THE AIR OUTSIDE HAS WARMED and become humid as I walk out of the office and head to my Jeep. I’m keyed up, agitated that I can’t seem to find one damn person who’ll tell me the truth. I’m immediately struck by the fact that I lied to Wes today, placing me in that same category. I straight-up lied to his face, and although it may have been the right thing to do in our situation, it doesn’t feel very right. It feels as morally overreaching as The Program.
I start the engine of my Jeep, when suddenly someone appears outside the passenger door, and I yelp, clutching my chest. It’s Michael Realm, and I consider driving off, possibly over his foot. But he shrugs like he knows it’s outrageous for him to ask as he points at the door.
I curse myself, far too curious to not see what he wants, and unlock the door. He gets in.
“I can explain,” he begins, and when he turns to me, he can’t help but smile. “For the record, you should definitely not open the door to strangers.”
We’re quiet for a moment, and then we both laugh.
“Okay,” I tell him. “Any reason why I shouldn’t kick you out? Considering you’re still following me after telling me you wouldn’t.”
“Not sure I said that,” he points out, “but yes. I have several great reasons to talk to you. I’ve worked with Marie and Dr. McKee in the past, and—”
I scoff. “When, like yesterday?”
“Yes, actually,” he says with a self-conscious laugh. “But not today. Not anymore.” He pauses. “Not ever again.” I watch him, trying to measure his honesty.
“What happened?” I ask, wondering what could have made him part ways with the Adjustment doctors. Wondering if it brought him here.
Realm glances over to the front door of Dr. Warren’s office before turning back to me. “We should go first,” he says.
“Yeah, right,” I say. “I’m not driving off with a stranger.”
He looks at me guiltily, acknowledging that this could be scary for me. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Maybe . . . around the corner or something? I can’t let Dr. Warren see me. Not with you.”
“You know her?” I ask. I don’t love that he personally knows my therapist.
He waits a beat and grabs the strap to pull on his seat belt. “She was a doctor in The Program,” he murmurs.
The world drops out from under me, and the air within my Jeep turns to concrete. “What?” I ask in a stunned voice. “What—?”
“Tatum, please,” Realm says, looking at the building again. “We have to go.”
My mind spins, and I can’t wrap it around what he just said. My therapist, the person I’ve told everything to . . . she was part of The Program. Oh my God.
With my hands shaking, I shift into gear and pull onto the road. “That can’t be true,” I say, searching my memory. The street in front of me is slightly hazy through my blur of tears. “I mean, I thought she was definitely hiding something, but—”
“Everyone’s hiding something,” Realm says under his breath, and looks out the passenger window.
I don’t park around the corner; I drive a few streets over until I find a grocery store parking lot and take a spot near the back, half under sagging tree branches. I turn off the engine and take a steadying breath.
I needed another piece of the puzzle of my life, not to find out my entire picture was wrong. I squeeze my eyes shut and lower my face. This can’t be happening. I seriously can’t take more mystery. I fight back my emotions.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Realm asks.
I find his dark brown eyes have some sincerity to them. Despite that, they’re rimmed in red, slightly bloodshot. He looks exhausted. I don’t even know him, and I’ve already told him more than I’ve told my grandparents in the last twenty-four hours.
Fuck it.
“Everyone is always lying to me,” I say, raw with honesty. “I just found out I was in The Program, and let’s just say I’m not handling it well.”
Realm blinks quickly and looks down at his lap. He doesn’t look shocked, and prickles of realization climb up my arms.
“You already knew that?” I ask.
“I don’t want to lie to you, Tatum,” he says. “Yes. I already knew.”
I can’t believe this. The proof I needed sat down in my car, and just like that, I’m both validated and afraid. “And Marie?” I ask. “She denied it yesterday when I asked her.”
He laughs to himself. “Sounds about right. And I’ll tell you right now, you won’t get much from McKee, either.”
