“Nice shot, Trademark.” Warrick added applause to his praise.
Troy grabbed his own rebound, then turned to face the Monarchs’ point guard on the court of the team’s practice facility.
He checked the clock on the facility’s far wall. It was after six-thirty on Wednesday evening. “What are you doing here so late?” Troy flung the ball toward Warrick.
Warrick caught the pass, considered the basket, hopped, then sunk a jumper from beyond the perimeter ring. “No one to rush home to. I thought I’d come here to work off some extra energy before I went home.”
Troy collected the basketball from the court as it bounced toward him. He wasn’t anxious to spend the rest of the evening in his own company, either. Like Warrick, he’d come to the practice facility to work out.
“When last did you hear from Mary?” If only he’d been able to stop the Monarchs Insider sooner.
“She finally answered my call this morning. She said she needed more time.” Warrick dragged his right hand over his clean-shaven head. “It’s been a month.”
It was closer to three weeks, but Troy knew how Warrick felt. He hadn’t spoken to Andrea in two days; it felt like a week. “More time for what?”
Warrick shrugged. “To think things through. How much time does she need?”
Troy knew the question wasn’t directed at him. “I’m sorry, man.” He plucked his silver Monarchs T-shirt, damp with perspiration, from his torso and rubbed his sweaty forearm across his brow. “I’m sorry about the loss last night, too.” Now the Monarchs were tied with the New York Knicks at two games a piece in the seven-game series.
Warrick turned. He wandered off the court to the bleachers. “Another reason I’m not eager to sit alone at home. As company, my own thoughts would suck.”
T
roy tossed the ball into a black wire cart filled with other basketballs before following his friend across the court. “The team is playing better since you’ve worked Jamal into the games.” Troy sat beside the other man. “You’re playing more like a team. Barron wouldn’t do that.”
Warrick shrugged. “Barron brought a different chemistry to the game.”
Troy studied the other man, puzzling his relationship with the rookie. “Jamal looks up to Barron, but you’re the one who’s helping him.”
Warrick frowned at a spot across the court. “Barron leads by example. Jamal needs more help finding his way.”
“But you’re helping him even though he talks trash about you in the media. And to your face. How can you overlook that?”
“Consider the source. Jamal’s insecure.” Warrick chuckled. “He’s also impatient. He thinks he can build his NBA legacy overnight.”
Troy stood to pace. “But he’s trying to build it by attacking yours. How can you forgive him?”
Warrick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. The intensity in his brown eyes made Troy pause. “Jamal isn’t in control of my game. I am. What matters to me at the end of my day are my stats. Am I winning or am I losing? Everything else is noise.”
Troy adjusted the waistband of his baggy black shorts before sitting back down. “Jamal’s lucky he chose to target you instead of Barron.”
Warrick laughed. “That’s true.”
Troy stared across the court, considering Warrick’s words. His body began to cool and his skin was starting to dry.
The point guard was right. Warrick was in control of his game. That’s why Jamal’s criticisms didn’t affect him. Just as Jaclyn was confident of her basketball skills, which is the reason she recovered from Andrea’s damaging article. Did Troy have the confidence to put the past and his ex-wife’s offenses behind him?
Warrick’s words interrupted Troy’s thoughts. “I liked the article Andrea wrote about Barron going into rehab. It was really good.”
“Yes, it was.” Troy sensed Warrick looking at him.
“That wasn’t exactly a ringing endorsement. What’s wrong?”
Troy took a breath, drawing in the sharp scent of polished wood. “She broke up with me.”
“Over the story about Barron?”
Troy nodded. “I asked her not to write it. She said I should have trusted her.”