Keeping Score (23 page)

Warrick’s back stiffened as his body absorbed the verbal blows. He breathed in deeply. The smell of sweat had been replaced with soap and cologne. But it would take more than water and cleansers to wash away the stench of defeat.

Jamal snorted. “Yeah. Right. You’re a superstar. As soon as you stepped onto the court, I knew we’d lose.”

Warrick stood and faced the rookie guard. “Is that why you gave Kirk West of the
Horn
that interview? Because you knew we’d lose if I played tonight?”

Jamal hesitated. “I thought you didn’t read about sports during the season.”

Warrick had started following the sports coverage in self-defense against the media’s attacks. “If you didn’t expect me to read the article, why did you give the interview?”

Jamal’s chin shot upward. He planted his feet. It was his standard defensive pose when in a confrontation. Too bad he didn’t use that stance on the court. “To set the record straight. You ain’t no superstar. You’re an old, washed-up has-been. We won game five with you on the bench. You started the game tonight, and we lost.”

Warrick studied the teammates he no longer knew. Only weeks ago, they’d come together to support Troy when the media executive had temporarily lost his job with the franchise, and again to try to keep Barron Douglas out of trouble as he fought personal demons. Now that team unity had dissipated like smoke, and a wall of jealousy and resentment had built up between him and the other players.

If he were honest with himself, he’d admit this postseason wasn’t the joyride he’d fantasized. Winning wasn’t even fun anymore and there were too many fingers pointed his way when they lost.

Was it worth it?

“That’s not what I saw.” DeMarcus turned his dark, displeased stare on Jamal. “We lost because every one of you played like children instead of professionals. I didn’t see a team on the court. I saw five individuals.”

“That psychology shit is crap.” Jamal turned on Warrick. “All you need to do is stop buying into your own media hype. You’re not the East Coast Kobe Bryant. You’re Rick Evans. And before Barron became a drunk, you were riding the bench with them.” He jerked his thumb toward Darius.

Anthony crossed his arms. “You’ve lost your way, Rick. You’ve put yourself above the game. Blessed are the meek for they shall inherit the earth.”

Warrick considered the other players. Their body language wasn’t lost on him. He felt as shut out from the group in the locker room as he’d felt on the court earlier tonight. He’d been on the team before any of them. Now he was on the outside looking in. The Empire Arena used to be his second home. He’d once been surrounded by teammates as close as a second family. Now, he stood alone.

Jamal groaned. “We’re tied at three games apiece. Again. Why do we always have to go to seven games? Why can’t we win a series in four or even six games, and on our home court?”

Anthony sighed. “We may not even win the conference series.”

Jamal threw Warrick a dismissive glance. “He’s messing up our chemistry. He should be benched. We proved in game five that we could win without him.”

His father’s criticisms were coming out of Jamal’s mouth.

You don’t have what it takes.

You’re not good enough.

Marlon Burress is making a fool of you.

But the rookie wasn’t his father.

Warrick slammed shut his locker door. The sharp snap of metal striking metal sounded like a bullet firing in the tense room. The abrupt and absolute silence made Warrick more aware of the anger pounding in his chest.

He confronted the brash young player from across the locker room. He didn’t trust himself to get too close. “Jamal, if you defend your assignment as well as you blame me for our every loss, Walter Millbanks wouldn’t have scored twenty-two points on you tonight, including his personal best four three-pointers.”

Jamal’s cheeks flushed. His eyes spun around the room. “Hey, man, how was I—”

“Did anyone mail you a copy of the playbook, Jamal?” Warrick spoke over him. “Have you taken it out of the packaging? I bet the binder’s still pristine. If the issue is that you don’t understand the plays, maybe you should have stayed in school longer instead of coming out of college your freshman year.”

“Look, man—”

Warrick maneuvered past him and continued talking. “Speaking of reading comprehension, Saint Anthony reads the Bible. A lot.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed at the hated nickname. “I do.”

“And he never misses an opportunity to remind us of his knowledge of the Word. I’ve learned a lot from you, Saint Anthony.”

“I’m glad.” The tension in his tone belied his statement.

Anthony’s attitude disappointed Warrick the most. He could have sworn envy was one of the seven deadly sins. Why was the Bible-quoting starting forward giving him so much grief?

