Boarding with the Bad Boy [COMPLETE + BONUS published edition]

THE BOARDERS: 44

Sam

Everything is a blur. I come in and out of consciousness at the hospital, sometimes unsure if the scenes unfolding before me are real or part of an extended fever dream. Somers is always there—crying, her face swollen and blotchy, beside my bed; gesturing furiously at a nurse, demanding they do more to make me comfortable, to make me better; pale and gray from exhaustion, curled on a chair by the window. Weaver's there some of the time, tucking Somers under his arm as she cries and whispering something to her as the nurses press needles into my arms. I can't bring myself to be pissed as he strokes her hair. Somehow, the two of them had gotten to Brandon's house and found me in her truck. I remember, probably more than anything in the past twenty-four hours, the pain of Weaver trying to move me to the passenger seat without making things worse. I owe him a lot. Somehow, the drama of the past few weeks pales in comparison to where we are now.

Jill and Spencer filter in at some point, both dressed in their tennis gear. They must have come straight from the tournament, and both fawn over Somers before moving to the bed, taking me in. Spencer's face caves at the sight of me, but Jill's eyes are still guarded, her jaw tight. "I appreciate that you were looking out for my best friend, but I still think you've got a fuck-ton of reparations to make," she whispers when Logan's distracted talking with Spencer. And she's right. I want to laugh, but my throat isn't working great. I end up in a coughing fit that forces Somers to call a nurse.

Many hours later, dinner is wheeled in, all liquid to accommodate my dislocated jaw. The smell of the chicken broth main course makes me gag. I can't make myself eat it, even when Somers offers to spoon it into my mouth.

The next time I wake it's because my pain medication is wearing off. For the first time since I was at Ott's, I'm fully alive with pain, groaning and writhing. Somers takes notice and pops out to the hall, returning with a nurse I haven't seen yet.

"How you doing, hun?" she asks kindly. I nod. It's really all I can do; my jaw is currently wired shut.

She checks my IV. "More meds?"

I shake my head. The pain sucks, big time, but I prefer it to the drowsy high that accompanies a dose of Demerol. The nurse pats my thigh, one of the few spots on my body not riddled with bruises.

"Just press the button if you change your mind." She indicates the red 'nurse call' button on my bed and I give her another nod.

"How about you, Lo? Doing okay?" Somers lifts her head from where it rests in her palms.

"I'm fine, Janet. Thanks."

I wonder vaguely when they reached first-name basis. I want to ask, but can't form the words with my mouth in the shape it's in. I grab my phone from the table beside the bed and tap into it. A few seconds later, Somers' phone buzzes and she pulls it from her bag before looking at me with a crooked smile. Her hair has been slowly falling out of her ponytail all day, and now most of it frames her face. She looks stupid beautiful, even under the lights of the hospital room, even after nearly ten hours of being here.

She's responding to my first text when I send the second, letting her know just how she looks to me right now. Color floods her cheeks and she shakes her head, not meeting my eyes.

"Not now," she mutters, her eyes still trained on her phone. It helps to see her smile, though, so I send her another message, elaborating.

"Sam," she whines, meeting my gaze and rolling her eyes. Her text message comes in a moment later. Janet and I are BFF. We bonded over the delicious dinner you wouldn't touch.

I chuckle at that, grimacing around the ache in my face.

"Sorry," she murmurs.

I shake my head at her, typing furiously. Don't be sorry. I'm so fucking glad you're here.

I want her to go home and get some sleep, but she stays resolutely planted in the chair beside my bed. At eleven, Janet returns and tells Somers she has to go. I've re-upped my pain medication at this point (it had gotten unbearable around ten), but I'm still with it enough to appreciate the way Somers demands that she get to spend the night. Eventually, the nurse gives in and wheels a bed in from an unused room down the hall. The drugs pull me under shortly after Somers curls into the bed beside me, reaching a hand across and slipping it over mine, squeezing my fingers gently. I'm not sure if it's a hallucination or real life when she whispers that she loves me.