Chapter 1 - The Envelope I Wasn’t Allowed To Open
I heard the security officer before I saw Ethan.
“Out. This seat isn’t for kids like you.”
I turned from the free-throw line.
My twelve-year-old son was being pulled out of the courtside family section by his arm.
For half a second, the arena disappeared.
The lights.
The music.
Twenty thousand people finding their seats.
My teammates warming up around me.
All I saw was Ethan stumbling forward while his backpack dropped beside the chair.
I slammed the basketball into the floor and ran.
The security officer was still pointing toward the tunnel when I knocked his hand away.
“Who gave you permission to touch my son?”
He froze.
Ethan moved behind me.
“Dad.”
I kept myself between them.
The officer looked from me to Ethan, then back again.
“I—I thought—”
“You thought what?”
He didn't answer.
Ethan bent for his backpack.
Something slipped from the outer pocket.
His family courtside pass landed faceup on the hardwood.
The officer saw the CARTER name.
His whole posture changed.
I picked it up.
“You don't check a credential before you grab a child?”
“I apologize.”
“Don't apologize to me.”
The officer looked toward Ethan.
Ethan wasn't looking at him.
He was staring at me.
I handed him the pass.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“We're going to security after—”
He grabbed my wrist.
Not hard.
Just enough to stop me.
“Dad.”
Something in his voice made me turn completely toward him.
“I didn’t come here to watch you play.”
The arena noise seemed to move farther away.
“What?”
He opened his backpack.
Pulled out a sealed white envelope.
My name was handwritten across the front.
CALEB.
I knew the handwriting.
Nora.
My wife.
The woman whose bed I had not slept in for eleven nights.
I reached for the envelope.
Ethan held it out.
Then, the second my fingers touched the paper, he covered it with his hand.
“Mom said... only open it if you're planning to come home tonight.”
The whistle from the court cut through everything.
Coach Rivera shouted for us.
Warmups were ending.
I stared at Ethan.
“Where's your mom?”
“Home.”
“Does she know you're here?”
“She knows.”
“Did she send you?”
Ethan hesitated.
Not long.
Long enough.
“Ethan.”
“She gave me the envelope.”
“That wasn't my question.”
He looked down.
The security officer remained several steps away, suddenly fascinated by the floor.
I lowered my voice.
“Did Mom tell you to bring it here?”
“No.”
My chest tightened.
“Then why are you here?”
“Because you weren't answering me.”
I pulled my phone from the bench towel tucked into my waistband.
Three missed calls from Ethan.
Two from Nora.
All during warmups.
“I didn't see them.”
“I know.”
“Who brought you?”
“Ms. Patel from family services.”
The team's family coordinator.
At least he hadn't crossed downtown alone.
“Does she know why?”
“No.”
The whistle sounded again.
Coach shouted my name.
Ethan looked toward the court.
“You have to go.”
I looked at the envelope.
“What does it say?”
“I don't know.”
“Did Mom tell you?”
“No.”
“What did she tell you?”
He tightened his grip on the backpack strap.
“If you say you're coming home, give it to you.”
“And if I don't?”
“Bring it back.”
My jaw tightened.
“Nora is making our son carry messages now?”
Ethan's face changed.
The anger went out of me immediately.
Wrong target.
“Sorry.”
He looked toward the floor.
I touched his shoulder.
“This isn't on you.”
He gave a small shrug that said he didn't believe me.
I put the envelope back in his hand.
“Keep it sealed.”
He looked up.
“I’m coming home after the game.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He studied my face.
Eleven nights in a team hotel had apparently taught my son not to trust the first answer.
Then he handed me the envelope.
I slipped it inside my warmup jacket.
Coach called again.
I started toward the court.
“Dad.”
I turned.
Ethan's face had changed again.
Nervous now.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
He looked toward the tunnel, as if somebody might be standing there.
Then back at me.
“Mom doesn't know Marcus talked to me.”
I stopped.
May you like
Marcus Bell had been my agent for fourteen years.
He wasn't supposed to be talking to my son about anything.