“I’ve learned a person could quote chapter and verse from the Good Book without having a clue of the meaning behind the words.”

“I do know—”

“My favorite quote is from Matthew chapter seven, verse one: ‘Judge not that ye be not judged.’”

He turned from the forward to Serge. “Every season, you ask to be traded to a winning team. You’re on a winning team now, man. Make the most of it.”

Warrick’s gaze passed over Vincent, Darius, Roger, Jarrett, and the rest of the Monarchs’ players. “I’m not going to defend myself, and I wouldn’t ask you to. We’re teammates. There’s only one question we have to ask and answer. Do we have each other’s backs?”

Warrick strode back to his locker, collected his gym bag, then crossed to the door. DeMarcus nodded before holding it open for him.

What did DeMarcus think of the things he’d said to his teammates?

Did it matter?

“See you at practice in the morning, Coach.” Warrick left the locker room.

He felt freer, healthier, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Tonight, he was glad he’d spoken his mind to his teammates. Marilyn would say it was long overdue. And she would be right.

But what would be the fallout of his speech and how would it impact the final game of the Eastern Conference Championship on Saturday?

16

Thankfully, the diner near the Empire Arena was almost empty. Marilyn and her companions had missed the Thursday morning breakfast crowd and beat the lunch rush. Still, she kept her voice low as she questioned the two women on the other side of the table. “Why did the other Monarchs freeze Rick out of the game?”

Jaclyn Jones glanced at Andrea Benson. Before either woman could respond, Marilyn spoke again. “Tell me the truth. I attended the game with the other Monarchs wives. I saw what was happening.”

“I know. I saw you.” Jaclyn was stunning in a deep orange dress that hugged her perfect figure. Her dark brown curls cascaded wildly past her shoulders.

“So did I.” Andrea stirred creamer into her coffee. In brown slacks, matching jacket, and tan shell, she made a much quieter appearance than Jaclyn. Still, she exuded a sexy confidence that commanded as much attention as the Monarchs’ owner.

“I’m sure every sports reporter in the arena saw me.” Marilyn couldn’t mask her contempt for the media. “They seemed almost as interested in me as they were in the game. I felt like a specimen on a Petri dish. That’s one of the reasons I’m not reading the paper or listening to the news this morning. I’m tired of their criticisms and innuendos.”

Why hadn’t she received a Google Alert update from her mother? A voice mail message probably was waiting for her at home.

Marilyn returned to the reason she’d asked the two women to join her that morning. “Why were the other players keeping Rick out of the game?”

Andrea laid her teaspoon beside her mug. “Most of the press is giving Rick all the credit for the team’s success. His teammates resent that. They’re taking their jealousy out on him.”

Jaclyn sipped her mug of coffee. “The media’s placing all the blame for the team’s failures on Rick’s shoulders as well.”

Marilyn bristled. “Aren’t these grown men? Why are they acting like spoiled children? Rick wouldn’t talk about it, but I know his teammates’ behavior bothered him.”

The cozy diner was fragrant with the scent of freshly baked pastries. Marilyn’s gaze settled on the display of cookies, brownies, bagels, and muffins. But in her mind’s eye, she saw the expression on Warrick’s face during the game and drive home last night. He’d looked cold, distant—and hurt. She’d felt his pain like a knife in her chest. Marilyn had wanted to rush the court and shake his teammates until their eyes rolled back.

Jaclyn’s voice pulled Marilyn from her thoughts. “Marc told me Rick finally gave the other players a piece of his mind after the game.”

Marilyn blinked. “Rick didn’t say anything about that.”

Their table grew silent as a server arrived to pour more coffee. The rich hazelnut scent wafted up to Marilyn as the dark brew spilled into her cup. Finished with their table, the young man moved down the aisle.

Andrea lowered her coffee mug. “Good for Rick. What did they say?”

Jaclyn shook her head. “Nothing, but Marc thinks Rick’s words made an impression on them. Today’s practice should be interesting.”

“I hope so.” Marilyn cradled her coffee mug. The ceramic surface was warm against her palms. “They should know Rick and I didn’t ask the media to spy on us and gossip about our lives.”

“You’re right.” Jaclyn reached across the table to squeeze Marilyn’s forearm. Her smile didn’t conceal the concern in her eyes. “How are you holding up?”

