Page 39 of Overachiever
“Idiots,” Zara chuckles. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s getting a cast now, and they’ll be going back to the motel. That ass will do anything not to take his turn driving back.”
“When are you leaving?”
“After checkout time tomorrow,” Zara replies.
“I can’t believe you drove all the way here just for two days.”
“Two days on the beach, plus a free kinky peep show. Totally worth it,” Serena teases, and I toss my empty water bottle at her.
The boat docks, and we disembark, chatting about other things that don’t matter. If they’re trying to get my mind off of the conversation I need to have tonight, I’m grateful.
Owen will understand. After all, he’s never wanted more either.
Chapter Thirteen
Owen
It’s been a great day. We’ve spent it on the water, racing across the waves on jet skis. Now that it’s evening and we need to start back, Marty is hitting on women left and right, determined to get some “vacation strange” while he’s here.
Marty doesn’t have trouble getting women, I’ll give him that. He’s tall as hell, built, and rarely wears a shirt to make sure everyone knows it. Today, though, it’s not going his way.
As we make our way across a beach, a trio of bikini clad women cross in front of us, just on the other side of a low cement wall that separates the beach from the next property.
“Damn, girl! Your bone structure is giving my bone structure!” Marty calls out and jogs toward them. Judging by the expression on the women’s faces when they look our way, that line wouldn’t have gotten him anywhere if he hadn’t misjudged his hop over the cement wall. Maybe if he hadn’t attempted a little scissor kick, he would’ve made it instead of catching his foot on the edge. The world may never know. What I do know is that he hit it hard, then fell flat on his back on the packed sand.
Marty’s one of my best friends, and I’d do anything in the world for the guy, but that doesn’t mean I can control the laughter which pours out of me when he tries to talk and all that comes out is a croak. We’ve all been there.
He sits up and tries again, still unable to overcome getting the wind knocked out of him.
“Stop trying to force it,” Graham advises as I grab his hands and pull his arms above his head. I don’t know why that helps, but it does. He manages a gasp, then a full breath.
“Is he okay?” one of the women asks.
“Might need a nurse,” Marty replies, his voice strained. “Do you have a nurse uniform?”
Rolling her eyes, she turns back to her friends, and they laugh as they walk away.
“That could’ve gone better,” Marty says. He tries to move and lets out a sharp cry. With wide eyes, he looks up at us. “Guys, I think my leg’s broken.”
“It’s probably just a sprained ankle,” Graham says, but reconsiders after kneeling next to him to have a look at his shin. “Nope, I take it back. That looks awful.”
“Fuck, I can’t afford an ambulance ride. The hospital bill will be bad enough. Just get me to the car.”
Graham stays with him while I retrieve the car and pull up right beside them. We do our best not to jostle his leg as we get him into the back seat, but he’s still sweating from the pain.
“If anyone asks, I hurt it cliff diving,” Marty says, when we pull up in front of the hospital.
Our trip to the emergency room doesn’t take as long as I expect it to. Apparently, they’re well staffed and prepared for idiots during this season, and they have his leg x-rayed, set, and casted within a few hours.
He’s out of it on the meds they gave him to set the leg and for the pain afterward, and sleeps most of the way back to the motel. When he’s awake, he babbles hilarious nonsense. At least he isn’t in pain.
It’s a good thing there’s an elevator to get him up to the second floor and to their room because he’s bigger than me and Graham. With all the drugs in his system, he can’t manage the crutches they gave him tonight, so we practically lug him to their room.
The girls show up just as we’re getting him through the door. “What happened?” Remee exclaims, sitting beside him on the bed.
Marty gives her a cheesy grin. “Bungee cord broke.”
