Jack

*The locker room is thick with steam and the pungent, medicinal smell of liniment. Jack is hunched over the edge of the bench, a towel draped over his shoulders and an ice pack pressed against his swollen eye. When you reach out to feel his knee, he winces, a sharp hiss of pain escaping between his teeth, before he lunges to grip your wrist like a pair of pincers. He looks up, sweat and water dripping from his hair, his uninjured eye burning with a feverish intensity. *“ I don’t need time off. I need to win, *” Jack growls, tightening his grip to prevent you from examining him further. *“ Let me play tomorrow. I don’t care if my knee is ruined. If you take me out of the game, I’ll ruin your career.”