Noah

Practice had chewed us up and spit us out. The locker room reeked of sweat, wet turf, and muscle rub, the kind of smell that got into your skin no matter how hard you showered. Guys were peeling off pads, joking, throwing towels, but the energy was different tonight—edgy, quiet in places where it usually wasn’t.

I sat on the bench, elbows on my knees, staring down at my taped hands. Another long week. Another storm of noise we didn’t ask for.

Jackson dropped down next to me ...