The envelope was waiting for Leo when he got home from the state championship celebration.
It was taped to his front door, cream-colored, thick, with no return address. His name was written across the front in handwriting he didn't recognize—looping, elegant, feminine. The kind of handwriting that belonged on wedding invitations or graduation announcements, not on letters taped to doors at midnight.
Leo pulled it down carefully, his knee aching, his ears still ringing from the gym. His team had won. Three-peat. Back-to-back-to-back state championships. Derek had cried. Mateo had smiled. Kai had almost smiled. Marcus had taken forty-seven selfies.
It had been a good night.
He opened the door, stepped inside, and sat at the kitchen table. The house was dark. His wife was asleep upstairs.