Marilyn sat back in the chair and crossed her legs, trying to appear as confident and in control as the women seated in front of her. “I’ll be better once Rick and I can respond to Jordan Hyatt’s lies. I’ve done some Internet searches. So far, I haven’t learned anything helpful, though. Have you?”

Andrea gave a wry smile. “Our target is on LinkedIn, Twitter, and Facebook. And she’s very chatty. I’ve learned quite a bit about her.”

Jaclyn shifted in her seat to face the reporter. “Like what?”

Andrea pulled her notebook from her large, brown bag. She turned several sheets before stopping on a page. “She’s thirty-four years old, the youngest of three children, all daughters. Grew up in Rutherford, New Jersey. Graduated with a degree in business from Rutgers University.”

Marilyn gasped. “That’s Rick’s alma mater.”

Andrea’s sherry gaze found Marilyn over the top of her notebook. “I know.” The reporter returned her attention to her notebook. “She lives alone and hasn’t had a serious relationship in—and I quote—‘more years than I want to count.’ ”

Jaclyn pounced on the quote. “If she hasn’t had a serious relationship in years, is she claiming the father of her unborn child was a one-night stand?”

Marilyn wanted to pace the diner. She settled for uncrossing her legs. “But according to her, she and Rick have been together for months, so which one is it? Has she been in a serious relationship with my husband or has she been alone?”

Andrea raised her mug. “She does seem to be contradicting herself.”

“Now even the fans have turned against him.” Marilyn hugged her arms around herself. “Why would that woman claim to be pregnant with my husband’s baby? What does she want?”

“So you
don’t
believe her.” Jaclyn sounded relieved.

Marilyn shot her attention to the Monarchs’ franchise owner. “Of course not. I know my husband.” Even as she said it, traitorous thoughts invaded her mind.
You thought you knew your father, too, but he’s cheated. Is there any man you can trust?

She shook her head to silence the poisonous voice.

Andrea shifted her gaze from Jaclyn to Marilyn. “Has Jordan Hyatt or her lawyer contacted Rick?”

Marilyn frowned. “No. Would that prove she’s lying?”

Andrea shook her head. “As you asked earlier, the question isn’t whether Jordan Hyatt is lying. The question is what does she want? Money? Notoriety? And how long is she willing to keep up her charade?”

Marilyn worried her lower lip. How much more of this could she and Warrick take? “When Rick and I were first dating there would be occasional interviews at the arena. Now almost every afternoon and some mornings, the cameras gather outside our home. Neither of us had imagined that, barely two years later, we’d experience this level of media pressure.”

“I know it’s not fair.” There was empathy in Jaclyn’s cinnamon eyes. “Our players’ fame helps with ticket sales. But it’s a lot to ask of their families.”

Andrea folded her forearms on the table. “The media’s in a constant race to break the biggest news story first. A star player’s infidelity is a big story. But the press was wrong to run with only Jordan Hyatt’s claim. We don’t even know who she is.”

Jaclyn sat forward. “Rick loves you, Mary. A lot.”

“I know. And I love him. It’s the situation that’s making me unhappy.” Marilyn sighed. “This isn’t what we envisioned for our marriage. At least it’s not what I thought it would be like. Perhaps I was naive.”

Andrea spread her arms. “Does anyone know what to expect when they marry a celebrity?”

Marilyn stared blindly at her coffee. “We’d only been dating for three months when he began hinting at marriage. But I wasn’t sure. I knew I loved him, but I wanted a little more time. Marriage is a big commitment.”

Jaclyn looked at the four-carat monarch cut diamond engagement ring on her finger. “Yes, it is.”

Marilyn admired the ring, too. “I’m certain you and Marc will be very happy together. You have a lot in common and you know what to expect from each others’ careers.”

Jaclyn gave her a wry smile. “It’s still a life-changing decision.”

Marilyn nodded. “Before we were married, Rick convinced me to move in with him. But it’s not that big of a step from living together to getting married.”

Andrea glanced at Jaclyn before returning her attention to Marilyn. “Troy’s been talking about moving in together.”

A smile tugged on Marilyn’s lips. “Are you ready to be Mrs. Troy Marshall?”

Andrea’s eyes widened with concern. “I’m still trying to rebuild my career.”

Marilyn chuckled. “The day we returned from our honeymoon, Rick wanted to talk about starting a family.”