Chapter Three-Hundred and Two
Amelia, Phoebe, Claire, Brian and Andy watched as John attempted to stand on the surfboard, laughing every time he fell off.
"Good God! I thought he was like a cat!" Brian roared, falling over into the sand as he clutched his stomach.
Andy shook his head, his brow furrowing when John didn't surface for a few minutes. "Is he okay?" He jogged to the edge of the water, kicking his shoes off and pulling his shirt over his head. "I'm gonna get him! Call Clarissa!" He dove into the water, swimming down to where he'd seen John disappear a few moments ago. He caught a glimpse of silver hair, wrapping his arms around John's chest and swimming to the surface. He pushed John onto his surfboard, pulling to blue board to shore and rolling John onto the sand. "John." He bent down, listening for a heartbeat. He sighed in relief at the strong beat in his friend's chest, rolling him onto his side and smacking his back. "Come on, puke it up." He smiled as John coughed the sea water from his lungs, giving him one last hard hit to help get the last of it out. "There you go…" He picked up his t-shirt, wiping the thin line of blood from his hairline.
Phoebe fell to her knees beside her brother, waiting for his eyes to come back into focus. "John?"
John smiled, pushing himself onto his elbows. "Mouse…" He held her close, showing her that he'd just hit his head on something. "I'm okay." He whispered, letting Brian and Andy examine the cut on his hairline and the few little scrapes and rash spots on his arms.
Thomas shook his head as he watched Claire rub rash cream into the bumpy spots on John's chest and arms, he chuckled at the look on John's face. That scowl that always came with anything to do with medications or anything that would help him. "If you keep making that face, it'll stick that way." He rolled his eyes as John flipped him the bird. "Quit it."
Claire smirked as her father's face reddened, recognizing the hint of anger whenever he and John butted heads. She knew it'd been a while since the two had gone at each other, and she knew that with John being so pent up in the hospital for so long, that something was bound to happen. "John. Don't get wound up. Your throat is still prone to swelling."
He shook her off, standing and pulling on a torn, ratted, stained hoodie before he walked out of the house. "Don't wait up." He barked, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he stepped down the road. He knew where he was going, that diner had become somewhat of a favorite hangout for him —though he didn't stay overnight anymore. Besides, it would be nice to see Annie and her folks again. Plus, the donuts were the best in town.