Keeping Score (25 page)

17

Warrick froze. “What do you mean?”

Marilyn rolled off him to lie on her back to his right. “I know what you’re doing, Rick. The
Grease
soundtrack, the dancing, breakfast in bed, movie night.”

“I’m wooing my wife. I told you from the beginning that’s what I was doing.” It had seemed like a good idea. Was she telling him it wasn’t working? What should he do now?

“But we danced in the house because your fame would get us trampled at the club. You made me breakfast in bed—”

“It wasn’t breakfast in bed.” Warrick rolled his head on his pillow to look at her. “You’d sneaked downstairs before I could bring it up to you.”

“It was still incredibly sweet. But it was a reminder that, whenever we go out, people continually interrupt us to talk about the team or the game.”

Warrick frowned. “It wasn’t supposed to be a reminder. It was supposed to be romantic.”

“It was.” Marilyn gestured toward the television. “And we had movie night in bed because at the theater, people ask for your autograph.”

“What are you saying, Mary?” Warrick wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“You don’t have to win me over. I’m in love with you. It’s our lifestyle that I’m uncomfortable with.”

“I can’t change that.”

She hesitated. “Is this what you want? Don’t you feel like a prisoner in your own home unable to go out because of fans and the media?”

He’d dreamed of playing in the NBA for as long as he could remember. But in his fantasies, he hadn’t imagined what that achievement would do to his private life. “It’s not an ideal situation. But if it weren’t for the fans, the franchise wouldn’t exist.”

“You’re right.” Marilyn heaved a sigh. “I’ve never experienced so much exposure, though, not even growing up as the daughter of Terrell and Celeste Devry.”

Warrick studied her profile. He could barely make out her features in the gathering dusk. “The media isn’t parked outside our house anymore.”

“No, but we still can’t go out.” She turned to him. “I wish we could go back to the way it used to be when it was just the two of us.”

“So do I.”

“Those days are long gone, though. Aren’t they?” Her voice was soft, wistful.

“They’ll come back. It’ll just take a while.”

Marilyn waited a beat. “Why didn’t you tell me you confronted your teammates in the locker room after the game Wednesday?”

The question blindsided him. Warrick searched his memory. Jaclyn must have told her when they met this morning, which meant DeMarcus had told his fiancée last night. He should have anticipated that. “I didn’t want to talk about the loss.”

“I could tell.” Marilyn prompted him when he remained silent. “Is everything okay with your teammates ?”

Warrick gave a ghost of a smile. “Yes. I think we’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad.” She shifted in the bed. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

Warrick stared at the ceiling. “Oh, yeah?”

“Not many people make it to the NBA and not many NBA players get to their conference championship. You’ve accomplished both. I just wish it hadn’t come at such a high price for us.”

Warrick watched Marilyn adjust the sheet more closely around her. It was like she was putting up a protective shield between them. So much for warm, soft memories as he traveled to Miami. “What can I do to make the situation better, Mary?”

She rubbed a hand over her face. “I don’t know. I just know I want my privacy back, and my career.”

Warrick felt her frustration coming between them. He reached out and, with his index finger under her chin, turned her face back to his. “Just give me until the end of the postseason. Then baseball will start and the cameras will turn to Mariano Rivera and ARod.”

His lips curved as he sensed her confusion. She probably didn’t recognize the names of two of the New York Yankees’ biggest stars. But that wasn’t important now. Her response to his request was. He held his breath and waited for her answer.

“What about next year?” Her voice was a whisper.

Warrick dropped his hand. “I can’t predict what will happen next season.”

“Will the media harass us again? Will all of this start over?”

He went back to staring at the ceiling. “God, I hope not.” Warrick took a risk and reached for her hand. He relaxed when her fingers entwined with his.

Marilyn reached behind her head and pressed the switch on top of the headboard. The light above the bed jumped on. The shadows slid back. “Why haven’t we heard anything else from Jordan Hyatt? What is she waiting for?”

Warrick rose up on his right elbow and studied Marilyn’s illuminated features. “I don’t care about Jordan Hyatt. I care about us.”

