The Treatment (The Program #2)(24)

Chapter Nine

I WALK INTO THE BEDROOM AND BEGIN PACING. MY

mind is in overdrive, imagining the worst—making up elabo-rate scenarios where James was my unrequited love. Is this what Realm said I wouldn’t want to find? He’d told me I loved James madly, but he didn’t say James loved me back. Could that be why I got sick?

I cover my face, begging myself to stop, stop the negative thoughts that are feeding on me. But I can’t. Something I’d accepted as fact, this love story between James and me, might not be true. When I think about it, there were plenty of signs.

That day he came to my house to talk about Brady—he walked out on me when I hugged him. And later he even told me I was imagining our relationship in my head.

“Sloane.” James’s voice startles me, but I don’t respond.

James pulls my hands from my face, and I start to sob. It’s not just because of James’s file. I’ve lost Lacey. I’ve lost Miller. I’m completely falling apart and I’m scared. I’m so scared!

“You’re spinning out, Sloane,” James says, his voice hurried. “I need you to pull it together right now. Right f**king now.” I start to shake my head, but James takes my wrist to pull me up, hugging me tightly against his chest. “Stay with me,” he murmurs next to my ear. “Stop thinking and stay with me. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is just fine,” he soothes in his liar’s voice.

It comforts me though. Those words ease down my skin me as James strokes my hair, telling me we’ll be all right. I measure my breathing until it settles into a normal pattern, the tears dry on my cheeks. James is right. I’m spiraling, and I need to pull myself out.

“Do you think you were lying to the doctor?” I ask, my voice thick from tears.

James holds me away from him so I can see his face. “Yes, Sloane. Obviously, I wasn’t telling him the truth. Do you think I’d really tell The Program about us? There’s no way.”

“But how do we know?” I ask, hitching in a breath. “How do we know what’s real anymore?”

James puts his hand over his heart, an anguish on his face that nearly kills me. “Because I can feel it here, and I could read it in my words. I was protecting you. I would have died to protect you had they not stopped me. We’re f**king mental for each other—but maybe that’s how we survive from here. We just have to be crazier than The Program.” I choke out a small laugh, and James hugs me once again.

“I’m tired of running,” I whisper.

“Me too,” he says. “But this is when we have to fight the hardest. This is all that’s left of us—this right now. We have to make it count.” James brushes my hair behind my ear.

No matter what the file says, lies or not, who we are now matters.

“I still love you madly,” I whisper.

“I love you too.” He says it so honestly that I can’t believe there’s any other way for him to feel. My doubt begins to fade, and James buries his face in my hair. Gliding my hand up his arm, I stop over his scars—his tattoos—tracing patterns until I feel him kiss softly at my neck.

A soft sound escapes my throat, and I turn my face to kiss him. He professes his love again, his hands gripping my hips. I back us toward the bed, kissing, whispering. I’m quickly losing layers of clothing, but James is still dressed as we lie on the bed.

When I try to undo his belt, he stops me.

“Don’t,” he says. He looks down at me and laughs. “I can’t handle the temptation.”

“Then stop resisting.” I lift my head to kiss him again. He returns the kiss, but then quickly flops over onto his back.

“I can’t, Sloane,” he says. “I forgot the condoms back in Phoenix.”

I freeze for a moment, and he turns to me, smiling sheepishly. “Are you kidding?” I ask.

“No. But believe me—I’m pretty pissed about it.” I groan, but then I realize I’m better. The distraction worked, and my head doesn’t hurt as much—although there’s still a tiny ache behind my eyes. But James made me forget the pain. I throw my leg over his, and put my head on his chest.

“At least we’re building some anticipation,” I say with a smile, content to feel well again.

“At the very least,” he mutters.

I slide my hand under James’s shirt to rest it over his heart, feeling its rapid beats. They say stress brings on the meltdowns, so I block out the thoughts of Brady, Miller, and Lacey. If there’s one thing The Program made us experts at, it’s repression.

“I mean it, you know,” James says quietly. “I love you like crazy, and I don’t give a goddamn about anything else.” We’re quiet for a long while until James has to sit up because his arm fell asleep. “Should we check out the rest of that file?” he asks tentatively. “You’ll have to take it easy, but this could be our only chance to find out what happened. Pretty sure The Program isn’t handing them out like greeting cards.” I’m worried, but I agree, letting him take the investigative lead. This was a fluke—I’m not breaking down. There’s nothing wrong with a few memories, so long as I don’t let them control me. I can handle this. I’m strong enough.

Dallas is in the kitchen, pouring water into the back of the coffeemaker while Cas sits at the table, looking exhausted.