Savage

“Come in,” I yell at the tentative knock on the door to the apartment I’m staying in over my parent’s garage.

“Are you okay?” Malone asks as she takes in the picture of me, carrying bags as she comes inside.

I’m sure to most people it looks like I’m a science experiment gone wrong. I’m lying on the couch with a contraption on my leg, watching a TV show. “It’s cold therapy,” I explain. “It continuously has compression and sends penetrating ...