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Coach’s whistle squealed as he strode over. When Ben didn’t let Win free, Coach leaned in and blew the whistle right beside his ear.
“Damn, Coach!” Ben hollered, finally releasing Win. “If I swim like shit today, it’s because I can’t see straight ‘cause my ears are ringing.”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Kruger? Attacking your own team physical therapist in front of all our competition.”
“He’s an intern,” Ben grumped.
Coach blasted his whistle again. “What’s that?”
“Sorry, Coach.”
Trainer Russel called out for Win, and he jogged off.
Coach turned to me. “Park, how are you feeling?”
I nodded. “Doing good, Coach Resch.”
He nodded. “Glad to see you on deck today. But just take it easy, all right? Let the other on-duty lifeguards handle the swimmers.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“You’ll agree with him but not us?” Ben said, incredulous.
“You two.” Coach gestured between Ben and Matt. “Get your Speedo-covered asses over there with the rest of the team.” He didn’t wait for them to listen before blowing his whistle at someone else and rushing off to give another order.
Ben slid his arm around my waist, and Matt took the crutch from me. “Come on, sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” I grumped. I was used to being up and moving around at these meets. I was used to being busy nearly twenty-four-seven. Since my fall, I’d been more idle than ever before, and it was making me stir crazy.
“I know that, baby girl, but you need to heal up. Not too much longer and the stitches will be out, and you’ll have a boot on your foot instead of a cast.”
I sat in the chair Matt set up for me, and he propped the single crutch against it. Ben shrugged out of his Elite windbreaker and shook it out around me.
“I already have a jacket on,” I protested.
Ben leaned in, his bare upper body rippling with his movements, the familiar scent of his skin tickling my nose. “This one’s mine,” he said, tugging it beneath my chin.
A second later, another jacket draped over my lap, concealing my bare legs. I looked up, and Matt smiled.
“To help keep you warm,” he explained, just as naked as Ben now.
“Should have just worn pants,” Ben grumped.
“This is what I always wear.” I reminded him. “It’s routine.”
Ben’s brows drew down. “Hey,” he said, squatting in front of my chair. The way he angled his body toward me, widening his legs so I was partially between them and he was a shield, made my stomach flutter. “You doing okay? Are you overwhelmed? Confused?”
Funny how the word “routine” took on a new meaning since my bout with amnesia. It almost made Ben nervous and on guard, like he was terrified I was going to relapse or something. I wasn’t going to relapse. I wasn’t even sure you could relapse into amnesia. But the worry in his eyes was real, and I wanted to take it away.
“I’m good.” I assured him, reaching out to brush my fingers through his sandy hair. “Better than good.” I amended. “It’s just nice to do something familiar because everything lately has been changing.”
Even good change was scary sometimes.
“Your parents are here. Did you see?”
He stiffened, shock rocking him back on his heels. “What?”
“Guess you didn’t know they were coming, then?”
