The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(41)

We were there for about ten minutes, and I watched him tear through two cheeseburgers and a handful of fries. I guessed he hadn’t been joking when he’d said he was starving. At one point, he turned to me, his brown eyes curious, flashing with mischief. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asked, midchew.

I gave him a scathing It’s none of your business look.

“Oh, come on,” he said with a smile. “There’s no special someone in your life?”

“Shut up.” I laughed, looking out the window. The air from the heater made me entirely too warm, so I turned the directional away from me. It didn’t lessen the heat on my face, though. Deacon and I were quiet for a painfully long time, until I finally sighed and turned to him. “No,” I said. “No boyfriend.”

“Yeah. I can believe that.”

“Hey!” I called. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s not because you’re horrible or anything,” he said, like I’d totally twisted his words.

“Oh, thank you.” I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Listen, it’s cool,” he said. “I’m not dating anyone seriously either. I’m just saying, people like us, we can have commitment issues, wouldn’t you agree?”

I smiled. “I think maybe you just have * issues.”

“Nice,” he responded with a laugh. “You totally called it.” He grabbed the soda from the cup holder, smiling as he sipped from the straw. I couldn’t help it—I found him completely disarming. And even though I didn’t say it, I was happy to know he didn’t have a girlfriend.

No one’s asked me that since him. No one’s cared about the answer. I look down at my lap, shivering uncontrollably in the car. My teeth chatter as my wet hair clings to the side of my face. “Everyone hates me,” I murmur.

“I don’t hate you.”

I’m so cold, both inside and out. I’m lonely and scared that nothing will ever be okay. I want a life—I want my life. I let the napkins fall to the floor. I’m sick of living on the fringes of society. And maybe I don’t want to admit that the idea of coming out tonight, it wasn’t totally about Angie. I liked the idea of being invited—even if I wasn’t really.

“Quinn,” Deacon says softly, reaching to take my hand. He squeezes it, his skin hot in comparison to mine. “Tell them you can’t finish this assignment,” he says. “Tell them it was too soon.”

“My father—”

“I don’t care about your father,” he interrupts. “I don’t give a shit about Arthur Pritchard, either. Every time you go on assignment, you come back a little different. You should end your contract. Who cares about money? I’ll give you mine. I just . . . I don’t want you to lose yourself.”

“It’s not about the money,” I say, looking up at him. “It’s never been about that.” I pause, thinking over my decision to take this assignment, even though I was so tired. “I’m doing this for my father,” I say. “He counts on me, Deacon. I’m supposed to be good at this. Do you know what it would do to him if I failed? This is his life’s work. He believes in me.” My voice cracks. “I . . . I can’t disappoint him.”

“He’s disappointing you.” Deacon’s stare holds me fast, fiercely protective. For a minute I wonder what it would be like to give it all up, be free like Deacon. But then I realize that my father would never forgive me, just like he’s never forgiven Deacon for failing him. I can’t do that. I can’t give up everything I’ve worked for. My father’s the only family I have left—he’s the only person who’s never left me.

Deacon looks like he’s waiting for an answer, but then his eyes follow something beyond my shoulder, and he adjusts his position to get a closer look. “Isn’t that your sister?” he asks.

I turn immediately, wiping away my tears as my training floods back and washes me away. I’m dismayed to see Angie stumbling out from the back entrance of the bar, talking loudly into her phone. Although she would have been troubled tonight anyway, the confrontation with me has sent her on a destructive path. I can see from her mannerisms, her wild look, that she doesn’t care what happens to her tonight. She doesn’t care about anything.

“She’s drunk,” I say. My worry spikes, and I turn to Deacon. “What should I do?”

He leans forward, draping his arms over the steering wheel as he watches the scene unfolding outside the windshield. “I don’t know,” he says, watching her carefully. “It’s a tough call. If you confront her again, who knows how she’ll react. She already threw—” He stops and looks over at me apologetically for bringing up the drink incident.

He’s got a point, but I don’t care about what happened inside the bar. She’s my sister, and I should have been looking out for her. Now the situation has gotten out of control.

Angie leaves the parking lot, heading toward the street. She kicks off her shoes into the bushes along the sidewalk and laughs. She pauses and takes the phone from her ear, staring down at it. I wonder if whoever she was talking to hung up. She opens her palm and lets her phone smash on the pavement, and then sways. She drops into a sitting position in the middle of the sidewalk.