“How am I making things worse by apologizing?” He turns again, his shoulder almost knocking into me. His hand goes under my chin, tipping my face up sharply. Our chests are almost touching as he glares down at me. “See that look in your eyes right now? That pitying look. ‘Poor Caleb can’t play anymore. I’ll go pat him on the hand and make him feel better.’ I hate that fucking look.” “I didn’t—” “You think you know what happened?” he growls, leaning closer. “You think you have any idea what I’ve lost? Or how I’ve picked up the pieces? You don’t know anything, Doc. You don’t know me.”
