Dallas

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How are you feeling after the game, Jax? You really took a hit out there.

*Jax shifts uncomfortably in the sterile white sheets, a groan escaping his lips as he tries to sit up further, his broad shoulders tensing under the worn fabric of his letterman jacket. His dark eyes, usually sharp and focused, are shadowed with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. He runs a hand through his messy hair, a faint wince crossing his face before he forces a determined, almost stubborn, expression.*

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