The Program (The Program #1)(9)

James doesn’t turn to me, but his jaw tightens. “You know I have to,” he murmurs.

“I want to talk about it.”

He pauses, and then begins again quietly. “I’m going to borrow Miller’s tent because it’s nicer, but he said he doesn’t want to come. I don’t know, maybe that’s a good thing. We can be all romantic.” He tries to smile but won’t meet my glare.

“I miss her,” I say, my face stinging with the start of a cry.

James blinks quickly, as if holding back tears. “I’ll even buy that disgusting sausage stuff you like. What’s it called?”

“Kielbasa.”

“Nasty. I’ll grill kielbasa and we’ll roast marshmallows. If you’re good I’ll even bring chocolate and graham crackers.”

“I can’t do this,” I whisper, feeling like I might shatter into a million sharp and jagged pieces. “It hurts too much. I can’t hold it in, James.”

He winces at my words, and then presses on the brake, guiding the car to the side of a deserted stretch of road. I’m already falling apart as he stops and unbuckles his seat belt. He grabs me roughly and pulls me into him, pressing me against his chest as his hand knots in my hair.

“Do it,” he says, his voice cracking.

And so I cry. I sob into his T-shirt, cursing The Program. The world. I yell for Brady and my friends, calling them cowards for leaving us. I don’t understand why they’d do this to us, ruining our lives by taking their own. I scream until the words are no longer recognizable, only sounds choked with emotion. Indescribable loss.

And after twenty minutes of this, I’m so exhausted that I just whimper, still clinging to James’s wet shirt. His arms never falter around me. He never interrupts. When I’m finally quiet, he leans down to kiss the top of my head.

“Better?” he asks softly.

I nod and start to straighten, my face feeling swollen. When I’m sitting up, he pulls his T-shirt over his head, then clenches it in his hand to wipe my tears and runny nose. His blue eyes look me over as he fixes my hair and makes sure there’s no smeared mascara. He puts me back together just like he always has.

When he’s done, he tosses his T-shirt into the backseat. He glances down at the steering wheel and takes a deep breath. I take one too.

“It’s going to be okay, Sloane.”

I nod.

“Say it.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I repeat, staring back at him. He smiles, reaching out to take my hand before kissing it.

“We will get through this,” he adds, but he’s turned back to the road, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than me.

When we’re driving again, I check my reflection to see how bad the damage is. My eyes are red-rimmed, but not terrible. We’ll need to drive around for a little longer, at least until the blotchiness fades. I can’t let my parents see me cry.

“James Murphy,” I say, watching the sun fade below the horizon. “I love you madly.”

“I know you do,” he answers seriously. “And that’s why I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s me and you, Sloane. Just us. Forever just us.”

• • •

My mother is waiting on the front porch when James pulls his father’s car to the curb. She exhales, her hand on her chest as if she thought I was dead because I’m over two hours late and I didn’t call. I don’t want to get out and face her.

“You’ve got this,” James says, sounding light. “Tell her that I tried to teach you to swim at the river today. She’ll appreciate that.”

“Yeah? Can I tell her how you tried to get me naked in the backseat of this car before leaving, too?”

He shrugs. “If she’s that curious.”

I laugh and then lean over to kiss him quickly on the lips. I’ve never learned how to swim. It’s not because of my crushing fear—which I have now—but because when we were younger my brother took lessons while I studied ballet. And the more time passed, the more afraid I became of ever getting in the water. Now I wish I’d learned with Brady. I might have saved him.

I pull back from James, sadness settling on my skin as he looks me over. “Good night, Sloane,” he whispers.

I nod, missing him already, and then climb out of the car.

“Why doesn’t James have a shirt on?” is the first thing out of my mother’s mouth. I hold back my smile.

“He was teaching me how to swim,” I say as I step up onto the porch, keeping my face down.

“Oh, that’s good, I guess,” she says, as if conceding. “But I was worried, honey. The school called and said you left early for therapy, but then when you didn’t get home on time . . .”

I want to tell her to stop worrying about me because The Program already watches us closely enough. I want to tell her that this pressure is going to kill me. But lashing out will only make things worse, so instead I smile brightly.

“Sorry I didn’t call,” I say. “When James picked me up from therapy we decided to go to the river. It’s such a beautiful day.”

My mother glances up at the sky as if confirming this, and then she touches protectively at my arm. “You’re right,” she says. “And I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Sloane. It’s nice to be happy.” Her expression darkens. “It’s just that after your brother . . . What if you—” She pauses, choking on her own words.