The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(17)

“She’s not going to hook up with him, Deacon,” Myra says. “She knows the rules.” I thank her for her vote of confidence and she nods to me. See—she’s not always horrible. “Now,” Myra continues, “it’s been a long night already. Are we going to keep obsessing about Quinn’s imaginary love life, or are we going to have fun? I spent ten dollars at the damn Redbox renting crappy movies with explosions. Yeah?” She looks around at us, and Aaron laughs—the sound deep and hearty in the sad little room.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning over to kiss her. Deacon doesn’t agree, but his hand brushes my hair as he wraps his arm around the back of the sofa and settles in. We don’t mention Isaac again. We don’t mention Shelly or assignments. We spend the next few hours watching mindless entertainment and pretending our lives are normal. We’re always pretending.

* * *

Deacon yawns loudly from behind me while the credits roll across the screen. Aaron is braiding Myra’s hair again, but they both look like they’re about to fall asleep. I guess it’s time to call it a night. Reluctantly (because I don’t want to rush tomorrow), I climb up and stretch. When I turn, Deacon is smiling at me.

“What?” I ask.

“Can I have a lift home?” he asks sweetly. “My ride ran out of here in a blind rage, wishing me dead.” Myra glances over curiously for my response.

“Yeah, fine. Grab your stuff,” I tell him, waving my hand. He jumps up, grinning madly, and goes over to bump fists with Aaron and pick up his backpack in the corner. Myra lifts her eyebrows and I shake my head. “What?” I ask her. “He doesn’t have a ride.”

“Please, girl,” she says with a laugh. “He was planning on leaving with you all along.”

I look behind me and watch as Deacon slips on his sneakers, standing on one foot with surprising dexterity. “Either way,” I tell Myra, “I still would have given him a ride home.”

“I know.” She comes over and pulls me into a lilac-scented hug. We stay like that a long second, both knowing this a real good-bye, at least for now. That’s the thing about Myra—she may not be a closer, but she understands what the job takes and how it affects us. “We’ll see you in a few weeks, okay?” she says quietly. She pulls back and I have to press my lips together to keep from blubbering like an idiot. I nod, and then hold up my hand in a wave to Aaron. He can barely even look at me but tries to smile anyway. I say good night, and then Deacon and I leave.

* * *

I pull into Deacon’s driveway and he sets down the empty to-go cup we got from the drive-through. He caps the pen he grabbed from my console and then turns the cup in the holder so I can see his drawing. He draws on everything. “Look,” he says. “It’s us.” I glance at the new school–style figures and respective . . . positions before lifting my gaze to Deacon’s.

“Oh, yeah?” I ask. “And what exactly are we doing?”

Deacon chuckles and tosses the pen into the console before unclicking his seat belt. “Don’t be gross—we’re playing cricket, obviously.” I tilt my head and realize that with a lot of creative license, that could be true. “So . . . ,” he says with a devilish little smile. “Want to come in for a while?” Pinpricks race up my arms; there’s a flutter in my stomach under his attention. This would be so much easier if I didn’t find him completely adorable.

“Uh, no. I don’t think so,” I respond with a laugh, and look away.

“Come on,” he says playfully. “Before you have a boyfriend.”

“You sound jealous.”

“I am,” he says immediately. “I most definitely am.”

“Oh, stop,” I tell him. “He won’t really be my boyfriend, you know.”

“Yeah, I know,” he says, and looks out the windshield toward his house. When he turns back to me, his smile softens. “We’ll stay downstairs,” he offers quietly. “Clothes on.”

There’s a pang in my chest, an impending loneliness. “And then what?” I ask. I’m making a point, but part of me wants an answer I know he can’t give.

“And then I’ll be really sweet,” he says. All of the joking is gone from his expression, replaced with vulnerability—a look that tells me he’d do anything to be with me. Be close to me. But I’ve fallen for that look before, and it’s always ended with regret.

Truth is, I don’t know what Deacon wants anymore—it’s not just physical. Whatever it is must scare him, though, and I’m the one who ends up getting hurt. So I make the concerted effort to resist his temptation, even if sometimes I’d like nothing more than to surround myself with his affection.

“I can’t,” I say quietly, putting my hand on his cheek, unable to keep myself from touching him. Deacon turns his face to kiss the heel of my palm, his lips warm and soft. His eyes steady on mine as my resolve wavers.

“But I really want you to,” he murmurs against my skin.

My insides melt, but I don’t let that sway me. Deacon knows exactly what to say and how to say it. But this is all because I have another assignment, our feelings heightened because I’m leaving. I know better than to think it’s real.

“You’re a really good friend,” I tell him finally, ending our evening.