“But . . . why?” I ask, my heart sinking. “Why keep it a secret?”
“With all the other returners crashing back,” he says, “Marie was afraid the same would happen to you.”
“And the Adjustment?” I ask, anger starting to tick up in my voice. “Did they give me an Adjustment? Is that why I remember some things?”
“Yeah,” Realm says. “But I wasn’t there for that.”
So it’s all true. Dr. McKee adjusted me, and holy shit—it means that I have no idea what’s real and what’s not. I run my hand through my hair, knotting it in a bun with my fingers as I think.
“And what was your part?” I ask him.
Realm inhales and takes off his seat belt, settling in. “I was brought in as a consultant to keep an eye on you in case you showed any . . . complications,” he says. “And when they adjusted Wes, I thought it would all work out. You have a long history.” He flashes a pained smile. “Not all of it terrible. But it seems the more people try to fix things, the worse it gets.”
“A cure for a cure for a cure,” I murmur. “And Dr. Warren?” I ask, motioning vaguely down the road. “She’s from The Program? Do you think she knows me from there?”
Realm purses his lips. “Yes,” he says. “I imagine she does.”
I whine out my disbelief, horrified. Disgusted. “And for a year she’s been pretending to help me,” I say. “Why? And why isn’t she in jail?”
“Few people went to jail for The Program,” Realm says. “The powerful rarely pay a price for the damage they inflict on society. In fact,” he says, “they keep going. They find new ways to manipulate the masses.”
I watch him, seeing the defiance in his posture. The compassion in his expression. “Was Dr. Warren working with Marie and Dr. McKee?” I ask.
He shakes his head no. “As far as I can tell, Dr. Warren is on her own team—one with ties to The Program.” His mouth turns down. “I don’t want to scare you, but I believe there is a group of people still operating within The Program. Only this time, it’s without government involvement. But that’s just a hunch.”
“Are you usually right?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies.
My heart pounds, and I’m scared to ask my next question. “Are you saying . . . Do you think The Program is coming for me again?”
Realm holds my gaze steady. “Yes,” he repeats.
I fall back against my seat. I don’t even know what that means or how I’m supposed to react. “What do I do?” I ask.
“I don’t know yet,” Realm responds. “But I’ll keep you posted.” He adds the last part casually, and when I look over, we both laugh at how horrifically ridiculous this is. The Program—my nightmare—is still chasing me. And as far as I know, there’s nothing I can do about it.
“So . . . ,” Realm starts. “Maybe don’t make any more appointments with Dr. Warren.”
“Yeah, pretty much got that part,” I say. “Who else do you think she’s working with?”
“Couldn’t say,” Realm responds, his eyes trailing a person crossing the parking lot with a few grocery bags. I like how observant Realm is, and I assume he’s been this way the entire time. Has noticed things I haven’t. He might be a good person to have in my corner.
“From what I can tell,” he continues, looking at me, “we’ve got three groups fighting for control: the Adjustment—the latest cure; Dr. Wyatt, the monitor at the school—who claims to have the moral high ground; and The Program?
??who wants to burn it all down and control what’s left.”
“And which group do you fit into?” I ask.
Realm smiles at me. “The rebels, obviously.”
I laugh and nod along like that’s the right place to be. We fall quiet for a few moments, and I decide that although I don’t know him well enough to fully trust him, I don’t think he’s trying to hurt me either.
“Now that you’re no longer in therapy,” Realm says, “I can try to help. You know”—he smiles—“the whole consultant thing.”
I decide I can tell him all the same stuff I told Dr. Warren, because if he is working with her, he’ll find out anyway. But I don’t think he is; I think he actually wants to help. He coughs, turning his head away, and when he turns back to me, I start talking.
“I’m in love with Weston Ambrose,” I say. “And today I boldly lied to him. I told him we were never more than friends. I kind of hate it, even though I’m doing it for him.”
Realm seems troubled by the statement. “Why would you do that?” he asks.
