Page 57 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“We need to talk, Henry.” Her voice is a snapping leather belt. I’m almost certain it’ll leave a mark.

My heart surges into my throat. Did Kimberly tell her about us? Would she do that?

Who am I kidding? Of course she would. It’s her fucking cousin, for crying out loud.

I suck in a breath and nod to my friends. Talia’s hand drops from my collar and seizes my bicep. She drags me toward the gap between the concessions building and the bathrooms with a surprisingly strong grip. By the time we reach a secluded-enough spot, I’m dripping sweat that has nothing to do with the heat.

“Look, Talia, whatever you heard…”

“Whatever I heard?” she grits out. “Are you an idiot, Henry?”

I balk. “Listen, I’m sorry I haven’t called her, but life’s been so busy and?—”

“Shut up. Right now.” She wags a finger at me. Despite her size, it has the desired effect. I’m both intimidated and silent. “I know you’ve had a rough year, Ridgefield, but I can’t believe you’d be so stupid. So careless. So?—”

“I didn’t plan for it, Talia,” I interject. “It’s not like I was looking for someone to sleep with. It just happened.” Surely she knows that?

“Clearly you planned nothing out.”

I blink down at her, confused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“She’s pregnant, Henry.” Her voice is low and tight. “Too grief-stricken to use a condom, huh?”

Behind us, Principal Tiefermann calls for us to get in line. Our classmates cheer now that things are finally getting underway, bringing us one step closer to getting out of this heat. But I barely register any of it. I barely register Talia, glaring up at me with her jaw clenched, cheeks blazing red. It all falls away to the rush of blood leaving my head, draining all the way to my feet.

“Wh-what?” I stammer. “She said she was on the pill.”

“Sometimes the pill fails.” She shakes her head. “And then you didn’t even have the decency to call her, so she had to use me as a messenger. You messed up. Badly.”

My throat is so dry I’m not sure the next words are going to make it out, but I try. “What—” I swallow. Try again. “What do I do?”

Her gaze softens at the edges, but only slightly. Still, it’s more than I deserve. “I don’t know. But you better figure it out. And fast.” She licks her lips. “Call her, Henry. She’s really scared.”

I nod, unable to find words.

“You do have her number, right?”

My voice scrapes like sandpaper. “I do.”

“Good. You can still make this right, okay? But you’ve gotta man the fuck up. Big-time.” She holds my gaze, making sure I’m absorbing her words. Satisfied, she glances past me to our classmates. “Let’s go before they graduate without us. Can’t raise a baby with no degree.”

She shoves past me. I turn to watch her stride over to the lineup, where my friends stand staring at me with puzzled looks. I know I should move but I can’t. I’ve lost all feeling. I’m completely numb aside from the roaring fear burning in my mind, telling me I’ve ruined not one life but two.

My gaze lifts to my mother. Her hand is flattened over her heart as she cranes her neck, trying to spot me in the line of students pouring out onto the field. My feet are rooted to the ground as I watch the last piece of the life I thought I’d have slip away. Somewhere, states away, I imagine Kimberly doing the same thing. The guilt is white-hot and crushing, and so much more than I can bear.

Lucy’s blonde hair flashes past, catching my eye. I watch her step from the paved track to the grass of the football field. From an old life into the new. She glances over her shoulder, and I hold her gaze for only a second. It’s the last thing I take for myself.

The last thing I’ll ever take for myself, because from now on, it can no longer be about me. It’s about Kimberly. And our baby. Our baby. My heartbeat stumbles over itself. I’m going to be a father.

I eventually make it onto the field, but not before emptying my breakfast into a nearby bin.

Chapter Eighteen

Delilah

Cameron was right. After forty-eight hours I feel mostly back to normal. Aside from painfully sore abs that haven’t been put to this much use since I was in high school training for volleyball. I lift the hem of my loose tank top as I study my reflection in the vanity mirror, half expecting to see a six-pack has miraculously formed from all the heaving.

No such luck.

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