“Where did you get the soccer ball?” I ask, and his eyes trace over my face. “You’ve never looked in that closet in the hallway?” he teases, and I shake my head. “No. I always assumed it was stuff you wanted to keep private. It wasn’t mine to snoop through.” His gaze softens into a grateful look that almost cleaves my heart in two. “I bought it the day after you told me about your injury. We weren’t as close as we are now, but I could see that fire in you. I wanted to have one in the apartment, just in case you wanted to try to play again.”
