“Quarter past,” Paul said, looking at his watch before snapping his fingers at Ethan. “Pay up, loser.”
“You made a bet on when I’d get here?” Jayden asked.
“Yeah,” Paul said and snatched a battered fiver out of Ethan’s hands. “Score! There you go, Darren, happy birthday,” he added, pressing the note into Darren’s right hand, lying limp on the sheets. The other arm was still tightly bound to his chest.
“It’s…what?” Jayden fumbled.
“The walking wounded here…”
“Lying wounded,” Paul corrected.
“…turned sixteen today,” Ethan continued blithely, “only we couldn’t find a wheelchair that had cool racing stripes. So we figured we could start a cripple fund for him!”
Darren grinned. His eyes were glazed, hopefully just with drugs, and his voice was slow and slurred when he mumbled, “S’not m’leg he busted, f’ckwit…”
“Wait, back up.” Jayden brushed the other two off, crouching awkwardly by the bed to peer at Darren’s face. “It’s your birthday?” he clarified.