Marilyn turned onto her side to face him. “You said that we can’t ignore her and I agree with you. But Andrea and I haven’t found any useful information.”

“That makes three of us.” He lay back down.

Marilyn tensed. “How much longer are we going to wait? She’s granting interviews but we’re not even releasing comments.”

“Something will turn up, Mary. Give us time.”

Marilyn squeezed his hand. “I feel as though we’re running out of time. Game seven is Saturday. Are we going to have to deal with Jordan Hyatt during the finals?”

“I hope not.” The idea made his blood boil.

Marilyn tossed in the bed. “The media is putting enough pressure on us without the Jordan Hyatt story.”

“Don’t let them.” Warrick reached behind his head and pressed the lamp switch. The light winked out and the shadows rolled back deeper than before.

“How do you do that? How are you able to block out the press?”

Warrick rolled his head on the pillow to face her silhouette in the dark. “When you want something badly enough, you make it work. That’s why love is enough for me, Mary. Why isn’t it enough for you?”

He turned onto his side, not waiting for her answer. In the growing silence, he didn’t know what scared him more, that she’d have an answer he didn’t like or that she wouldn’t have an answer at all.

“I’m surprised you went to see Mary yesterday.” Warrick squinted toward the sun as he jogged beside Jaclyn on their regular route along the marina Friday morning. They were nearing the halfway point of their eight-mile jog.

“Why?” Jaclyn sounded a little out of breath, but not enough to prompt Warrick to slow down.

“She doesn’t like you.” He automatically leaned forward and shortened his stride as they climbed the hill.

“She’s not jealous of our friendship anymore.” Jaclyn sounded matter-of-fact. “Besides, she’s a part of the Monarchs family. I should have gone to see her sooner.”

Jaclyn was serious about treating the Monarchs players, executives, staff, and their relatives as one extended family. It was the culture her grandfather and his three franchise partners fostered when they established the franchise almost six decades earlier. Jaclyn worked very hard to continue the tradition.

Sweat rolled down Warrick’s bald pate. He wiped it from his brow without adjusting his pace. “I appreciate your concern, but Mary and I are coping with the situation.”

“Are you sure?”

Warrick felt Jaclyn’s eyes on him, staring as though she hoped to read his mind. He turned toward her and captured her gaze. “Why?”

Marilyn wiped the sweat from her eyes. “Because Mary is depressed. She’s struggling under the strain.”

“And you’re concerned, just like everyone else, that trouble in my marriage is distracting me on the court.” Warrick’s chest compressed with disappointment.

“No.” Jaclyn exhaled as she kept pace with him. “I’m concerned that there’s trouble in your marriage. What can I do to help?”

“Could you get the media to stop stalking me and my wife?” Warrick kept jogging. He led Jaclyn around the loop at the five-mile point of their run.

Jaclyn’s expression was apologetic. “I’m afraid not. I’m sorry, Rick. I know the press is a pain.”

“That’s an understatement.” The marina waters were a brilliant blue this morning. Sunlight danced on their gentle waves. The peaceful scene did nothing to soothe Warrick’s troubled thoughts.

Jaclyn was silent for several strides. “Maybe Mary should stay with your parents while you’re in Miami.”

He gave her a wry look. “If you were me, would you want your spouse to stay with my parents?”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Point taken. Does she have friends she could stay with?”

Warrick banished Emma’s image from his mind. “We’ll figure something out. And hopefully our marriage won’t fall apart in the meantime.”

“What about after the finals?”

Warrick allowed himself a smile. Jaclyn already had them winning the Eastern Conference Championship Saturday and moving on to the finals. “If we win the title this season, great. If not—I don’t know. But I won’t make a championship title a bigger priority than my marriage. I won’t put one ring above the other.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to, Rick. But I think you should consider your decision about next season carefully.” Jaclyn kept pace with him. She caught her breath before speaking again. “You know as well as I do that most athletes don’t get even one shot at a championship ring. Don’t take this opportunity lightly.”

“I’m not.” Warrick matched his strides to Jaclyn’s, trying to slow his pace. “But this is my marriage. I love Mary. I don’t want to lose her.”

“You’d sacrifice your dream of a championship title for your marriage?”