“Because I’m trying to be a better person.” I furrow my brow. “Dr. McKee told me that if I told Wes about our past, it might kill him. Do you think that?” I ask. “Do you think the truth could kill Wes?”
“Honestly?” he says in a hushed voice. “No. No, I don’t think the truth will kill him. But I do think it might confuse him. It might change who he’ll become.”
It wasn’t an answer I expected. “What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well, that’s the thing about our past—it shapes our future. And right now, Wes has the luxury of a clean slate. For years, we all wanted our memories back, right? We fought so hard. And for what? Believe me,” Realm continues, “remembering doesn’t always make it easier.”
“Were you in The Program?” I ask, the question suddenly occurring to me.
“Yes. But I . . .” He pauses like maybe he doesn’t think he should tell me what he’s about to. The struggle plays across his face, until finally, Michael Realm looks at me like he’s known me his whole life. But even then, I can tell he’s holding back.
“I once knew a guy,” he says, his voice drifting off dreamily, “who could never forget anything. He was stuck remembering every word, every place, every emotion. And although that might not seem terrible on the surface, think about how that plays out over time. Think if you had to relive the entire years of The Program scare. Everyone you lost, still right there. Grief is a painful emotion, Tatum, but the gift of it is that it gets better over time. It fades just enough to take the edge off.
“Now imagine if your grief stayed sharp,” he continues. “A razor against a fragile heart.” He rubs his hand absently over the scar on his neck. “Imagine remembering everything. And what a fucking curse that would be.”
“What about you?” I ask. “Would you want to remember?”
Realm lowers his arm to his side, dejected. He takes a moment, and then looks at me and smiles. “I was in The Program,” he says. “I wish I didn’t know that. There are a lot of things I wish I didn’t know.”
He’s devastation, sitting in the front seat of my Jeep. I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone so tortured. So raw. I look past him and see the grocery store has an attached café.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” I ask suddenly. Realm studies me like he doesn’t trust my offer, but then his expression softens.
“I would love to,” he says.
CHAPTER FIVE
REALM AND I GRAB A table in the designated café area. There are six tables in this corner of the grocery store, and except for an old man eating a pastry, the place is deserted. Even the barista hangs near the back, where she’s cleaning a machine.
Coffees in hand, Realm and I sit across from each other, half-hidden behind a wood beam. Realm leans forward, elbows on the table, and wraps both hands around his coffee cup.
“So you went to Dr. Warren to get guidance on Wes,” he starts. “Or did you really want her to tell you that you shouldn’t lie to him? That you should get back together with him?”
“I think I wanted validation,” I say, staring down at the lip of my cup, running my finger along it. “I wanted her to acknowledge how difficult it was, and yeah . . .” I smile. “Maybe part of me hoped she’d tell me it was unnecessary. I don’t want to walk away from him, Realm. I love him. But after seeing how deeply hurt I was in the past, how . . . damaged, I’m scared to go back there. I’m scared for him to end up there.”
“But you still love him,” Realm says sympathetically, like he’s finishing the thought for me.
I pick up my coffee, blow on it, and take a sip. “Doesn’t that suck?” I ask, trying to lighten the moment as my tears fade.
“It’s . . . it’s super shitty—I’m not going to lie.”
I sniff a laugh and set my cup down. “It doesn’t really matter what I do,” I add. “Wes doesn’t remember me, so it was stupid for me to assume he would just love me again.”
“I don’t think it’s stupid to assume that,” Realm says, and drinks his coffee. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
I study him a moment, noting he’s smart, attractive. Noting how lonely he seems. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask.
“I have an ex that I’m fond of,” he offers.
I laugh. “Oh, hey. Me too.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Dallas was the better part of me,” he adds. “Or at least she used to be when we were together. She’s exploring the world now—traveling with her friend Cas.”
“You miss her,” I say.
“I do.”
“Is she the love of your life?”
