Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

He gave her a blank look. “What?”

“You’re probably wondering which one to give up, marriage or career?”

His irritation stirred. Maybe she didn’t understand after all. “Which would you choose?”

“Neither.” Jaclyn’s laughter was as carefree as a woman in love. Marilyn used to laugh with him like that. “We’re competitors, Rick. We don’t make choices. We find a way to have it all.”

His smile was reluctant. “How?”

She shrugged and sped up. “The team needs you and you need the team. You want Mary and she still loves you. You just have to convince your teammates and your wife they can’t live without you.”

Warrick wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his left forearm. “You make it sound easy.”

“I know that it’s not. But I also know that both the team and Mary are worth fighting for.”

She was right about that.

Warrick jogged beside his friend and franchise owner. Jaclyn Jones had played to win in the Women’s National Basketball Association. She’d brought that same intensity to the Monarchs’ front office. If she were in his position, she’d find a way to save her marriage and career. Warrick didn’t doubt that. The question was, could he do the same?

“How’s Rick’s back?” Emma took her prepackaged meal from the cafeteria’s microwave oven and peeled the plastic film from its container. Steam and mouth-watering fragrances floated free.

Marilyn led Emma away from the microwaves and found an empty table for them. She removed the lid from her Tupperware bowl and took a moment to savor the scent of her recently reheated leftover spaghetti with ground turkey. “He seems much better.”

At least he’d seemed better last night. He’d been gone before Marilyn had risen that morning.

She stirred her lunch. Her stomach growled, expressing its disapproval of her eating so late. Despite the unconventional lunch hour, the cafeteria was crowded with other hospital staff, medical professionals, and administrators who hadn’t been able to break away before two P.M.

Emma swallowed a forkful of her lasagna. “I heard some of the patients talking about his bad game this morning.”

Marilyn gave the other woman a sharp look. “Did they say anything about the other twelve players on the team?”

“Don’t get defensive.”

Marilyn scowled. “He’s my husband. Why shouldn’t I be defensive?”

Emma pursed her lips. “All they’re saying is that he’s not playing up to his potential.”

“The media wouldn’t be stalking us if he wasn’t one of the best players in the league.” Marilyn twirled her spaghetti around her fork. “That’s the problem. If he was the horrible player these so-called fans seem to think he is, we’d have more privacy.”

Emma swallowed a sip of her diet soda. “Have you talked about this with Rick?”

Marilyn suppressed a frustrated sigh. “I have and he understands, but there’s nothing he can do about it.”

Emma sliced into her lasagna. “Maybe he can get another job.”

Marilyn spun spaghetti onto her fork. “That’s easier said than done, Em.”

“All that you’re asking is for him to get a job that’s not as much in the public eye.” Emma ate more lasagna. “Did you tell him what the clinic partners said?”

“I won’t ask him to change his career to satisfy people he doesn’t even know.” She’d been starving a minute ago; now Marilyn’s appetite was almost gone.

Emma gestured toward Marilyn with her plastic fork. “How about changing his career to satisfy you?”

“I knew what he did for a living before I married him.” Maybe they should change the subject. But she didn’t have anyone else to talk with about this and she really needed a sounding board.

Emma sipped her soda, then lowered the can. “Have you heard from the partners yet?”

Marilyn made herself chew, then swallow the spaghetti. “I don’t know what to make of their silence.” But every time she thought about the partnership, her stomach muscles knotted.