Victor limped toward Noah, the bandage around his foot peeking white against the gleam of his gold-and-silver kit.
"So, how are you?" His voice carried the casual ease of someone used to owning the field—height or injury be damned.
"You can see it," Noah replied, giving his leg a light pat. "At least passable to play."
They spoke in low tones, trading easy words that hinted at familiarity. Old teammates? Rivals with history? Julian didn't know.
But the way they spoke—like soldiers who'd once fought in the same trench—made his stomach tighten.
There was comfort there. Shared memories. Maybe even shared scars.
What he did know was what Laura had told him—Victor Salinas wasn't just good.
He was a prodigy. The kind that had already caught the eye of multiple MLS academies.
Not just domestic either—offers had come from overseas. If fate hadn't clipped his wings, Lincoln would be facing a nightmare today.
And yet, here he was, sidelined.
