back of the hospital. It’s the outpatient center, usually locked at night. We park, and after we get out, Pop is quick to jump into the driver’s seat.

“I’m in the first spot,” he says, motioning to the parking lot. “We’re switching cars for now.”

“Good idea,” I tell him. He hands me his keys and then takes the Jeep around to the other side of the building.

My grandmother and I get Wes into the hospital, and my grandmother has a nurse waiting for us, a woman she’s known for a long time. Nurse Belmont is sweet—I sometimes see her when I need a quick appointment. The bonus of having a guardian who’s the hospital administrator.

We go into the triage room, and after a quick exam, she tells Wes that she thinks he’s separated his shoulder. She doesn’t even ask how it happened. The swelling has already begun, so she’s unable to see the extent of the damage. He’ll have to let it settle for a few days.