The Remedy (The Program 0.5)(97)

I head toward my car, my expression stoic. I know now why I always felt so alone. It’s because I always was.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

I’VE TAKEN FIVE HUNDRED OFF each of my father’s credit cards. I bought a bus ticket to Roseburg, and at a pay phone I called Deacon—leaving him a message when he didn’t answer. I didn’t tell him where I was, but I did tell him the truth. I’m not Quinlan McKee; I’m her closer.

It hurt to recite it, even in a condensed version. But in a way, I’m glad Deacon didn’t answer. I might not have told him if he did. Unable to speak the horrible words. Unable to say good-bye to him.

The bus rolls up—a picture of the Oregon Zoo painted on its side—and I wince as the brakes squeal and hiss in front of the station. People around me on the benches get up and clamor for a spot in line, but I hang back, afraid of the next step.

“So you’re going to leave it all behind?” a voice asks. I smile, turning slowly. Deacon stands away from the crowd, his face blotchy red like his emotions have gotten the best of him. My stomach does a little somersault, and I try to hide just how thrilled I am to see him. I try—but I’ve never been able to keep secrets from him.

“That was the plan,” I say. He hikes his duffel bag onto his shoulder, and I glance at it before looking at him questioningly. He shrugs.

“I figured,” he says. “The bus station was a lucky guess.”

“And what does that mean for you? What’s your plan, Deacon?” I ask, moving over on the bench so he can sit next to me. At first he studies me with his careful gaze—assessing me like an advisor. He darts a look at the bracelet Isaac gave me, the delicate silver snug against my skin, and then Deacon meets my eyes with an expression that’s completely open.

“To be with you,” he says in a low voice.

No matter what Deacon and I have been through, it always seems to come back to this. The fact that we just can’t stay away from each other. I consider all of the baggage Deacon will have to deal with. How the department will come after him now. Use him as leverage against me.

“I’m not good for you,” I tell him.

Deacon doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t care.”

“You’re not good for me,” I say instead.

“I know,” he responds. “But I could be.”

I close my eyes, the words hurting me with their possibilities. But I don’t think he truly understands my situation. “We don’t make sense anymore, Deacon,” I say, looking up at him again. “I’m not who I thought I was. I’m not even Quinlan McKee.”

“I heard your message,” he says. “But that doesn’t matter to me. Because wherever we are, whoever we are—we always make sense. I think we’re the only things that make total f*cking sense. We belong together.” He says it like it’s a fact, an unchangeable part of this world. And even if I didn’t agree, it wouldn’t change how he felt.

What Deacon doesn’t realize, or maybe he does, is that those words are the ones I’ve wanted to hear. Ever since I was a child, I’ve wanted to belong to somebody. I could always take care of myself; that wasn’t the problem. But to have a real family, people invested in your outcome, well, that’s something completely different. I wanted to be loved. I accepted my father’s lies because I wanted it so much. I don’t know what happened to me before I was left at the McKee house. But I’ll find out. I have to.

“I don’t even really exist,” I murmur, the familiar hurt crawling up my throat. I look at Deacon. “I don’t even know my real name.”

Deacon lowers his bag and sits on the bench, his shoulder against mine as he stares toward the bus. “You exist,” he says in a low voice. “Quinlan, you take up my whole world. I assure you, you exist.”

My heart hurts, a deep ache that’s been caused by loss and lies. And although I’m brave, I’m not sure I’m brave enough to walk away from this. I love Deacon too much. “We’re both coldhearted closers,” I whisper. “How do we keep from hurting each other again?”

“We try really hard.”

He turns to me, all of his beautiful parts combining in my favorite way. He’s both friend and more. I think there’s no way I can lose myself again so long as Deacon’s with me. He’s my touchstone. My tether.

“I love you,” I say, not caring if he ever says it back.

Deacon lips pull into a slow smile. “Can I kiss your face now?” he asks.

I laugh, and my heart is full, my loneliness abating. “Yeah,” I say. “You definitely should.” He sighs, relieved, and leans in to press his mouth to mine. Kisses me sweetly. Lovingly.

The driver steps off the bus and makes the last call for passengers. Deacon and I pull apart slightly, but my fingers clutch his shirt to keep him close. “You sure you want to come with me?” I ask Deacon, motioning to the bus. I’m scared of his answer. I’m asking him to leave it all behind too—his entire life. His future. But without a moment of thought, Deacon kisses me again, this time more fiercely, passionately.

When we stand up a moment later, he takes my hand as we walk to board the bus. He gives me a look that says, This is not friend hand-holding, and I laugh. We make our way down the aisle, and the air is stuffy and tinged with the smell of sweat, but we find two seats together in the middle of the bus. I push in toward the window and drop my bag on the floor. Deacon does the same and then unzips his bag to pull out a package of Twizzlers (for me) and earbuds (for him). The windows rattle as the bus pulls away from the station.