The concrete corridors of the arena were still echoing with the distant, muffled roar of the crowd as I slipped out of the side entrance and into the quiet staff lobby.
Another win. Another flawless shutout for Logan. The Chicago Tigers were riding high on a historic nine-game winning streak now, and the wildcard playoff spot was practically ours. Reporters had absolutely swarmed his locker room after the game, showering him with praise for his “remarkable psychological turnaround.” I had stood silently just outside the frame of the cameras, nodding and smiling like the perfect, devoted little PR handler I was being paid to be.
But inside my own skin, I was fraying entirely at the seams.
My body ached constantly from the sheer weight of his physical demands. My mind felt permanently fog
