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He does, bracing one hand against the wall, and stays quiet for a while.

“Nice place.”

“The club rented it for me. I’m hardly ever here anymore, so you can stay as long as you like. Make yourself at home.”

“Are you living with Jordan? Do I get to meet my future sister-in-law?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

We eat takeout for dinner. The fridge contains nothing but a bottle of water and two yogurts I don’t dare open because I should have thrown them out weeks ago. He tells me about the flight, complains about a kid who spent half of it kicking his seat, and asks a few questions about the Seattle Emeralds.

At ten thirty, I tell him I’m heading to Jordan’s because I want an early night. The semifinal is tomorrow, and I don’t want to mess with my routine. Instead, Callum finds a ball at the back of the closet and holds it up.

“Want to go down to that park for a bit?”

“I have a game tomorrow,” I remind him.

“I’m not going to injure you. I came to watch you play, not end your career,” he jokes.

So we end up in the park, passing the ball back and forth beneath a streetlight. It’s just cold enough to see our breath. He keeps his hands in his jacket pockets, and I’m starting to wish I’d brought a warmer jacket.

For a few minutes, we talk about his team. A new center back who doesn’t run much but does plenty of shouting. A coach who changes formations every time they lose. Callum passes the ball back with the inside of his foot and takes a while to look up.

“Does Dad know you’re here?” I ask.

“No.”

“Are you going to tell him?”

“I guess. Maybe when I get back. I don’t know.”

We keep passing the ball until he stops it beneath his foot.

“Do you remember that Saturday you scored three goals?” he asks suddenly.

“I’ve scored three goals on more than one Saturday, you know.”

“The one where you spent almost two hours watching the video afterward because Dad was in one of his moods and insisted you’d done everything wrong.”

Now I know which one he means.

I remember that day well. The lectures. A couple of plays we watched so many times I ended up crying, even though I’d come home thrilled with my hat trick. Then again, that was pretty normal: leaving a game happy and ending up in tears.

“You shut yourself in your room. You have no idea what you missed,” I remind him.

Callum shakes his head.

“I was in the car,” he says, passing the ball back.

I stop it under my foot.

“What?”

“He told me to wait there. Said we’d be leaving for my game in a minute. I was twelve.”

“And you stayed there the whole time? For two hours?” I ask, bewildered.

“Until he came out. Then we were late for my game, obviously, and he told me to tell the coach it was all my fault. I didn’t get to play that day,” he adds, shrugging and looking across the park.

“You could have come inside.”