Jason hands me an ice pack. “Text me if swelling spikes.”
“Yeah,” I mutter, collapsing onto the bench.
He studies me for a beat. “You’re distracted today.”
I snort. “I tried not to die on rep four. That’s focus.”
He lifts a brow. I stare at the ice pack like it’s going to answer him on my behalf. “Stuff at home.”
“Has it gotten worse?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I manage, nodding my head. “A lot worse.”
Jason doesn’t pry. He just nods like he understands that some pain doesn’t belong to the knee. “All right. Then be gentle with yourself.”
I laugh without humor. “I’m doing weighted single-leg loading. Where’s the gentle part?”
“In the part where you don’t punish yourself for having a hard day,” he says simply.
I leave with my knee throbbing and my brain louder than it should be.
In the parking lot, my phone buzzes.
Coach Harding: Proud of you. No rush. Come back when you’re ready.
Something tight catches in my chest. I stare at it longer than I mean to, then type back:
thanks coach. working on it.
Another buzz.
Beck: rehab day?
Beck: also sophie says you’re still a coward.
I huff a laugh because Sophie has known me long enough to call it like it is and enjoy doing it.
sophie can bite me.
yeah rehab. i lived.
Beck replies instantly.
Beck: she can only bite me, asshole.
Chuckling, I go back to my unread texts, including the group chat that I keep ignoring, yet it never goes away.
Jaxon: you do know we know you’re alive, right? Beck tells us
Carter: way to give up our source dude
Jaxon: neither of us are there and obviously we know he’s alive and well. Ish.
Carter: could’ve been Coach Harding telling us
Jaxon: Beck said he’s been avoiding PCU like a seasoned pro.
Carter: that’s fair.
