Connor
"Connor, that was one of the best games we've ever seen from you. And that is saying a lot!" The blonde reporter grinned, teeth too bright under the floodlights. "Some might even say, dare I say, that was the best game of the season!"
She shoved the mic toward my face.
I was still breathing hard. Sweat dripped down my temple and into my eye, stinging. My Scotland kit clung to me, soaked through. The MVP medal sat heavy and cold against my throat, the ribbon damp.
Behind her, the sponsor wall glared back at me. The same blue and white backdrop from that photo they'd run a thousand times. The pitch was still lit behind us. You could hear the crowd thinning out, boots on concrete, distant cheers.
I looked exactly like the man in that picture ten minutes ago. Wild hair. Tired eyes. Trying to look like I had it together when my body was falling apart.
I forced a smile.