Realm sits thoughtfully for a moment, and then he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Because she always deserved better than me. Most people do.”
It’s such a miserable thing to say. I’m not sure if he’s being self-deprecating or truly feels that low, but his sadness is overwhelming. He hunches down slightly, his thin shoulders jutting out through his T-shirt.
I don’t believe for an instant that what he said is true. We all make mistakes, but it doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to be loved.
However, the realness of him right now cuts me. Worries me in a way I don’t quite understand. He coughs again, turning away, and I examine him more closely. He doesn’t look well—deeply exhausted. It makes me wonder what type of problems he loses sleep over. I don’t want him to dwell on his anguish, though, so I bring the topic back to the really messed-up shit.
“How do you know Dr. Warren?” I ask. Realm’s dark eyes flick up to me immediately. He studies me before answering.
“From The Program,” he says in a low voice. “And she’s treated several of my friends.”
“Why are you hiding from her?” I ask. To this he smiles.
“Because she’ll never give up. Dr. Warren doesn’t let things go. And for the past year, she’s been trying to find me. Not going to happen.”
“Why does she want to find you?” I ask.
“Several reasons, I’m sure. But the main one? Sloane Barstow. She burned up Dr. Warren pretty good.”
My mouth falls open. This time, I’m the one who leans closer. “You know her?” I ask. “You know Sloane Barstow?”
“And James Murphy—yes.” He glances around at the empty tables before taking a big, steadying breath, like this was a long story. “I met Sloane in The Program. Met James after. He’s the kind of guy you love to hate, if only he were hateable.”
There’s affection in his voice, and it draws me to his story. “Why did you want to hate him?” I ask.
Realm glances down at his coffee and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Because I was in love with Sloane.”
“Oh . . .”
“I know,” he says, interpreting my reaction. “Sloane and James forever. Still, I thought I had a chance. But they love each other a maddening amount. Sickening to watch, really.”
“And you don’t hate James?” I ask.
“He’s my best friend.”
“Okay . . . that’s got to be awkward.”
“It is,” Realm agrees. “But he knows I love her, and I know she loves him. So he doesn’t have much to worry about.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry.” Realm waves off my apology. “I knew their relationship. I should have adjusted my goals accordingly.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, picking up my coffee. “The past is over. Sometimes, the only real thing is now.”
Realm’s lips part as he watches me take a sip of my drink, his dark eyes sweeping over my face. When they meet my gaze, he flinches a smile, a blush rising high on his cheeks.
“Right,” he says with a quick nod. “You’re damn right, Tatum.”
I’m about to commiserate on our similar situations when Realm pulls back and takes out his phone. I see he’s getting a call. He groans softly and clicks off the phone before sliding it back into his pocket.
“I’m so sorry to cut this short,” he says. “But I’m running late. I was supposed to meet someone an hour ago.” He smiles as he stands up from the table. “I got caught up chatting with you.”
He’s kind of flirtatious. Manipulative? I’m not sure, but I stand up too. “Did you need a ride back?” I ask.
“No, I’ve got a ride coming,” he says, although there’s no way that’s true. I still can’t believe he knows Sloane and James. I have no idea what I’m getting myself into by talking to him.
“What aren’t you telling me, Realm?” I ask.
He laughs and slaps the table. “Obviously, a lot,” he admits, picking up his coffee. “So let’s talk again soon, yeah?”
I don’t tell him that we will, mostly because I’m not sure what all this means. I’m definitely going to check his story against whatever Marie and Dr. McKee admit.
“Good luck with your rebellion,” I tell Realm, making him smile.
I start toward the exit and drop my empty coffee cup into the trash, but before I walk out, Realm gently touches my shoulder. I turn to him, slightly unsettled by being so close.
“If it means anything,” he says, “I don’t think you should give up on Wes. Having a history with someone . . . although it may not be everything you thought it was, it did help create who you are now. He’s part of you. You don’t have to forget that.”