Keeping Score
Marilyn stepped back. “You expected me to take a leap of faith in you, but you’re the one who walked away. You’re still walking away.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Fight.” She fisted her hands. “If our marriage means anything to you, fight for it.”
Pain and anger darkened his features. “I have been fighting to save our marriage ever since you asked for a divorce three weeks ago. I’d have saved myself a lot of trouble if I’d given it to you.” Warrick climbed into his BMW and drove away.
Frozen, Marilyn could only watch him. She’d come to bring her husband home. Instead he’d driven farther away.
20
“After a surprising game-one win Wednesday, the Monarchs took a loss tonight.” