“You’re not the first athlete I’ve known with a career-ending injury, Caleb. And you certainly won’t be the last,” I go on. “And I saw that hit. I saw the video, and I empathize with your pain—” “Oh, you do?” he huffs, trying to pull away again, but I tighten my hold on his tatted wrist. “Yes, I do. I may not have seen your chart, but I can only imagine how you fought in your rehab to regain the level of function you have now.” I’m determined to get through to him, to set this right. “But I think that’s who you are. You’re a fighter. You’re fighting me now,” I add, gesturing to the way he’s
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