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“Shut up” He sees lare

“You look rough, dude”

“I’ve got thirty stitches inforehead”

“Language, boys” Makis strolls over, his eyes widening as he gets his first look at post-hospital Nathan

“Man, you’re fucked”

“See, he gets it”

While rade dude posse fusses over Nate, I head back to the kitchen for a new ice pack and so else I think he’ll like They told him he can’t have pain medicine for a few more hours, until he’s out of the concussion zone, but I know so he could have—if just a little

Ten minutes and a Benji to one of the nicer cook ladies, and I’ve got the ice pack and a pocket bottle of bourbon The kitchen here at Pontresina stays stocked up because the staff likes to take those little bottles on the slopes

I check et back close to Nate and Co It’s been more than twelve hours, and he doesn’t seem like he has a concussion I don’t think a little Maker’s Mark would kill hi sad about not skiing at the fireworks with Alana

I wait for Makis and Farhad to clear out—Farhad, especially, is a gossipy et busted for this, but his du all happy makes it hile

“Cover it with cologne, hs his ass off like a fucking hyena

“You’re just jealous because that chick you tried to hit on yesterday turned out to be the new Spanish instructor”

He shakes his head “Boy be s like some Christian Dior”

“Shut up”

“Trying to impress that little—what’s her name, Nathan, the little Finnish chick he likes?”