"Good job out there, matey," My best friend Kyle congratulates me immediately I walk into the locker room. I beam at him.
"Thanks, K."
He saunters off to talk to a couple of dudes hanging around the entrance. I can hardly think straight. My ears ring as I prowl past the bank of lockers, shoving the door open to the showers. It's a cavernous room, echoing and cold, but no one will disturb me in here. They wouldn't dare.
Pain throbs in my knuckles as I unwrap them. They're stiff and aching—bruised and split. Apart from using them to smash Anderson, I've been signing autographs for the last hour. My fingers won't straighten fully, so I crank the shower on with my elbow, then yank my shorts down with my thumbs.
I step under the hot spray with claws for hands.
Fuck. I'm getting too old for
