Faith thought only one thing could’ve felt worse—and that’s if she’d been forced to answer questions like Chase was having to do at the moment. He’d just had one of the worst games of his life, and now he had to endure the barbs and arrows that the reporters were throwing his way. Question after question peppered him, and each one was like a punch or a kick. Chase stood in the front of the room, towering above the small podium that had been erected, the microphone catching his every word clearly. And the lights and cameras trained on his face would also notice every little expression, every nuance and reaction. There was nowhere for him to hide, and she could tell that the media was loving this—loving the drama of it all. For her part, Faith sat in the very back of the room and tried not to be noticed by the rest of the press. She was still vaguely worried that someone would come along and demand she show her credentials, but Chase had assured her repeatedly that it would be fine for her to be there.
