The Complication (The Program #6)(95)

“Yeah, well,” Sloane says, brushing her hair over her shoulder. “If anything happens to James, you’ll be missing more than your brain.” She turns to James, whose blue eyes have grown uneasy.

“Stay with him,” she says, motioning to Realm. “I’ll grab the keys.”

James nods that he will, but he doesn’t even look at Michael Realm. He watches Sloane go into the house, waiting for her to come back. Concerned only with her.

Realm turns to me, and I meet his eyes. He lifts one side of his mouth in a sad smile. “You might be the cure for all of us,” he says quietly. “But whatever happens, once this is over, leave. You and Wes . . . just leave. Never let anyone mess with your memory again. No more—” He starts to cough, and this time he gags on the blood in his mouth. He stumbles over to the railing, his entire body racking.

James curses and crosses to him, helping Realm to the edge of the porch, where he spits blood into the bushes. James holds him up, his arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. Their heads close together.

“You should have called,” James says to Realm privately. “Let me know how bad you’d gotten.”

“Would it have mattered?” Realm asks, looking sideways at him.

“Yes,” James replies simply. “You matter, Realm.”

Sloane rushes out of the house, closing and locking the door behind her. “How far is it?” she asks Realm, taking stock of his condition but not letting it deter her mission.

“Twenty minutes,” Realm says, spitting again before letting James straighten him.

“Have you got that long?” she asks.

Realm laughs. “I hope so.”

James helps Realm off the porch, and Wes walks beside them even though he can’t do much to assist. Sloane suggests we use her SUV, and we start that way. I’ll leave my grandfather’s car here for now.

“Thank you for bringing him,” Sloane says. “I know he can be difficult.”

“He is . . . something,” I say. “But I guess if there’s anyone who’s in the know, it’s usually him.”

“Yeah,” Sloane replies. “Whether he shares that information is a different story.”

Well, she’s definitely friends with Michael Realm.

I don’t entirely understand their history together. Realm said that he loved her, and I think she cares about him—but she seems pissed. And it’s about more than him not alerting James about getting sick sooner. This goes deeper. It feels a little brutal.

James eases Realm into the back row of the SUV, leaving him moaning, his breathing shallow. Sloane gets behind the wheel, and James sits in the front while Wes and I get in the middle row.

Realm calls out the address from the back, and Sloane has a lead foot as we race in that direction. Realm sits with his head against the window, gasping occasionally. Sloane continues to monitor him, silently taking in his condition. They don’t speak to each other.

“I’m sorry,” James murmurs to Sloane. “I should have told you about the nosebleed.”

“Yep,” she replies, and when James turns to her, she keeps her eyes on the road. James leans over in the seat to put his face in Sloane’s hair, snuggling into her, his palm on her neck. Sloane rests her cheek against him, and I hear James whisper that he loves her. That he loves her so fucking much.

“Good,” Sloane says. “Then let me drive.” James pulls back, and Sloane smiles at him, making him laugh, before he turns toward the window. He keeps his hand on her thigh.

The sky is dark and without stars, the clouds still too heavy. I wonder then if Marie is expecting us—if she has the same uncanny ability of knowing shit like Realm does. I’m pretty angry with her right now. She planned to send in a handler to ruin my relationship with Wes. After we save the world, I’m going to tell her she’s a real bitch sometimes.

We end up in a residential neighborhood with small bungalows, several Craftsman homes. Most are run-down with overgrown yards. Cars with parking violation stickers line one side of the street.

I glance back at Realm and find him staring out the window, awake.

“You sure this is the place?” I ask.

“I am,” Realm says, and when he turns to me, my heart dips. His lips slightly blue, gray in the low light. He must not be getting enough oxygen. I don’t understand what’s happening to him.

“Realm,” I start, worried. “What—”

“My brain is shutting down certain body systems,” he says in explanation. “I can’t diagnose it, but I can tell you that it sucks. My joints ache, my head hurts. My lungs are filling with fluid, so I guess I’m drowning.” He says the last part like it’s an inconvenience.

“I can stab you in the chest with a pen to relieve the pressure,” Wes suggests brightly. Realm laughs and tells him to fuck off before turning back toward the window. I glare at Wes, letting him know he shouldn’t joke.

“Should always joke,” he says under his breath. He might be right about that. The minute we stop laughing is the moment we start crying.





CHAPTER ELEVEN


SLOANE PULLS UP IN FRONT of a duplex and parks behind a black car, one nicer than any other on the block. I have a spark of worry, but we don’t have time to be methodical right now. We need to get Realm inside.