The Season of You & Me Read Online Free

first few times in the water, I’d used and hated everything about it, especially needing someone else’s help just to take a swim. Six months of training and I was expert at getting in and out of the pool, no fanfare necessary. Although getting help from Jena might have been worth it.
    “I don’t need that,” I said, and made my way toward the end of the pool. She followed alongside as I swam to the end of the lane.
    I pulled myself up on the edge and twisted, placing my butt down and centering my weight. Jena handed me a towel. I was about to tell her she didn’t need to baby me but nodded thanks and took the towel from her. Hot girls being helpful was definitely a #wheelchairperk. I’d left my wheels close for easy access. She looked at the chair, then me. I smiled.
    “It’s not as hard as it looks; I can manage.”
    She played with the string pulls on her hoodie and fidgeted, eyes darting between me, the chair, and the kids whowere screaming at the other end of the pool. “Mr. Beckett said to check in with him before you leave. Do you, um . . . need help with anything else?”
    “I am headed to the shower. . . .”
    Her head snapped up and her eyes locked on mine. A confuzzled-kitten look, maybe wondering if she’d heard me right. It was cruel of me to leave her hanging. I knew that. She was vibing off the tragic of my situation, like anyone else who knew of me and my accident. Oh, he’s that guy, the one who liked to surf, the one who tripped and fell and fucked up his life forever. The one they had that fish-fry fund-raiser for over at the VFW hall. Must not laugh around him.
    I smiled. “Kidding.”
    A flash of teeth and a high-pitched giggle told me she was seriously relieved I hadn’t been trying to put the moves on her. Laughter always broke the ice. Even if it was of the holy-shit-I’m-so-glad-you-were-kidding variety. At least I’d made her think of something other than hauling my ass out of the pool.
    “You should tell Mr. Beckett he needs to play some better underwater tunes—that instrumental stuff is boring. Something like Neck Deep.” I draped the towel over my shoulders.
    She laughed again, but stopped when she saw I wasn’t. She must have thought I was joking.
    “That’s a band?”
    “Yeah, I know it sounds like—well, I guess it might beironic if I was quad, or would that be a coincidence? I always mix that up,” I said.
    “Quad?”
    “—draplegic, you know, paralyzed from the neck down. That would be sort of—”
    Oh hell, Bry, why not joke about your daily skin check for pressure sores, wouldn’t that crack her up? “I also like Jimmy Eat World and the Story So Far.”
    “I love Jimmy Eat World. I’ll have to talk to Mr. Beckett about it,” she said, over-smiling to erase the awkward. The kids at the other end of the pool screamed again, running away from each other. Jena sounded her whistle. The kids kept messing around. She rolled her eyes. “Gotta deal with them. See ya.”
    “Later,” I said as she yelled for them to stop running. They didn’t listen.
    Good for them.
    I locked the brakes on my wheels and hoisted myself into my chair, then pushed off to the showers.
    Alone.
    “So I hear you don’t like my taste in music?” Mr. Beckett stared intently at his computer screen as I maneuvered through the doorway. The rec center was an older building; not much thought had been given to accessibility except in the newer wing with the pool. It was tight, but I managed, positioningmyself between the chairs that were in front of his desk. He may have thought it looked like he was working, but I could see in the reflection of his glasses he was playing solitaire. After a few clicks of his mouse, he turned his focus on me, folding his hands on the blotter in front of him. The scene felt oddly formal considering he was my godfather.
    “It’s great if you want to put everyone to sleep, Owen.”
    “It’s popular stuff though, no?”
    “For forty-year-olds.”
    “Ha,