The Forgotten Ones

eyebrows at him. “I won’t lose.”
    He was right. I swung at his third pitch and completely missed. And when it was his turn, he smacked the first ball I pitched a hundred yards past the mark.
    I couldn’t help but laugh at his victory dance—his hips swinging, fists rotating over his head. His energy was contagious. He bounded toward me, a grin on his face.
    “Told you,” he said.
    I shrugged, about to make some kind of snide remark when Joanne shouted from the deck.
    “Food’s ready!”

    When it was time to go, the nervous feeling in my stomach intensified, and I almost regretted eating so much. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d kissed Ethan Magliaro; I knew what he was capable of.
    It’s just a stupid kiss, I repeated over and over in my head. I could get through it, and then everything would go back to normal. Then my long-lost father’s face flashed in my mind. Okay, as normal as possible. Nothing had to change because of one little kiss.
    When Nicole asked Jeff to bring her home, I stood to join them, but Ethan shot me an “oh, no you don’t” look. I hadn’t really expected to get out of the bet, but I didn’t want to appear eager, either. That would only make things worse. He grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward his truck, while my cousin and his brother left us to drive back to Gram’s alone. I waved at Joanne without meeting her eyes, knowing she probably knew all about our little wager.
    He opened the passenger door for me and waited until I was settled before closing it. He came around and slid in next to me. He didn’t start the engine right away, though. We sat in silence in his parents’ driveway.
    Ethan finally looked over at me, his forehead crinkling in concern. “You know I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, right?”
    A nervous laugh escaped. “You won the bet.”
    Ethan laughed and shook his head as he started the truck. He headed toward the road, and the silence stretched between us. We didn’t speak, but he kept looking over at me with an undefinable expression on his face.
    I had spent more than my share of time watching Ethan’s face. I’d watched him play hockey, I’d watched him play baseball. I’d watched as he flirted with girls, I’d watched him stand stoically at his grandfather’s funeral. I thought I knew how to read him pretty well. But at that moment, I couldn’t figure out what was going through his mind.
    My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out and checked the number. Nicole.
    “Don’t freak out, but I just—”
    “Nicole!” I couldn’t help raising my voice. Sometimes she could be so exasperating. I hadn’t even gotten home yet, and she was already drilling me.
    “Wait, Al, listen – it’s your mother. Gram and Pop had to take her to the hospital. She’ll be okay, but she needed to get stitches.”
    My heart stuttered in my chest. “Stitches? What happened?”
    “I don’t really know. Mom just said she had an episode during dinner and was banging on the window...and the glass broke.”
    I looked over and Ethan met my eyes curiously.
    “We’re almost home, meet me there.” I clicked my phone shut and leaned my head against the back of the seat. “My mom broke a window with her hand. She needs stitches.”
    I looked over at Ethan, expecting to see pity, but, thankfully he just nodded and kept driving.
    “Do you want me to take you to the hospital?” he asked, his voice gentle.
    “You don’t mind?”
    Ethan clenched his jaw, and I looked away. “Of course I don’t mind. You should probably text Nicole and let her know, though.”

    We drove the rest of the way in silence, a million feelings—namely guilt—running through my mind. I should have been there. I should never have gone out. But what would it have mattered if I was there? Would I have been able to help? Oh god, did Liam show up again? I was starting to hyperventilate.
    Ethan placed a hand on my knee as he parked the car, and for once, my heart rate slowed rather than raced. “She’ll be okay,” he said.
    I nodded, and then we hurried into the emergency department, scanning the crowded lobby. I didn’t see my grandparents anywhere, so I headed to the Triage station where a middle-aged woman was typing something into the computer. She didn’t even look up when I arrived. I bounced on the balls of my feet for a second, waiting for her to greet me. Finally, I coughed to get her attention.
    She glanced up at me. “Can I