Beside me, Warren shot to his feet, shouting Keegan’s name at the top of his lungs.

I stayed in my seat.

Not because my heart wasn’t hammering with pride — it was, so hard it hurt.

But watching Warren stand up and cheer like a proud father lit a small, dark, quiet anger in me that I could not put out.

Because he was cheering like he’d earned it.

And he had not been there when Keegan learned to tie his cleats.

He hadn’t bought those cleats.