EROS
A call came in at eight-forty-seven on a Wednesday morning, marking a division in my life into before and after.
I was seated in the back of my car, en route to the arena. The rain fell steadily, a thin drizzle that transformed Manhattan into a gray haze, making the city feel smaller and harsher, as if the buildings were leaning in to share secrets. I had a nine-thirty practice with the team, which I was already considering cutting short because every hour spent in the arena meant an hour away from home, and lately, that realization had begun to trouble me in ways I preferred not to confront.
My phone rang. It was Celestine, the general counsel. She rarely called before nine unless there was an urgent issue. "Eros, are you sitting down?"
I didn’t respond to her question.
"What’s
