Keeping Score
“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.