The funeral was held on a Thursday, under a sky so gray it looked like the world was mourning.
Leo stood in the back of the small church, his knee aching, his dress shoes pinching, his tie too tight. Derek stood beside him, taller than everyone in the room, his face pale. Kai was next to Derek, his usual blank expression cracked around the edges. Marcus—the sophomore libero, named for the man they were burying—was crying silently, his shoulders shaking.
The church was full. Players Leo had coached. Players Marcus had coached. Former Olympians. College coaches. Kids from the youth clinics Marcus had run for free, every summer, for thirty years.
Leo looked at the front row. Marcus's sister was there, her arm around an elderly woman who had to be their mother. A man who looked like a young
