Pre-bite there was always a desperation that hounded his steps to be the best on the field, in his classes and at home. He struggled through every day, devoid of a friend or any real hope of a future. Lahey had always been a reasonably good athlete and student. But now? Now he was better.
Isaac wasn't living in mortal terror of his father anymore, although he still behaved accordingly. And while the pack was near nonexistent, it had given him a kindred spirit in Erica and the confidence to continue talking to Allison. She was the best part, if he had to choose. Sure, there were obvious other benefits to being a werewolf. But attracting a girl like Allison? It was something usually only the likes of Jackson could manage. Because who hadn't tried to ask out Lydia Martin, only to be shot down mid-sentence?
A good run had always been ideal to clear Isaac's head, the repetitive motion of one step in front of the other for a fixed rate to cover a predetermined distance -- allowed the mind to empty and all the problems that awaited him when it was over to be forgotten for a while. He didn't get a hitch in his side anymore, and managed to pass some of his teammates without noticing. But Finstock had. And so had Jackson.
They were alone in the locker room when the concerned Captain approached him. He reeked of aggression and frustration, which clued Isaac in on the true measure of his ire. Turning to face the approaching Jackson, muscular arms crossed over chest as he stood his ground for whatever verbal circle jerk this was going to become. Eyebrow arched at the accusation and the absurdness of it, prompted a chuckle of amusement.
"I'm not on anything, Jackson. I'm just better," he had wanted to say as much to the smug bastard for a while. Not that he hated him, Whittemore was very effective in the leadership role he played on the field. But neither were the two particularly chummy.