The Treatment (The Program #2)(7)

Now that there’s actual food, I realize how hungry I am.

“So,” Cas says, motioning around. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but at this location there are ten of us—twelve now. We had about thirty members in Philadelphia, but that includes the ones who were taken back to The Program. We’re not sure how many we’ve lost yet.” He lowers his eyes. “We’re starting to have more safe houses than people.” The microwave beeps, and Cas puts the burritos on a paper plate and sets it on the table. James sits next to me and immediately grabs a burrito. He quickly mumbles around the food in his mouth that it’s too hot to eat.

“I was never in The Program,” Cas says conversationally.

“But I lost my brother to the epidemic.”

I look up, a sharp ache in my chest. “Me too.”

“And my little sister went missing a while back,” Cas adds.

“Presumed dead. After Henley died, she kind of lost it. Became really paranoid, said our phones were tapped and that she was being followed. She disappeared, but it turns out she was right about The Program. I watched the handlers from the road as they showed up at the house looking for her.”

“How old is your sister?” James asks.

“She’d be fourteen now.”

A wave of nausea hits me with the thought of someone so young doing something as desperate as running away, possibly killing themselves. “I’m sorry,” I say, pushing my burrito toward James.

Cas sniffs hard. “Thanks. I keep thinking one day she’ll just show up. I’ll give her a big hug, and then I’ll ground her for the rest of her life.” He laughs, but he doesn’t look like he believes his words. He doesn’t think his sister will ever come back.

Cas pushes off the counter and lets out a shaky breath. “I should go,” he says. “I’m exhausted from the drive, and I need some sleep before our meeting.”

“Thank you,” I tell him quickly. “I really appreciate your help.”

“We’re going to help each other,” he responds. “Otherwise none of us will make it. Now, the room at the end of the hallway is yours. But I’ll warn you,” he adds with a smile, “it’s not much.”

“Damn,” James responds. “I was hoping for little choco-lates on my pillow in the morning.”

“Next stop. Promise.”

After Cas leaves, James resets my food in front of me, motioning for me to eat. After we’re both done, we grab a couple of bottles of water from the floor next to the fridge.

Even though it’s still daytime, it feels like it could be midnight—our days and nights are twisted around now that we’re on the run.

When we get to the room, James pushes open the door, and actually laughs. The small room has a twin bed and a shabby wooden dresser. There are no windows, only a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling as a source of light.

“Whoa,” James says, glancing sideways at me. “I sure hope I’m up-to-date on all my shots.”

I walk inside, relieved to see clean-looking sheets on the mattress. James closes the door and throws the lock before tossing the duffel bag on the dresser. He stands there, looking about the room and I go to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Could use a woman’s touch,” he says, glancing at me. “You up for it?”

I smile, knowing he’s not exactly talking about my decorat-ing skills. But I’m still bothered that Kevin is gone, that Lacey isn’t feeling well. I’m still bothered by everything.

James’s eyes slide over me, reading my expression. “Let’s crash,” he says softly. “We haven’t had any real sleep in days, and I think we should be clear for what comes next.”

“And what’s that?” I ask.

James shakes his head. “I wish I knew.” He exhales and climbs onto the bed. He slaps the flat pillow a few times and then curls up behind me. When he’s quiet, I look down at him.

His eyes weaken slightly. “Want to snuggle?” he asks.

We’ve been through so much the past few days, few months, few years, I’m guessing. It’s too great to even put into words, so I nod and settle down next to him.

James moves until his mouth is at my ear. “We made it,” he whispers, the curve of his bottom lip grazing my skin. His other hand slides up my thigh, and James pulls my leg over his hip. Wrapped around him, I feel safer—like I can hold on to both of us.

But as James kisses my neck, I think about the pill in my pocket. We haven’t had time to discuss it, not fully. “James,” I say, my voice hoarse. “We should talk about the orange pill.” He stops abruptly, his breath still hot against my neck.

“Okay.” He trails his lips over my skin for another moment and then moves to rest his head next to mine on the pillow. His eyes read serious, even though he’s trying for calm. “What’s up?” It confirms my suspicions. “Would you want your past back, all of it—including the bad stuff—if it could make you sick again?”

“Sloane,” he says, “It doesn’t matter. We’ve—”

“If I wasn’t here,” I interrupt. “If I wasn’t a consideration at all, would you take it?”

“Where the f**k are you going?”

“Just answer me.”