The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(78)

“I’m not punishing you, Deacon!”

“That’s what it feels like! If you care about me at all, you’ll quit your contract. Right now.”

“You can’t ask that!”

His mouth tightens as he fights back his tears, his face raw with emotion. He takes my arms and pulls me to my knees in front of him. We stare at each other, and I watch him try not to fall apart. His breaths are quick and shallow as he leans to rest his forehead against mine. He closes his eyes. “Please,” he whispers. “Please, Quinlan.”

And it breaks my heart when I murmur back, “I’m sorry.”

* * *

After a shower and a change of clothes, I’m downstairs in the front entryway, my backpack straps over my shoulders. Deacon is sitting on the wooden staircase, staring at his feet. I wait a beat and then call his name. His face is miserable when he looks at me between the slats of the railing.

“You saved me last night,” I tell him. “Thank you.” My heart is begging me to stay with him, but I won’t be that selfish. I couldn’t live with myself if I left that family to suffer. The fact that Deacon could makes me question if we belong together at all. Maybe closers aren’t meant to love each other. How can we when the world thinks we’re heartless? They could be right.

Deacon holds my eyes for only a second, and then looks away. “Take care of yourself, Quinlan,” he says coldly, as if I’m a total stranger. The sound is a slap in the face, so reminiscent of the day he broke up with me that it sends a chill down my spine.

I press my lips together, holding back the tirade of brokenhearted words I want to yell at him. He knows how he affects me, how he hurts me. I wait for him to look over and apologize, but he doesn’t. Last night, I thought we’d changed. But it’s clear we haven’t.

I close my eyes and turn my back on Deacon. I swipe under my eyes before any tears can fall, harden myself against the outside world, and open the door. I’ll leave this baggage here, stow it while I finish my job.

Without another word I walk out Deacon’s front door and slam it shut behind me.

CHAPTER EIGHT

I HALF EXPECT THERE TO be a roadblock when I return to Lake Oswego, but the town is as picturesque as it was that first day. I’ve called Isaac’s phone several times, but he hasn’t answered. Once I smooth things over with my parents, I’ll find him. I’ll make sure he’s okay.

My heart has begun beating faster as I worry about Mr. and Mrs. Barnes’ reaction to my outburst last night, my disappearance. They might not even let me back into their house. I have to be prepared for that.

I pull up in the driveway, worried when I see both of their cars parked out front, along with a white Lexus I don’t recognize. It’s not Marie’s or my father’s, but who knows who could have been sent in their place. I park and then take a minute to gather my courage.

I walk up to the house, debating whether I should knock or just enter. My face is makeup free, but ultimately, I’m going to try to act like Catalina. I take on her persona and facial expressions the minute I walk in the door.

“Ah,” a man in a gray suit says without missing a beat. “And there she is.” He smiles warmly from the couch; my parents are seated in chairs across from him. I look between him and my family, trying not to let my confusion show. The man turns back to them. “Told you she’d be along shortly.”

He stands, brushing his hands over his slacks to smooth them out. He has salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. From my experience I see that he carries himself like a doctor, and I wonder if he’s been sent by my father.

“Catalina,” he says, nodding to me, “I told your family that you needed a short break, and that we had failed by not providing you one. I take it you’ve been able to sort things out and have returned to prepare for your party?”

“Yes,” I say carefully, and then look behind him to my parents. “Sorry if I scared you,” I say. “I had . . . I had a tough night and I should have handled it better. Or at least asked for help.” I’m uncomfortable with my lie in this man’s presence. I can’t read him, not like I can read most people. I have no idea what he’s thinking beneath this polished exterior.

My mother grabs on to her husband’s arm, swaying with relief. “We’re just glad you’re okay,” she says. “I was so worried.”

I press my lips into an apology, scared when I look at my father that he’ll be angry. But instead he’s just happy that I’m back. The transition is easier than I imagined it would be, and I wonder if this man prepared them for it. I take my backpack off my shoulders, about to go to my room to fix my makeup, when the older man reaches out his arm to me, like he wants me to take it.

“Would you walk me out, Catalina?” he asks kindly. I look between him and my parents, waiting for them to call him out for being creepy. My mother takes a step toward him.

“Thank you, Dr. Pritchard,” she says. My stomach sinks, and I flash a look at the man. He turns away to tell my mother it was no trouble at all, but my heart is racing. He’s Arthur Pritchard. He’s the one who created the remedy, and this assignment was at his request. Shit. He must know how badly I screwed it up.

Although I don’t want to, I drop my bag and take Arthur Pritchard’s arm, smiling politely at him. I tell my parents I’ll be right back, wishing they would stop me. I’m afraid the doctor is going to chew me out, or worse, throw me in the back of his car and drive me straight to therapy.