Warrick flicked his friend a look. “I want to be a good husband to Mary first. I can’t be that when I’m the source of the strain on our marriage.”

“But
you’re
not causing the strain. The
media
is. Mary knows that.” Jaclyn’s reasonable tone reminded Warrick of his efforts to explain the media madness to his wife.

“And they’ll continue to be a problem as long as I’m an active player.”

“You mean as long as you’re a public figure, which is what they’ll consider you for the rest of your life.”

“You won’t change my mind, Jackie.”

Jaclyn wiped her upper lip with her right wrist. “Will Mary be all right with you giving up your lifelong dream?”

Warrick recalled an image of Marilyn standing at the top of their staircase the night she’d told him she hoped he got the ring this season so he could retire.

Warrick looked at Jaclyn. “It wouldn’t be her first choice. But I don’t think a divorce would be, either.”

Jaclyn shook her head. “I can’t imagine the Monarchs without you. And I can’t imagine you retiring without at least one ring. I really want that title for you. I’m certain Mary wants that as well. She believes in you, Rick. And she loves you. She wouldn’t want you to retire with regrets.”

The Empire Arena came back into view. Warrick checked his watch. They were going to complete their run in less than fifty minutes.

Warrick wiped the sweat from his brow. “Then I’ve got one of two choices. I can either retire after this season without a ring, if it comes to that. Or I could continue my career until I earn a ring and retire without a wife.” He caught Jaclyn’s eyes. “Which would you choose?”

Jaclyn returned Warrick’s steady stare with one of her own. “The Rick Evans I know would find a way to retire with both.” She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. Was it frustration, perspiration, or both? “When did you become such a defeatist?”

Warrick’s eyes widened. “I—”

“You told me yourself your father didn’t believe you’d make it to the NBA. Well, you did. And several All-Star selections.”

Warrick’s stomach muscles clenched. Mercifully, they were closing in on the arena’s rear parking lot. “What’s your point?”

“You’ll find a way to get the championship ring and keep your wedding ring. I have confidence in you. You need to have confidence in yourself.”

Warrick broke eye contact with his friend and franchise owner. He stared at the arena looming larger as they jogged closer. She made it sound so easy. But it wasn’t just up to him. Other teams would have a say in who won the championship. And Marilyn would have input into whether their marriage was worth saving. Right now, he wasn’t confident in either outcome.

“It’s been a week since Arthur fired me. It feels more like a month.” Marilyn jogged to the end of her first lap of Prospect Park. She veered to the left of a slow-moving older couple just as Emma passed the pair on the right.

“It’s the stress of the unknown. It always makes time seem longer.” Emma’s voice was thin and breathy. But to her credit, she didn’t ask Marilyn to stop before beginning their second lap.

It was still early enough to be cool on this first Saturday in June. Marilyn’s gaze swept over the area. To the right, Prospect Park’s Eastern Parkway entrance was teeming with shoppers from the farmers’ market stands assembled just outside the park.

Marilyn glanced at her watch. It was almost eight-thirty in the morning. In just over eleven hours, the Monarchs would play the seventh and final game of the Eastern Conference Championship. Would they return home winners and prepare for the long-anticipated finals? Or would they lose and begin their off-season? She wanted Warrick to get his championship ring, but what would that mean for them?

She looked toward the Eastern Parkway entrance again. Almost four years ago this month, she’d met Warrick for the first time at the farmers market. They’d both completed their separate runs and were waiting to buy produce from one of the vendors. She hadn’t known who he was. He’d seemed amused—and pleased—by that fact.

Marilyn called herself back to the present and her problems. “I haven’t even received one return phone call or e-mail in response to my job applications.”

Emma panted. “You probably won’t, either.”

Marilyn glanced at her friend. “Why not?”

“Because no one wants to hire someone who’s tainted by scandal.” Emma sounded almost smug. “As long as you and Rick are together, you’ve got two choices.”

“Which are?” Marilyn controlled her increasing agitation with an effort.

“You can either end your career or start your own practice.”

Cyclists flew past them on the trail. More serious runners sped by them. Marilyn veered to the left of two parents with their toddler triplets. Triplets. God bless them.