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

THE BOARDERS: 46

Sam

I'm more present my second day in the hospital. Everything hurts just as much, but they've lowered my dose of pain medication so I can actually function. If communicating with the people in my room via text and grunting counts as functioning.

When my mom enters the room, her eyes wide with shock and fear at my state, I realize just how bad things must be. My mother never looks ruffled or harried. Today, she's both. Even her expensive suit—a stark contrast to the scenery of the hospital—is wrinkled.

"Samuel, honey."

"I'm fine," I try around the wire in my mouth. It comes out sounding like "hrmph." My mother lifts a hand to her lips, taking me in, before realizing she's freaking me out and shaking her shoulders, reengaging her 'unruffle-able' lawyer pose.

I lean over to the stand next to my bed, grabbing my phone and tapping into it, using the same method I've adopted with Somers. She reads the text and gives me a long look.

"I don't know if 'fine' is the word I'd use," she says. "The young woman outside—Logan?"

I nod.

"She said something about Brandon. He did this to you?"

So Somers has already met my mom? Not exactly the way I'd pictured it, but I guess beggars can't be choosers. I nod again.

"Can you text me the details?"

I shake my head, typing not yet.

Then, thinking on it, I send another message. Is she still here?

"Logan?" my mom asks. She's good at the yes/no questions. I nod again.

"Yes."

I tap a message into my phone and my mom's lip lifts into a half-smile when she reads it.

"Yes, I'll get her. But before I do...this is the girl that got assigned to your dorm this semester, isn't it?"

If my jaw wasn't wired shut, I'd gape. She's known about Somers this whole time but never said anything about it?

She shrugs, as if reading my mind. "Your father told me the whole story. Including that you were a bit uncouth in your proposal to keep her there."

My laugh at that quickly becomes a groan, and my mother's face twists in sympathy. But I'm not her son for nothing; she's not going to let me off easy, even if I am hooked to a hospital bed. (Or maybe because of it. She knows I can't get away from her lecture in my current state.)

Luckily, it's less of a lecture than it is a strongly-worded rebuke. And, surprisingly, it ends in a ringing endorsement of my roommate. "She clearly cares about you deeply, and vice versa." My mom's eyes soften. "I wish it didn't take a hospital trip for you two to realize it."

When she's done, my mom opens the door to the room, ducking outside and inviting Somers back in. Logan's hair is tied back again today, and she's holding a Styrofoam cup of something—coffee, maybe—but she looks like a ghost. A beautiful ghost that I want by my side until the end of time. I find myself smiling, dislocated jaw and all. Somers' face twists.

"Don't do that," she reprimands, biting her lip. "You're going to break your face. Again."

But I can't help it. Even as Somers and my mom talk about my condition and the way I got here (Somers breezes over her assault at the party, I notice), I can't take my eyes from her. My mother, shrewd as always, is right. It's stupid it took so much for me to realize it, but now that I have, I'm not letting Somers out of my life, no matter what.

When my mother leaves an hour later to check into her hotel room and speak with my dad, I shift myself to one side of my bed, patting the space beside me.

Somers points to her own chest incredulously. "You want me to get into that tiny bed with you?"

When I nod, she shakes her head furiously. "I'm going to hurt one of your many broken bits, Sam."

I grunt a laugh and plead with my eyes. When she doesn't move, I send her a text: Trust me. You couldn't hurt me if you broke a third rib. I just want you with me.

"I haven't brushed my teeth in a full day," she mutters but she climbs into the bed slowly. We jostle a bit, as she tries to avoid the worst of my bruising and I try to draw her as close to me as possible. When she's tucked beside me, I type her a new message.

This isn't exactly how I imagined our first shared bed experience, but I don't hate it.

She rolls her eyes, but her lips have twitched up into a grin. "Yeah, me either," she allows.

You either, what? Imagined our first bed experience differently? Or don't hate it?

She groans. "If you weren't so messed up already, I'd smack you," she says. Then, quietly, "Both, I guess."

I wish I could kiss her. I wish I could do anything but lie in this stupid bed, though the feel of her warm body next to mine helps. She has no idea how committed I am to making this work once I get out of here. I want to tell her. I want to explain the way I feel about her and how her importance has shifted in light of Saturday night. But it feels stupid to do that over text. I want to say these things to her, to watch her reaction as she hears the words come out of my mouth. So as much as I want to tell her now, it's going to have to wait.

Somers pulls unlocks her phone and starts to type. I lean over to see what she's writing, but she shifts so that I can't see the screen.

"Hey," I mumble through my wire, nudging her lightly with my elbow. She shifts and giggles before hitting Send on her message and turning to face me, looking nervous.

When my phone buzzes, I hold it to my face. I have to read it twice to make sure she's said what I think she has. When I confirm it, I feel my face split into a smile that would hurt an uninjured jaw, let alone this one.

Somers sinks her teeth around her bottom lip. "What do you think?" She asks.

I press the pads of my index and middle fingers against her lips, feeling their fullness. She purses her lips, kissing my fingers gently, and fuck if I don't spring a boner right there in the hospital bed. I want to laugh at that; at least Brandon didn't break my dick. Somers tilts her head, not understanding my sudden laughter.

I reread her message, heart soaring at her promise: the first thing I'm going to do when you're out of this bed is kiss you, for real.

And I text her back: I'm holding you to that.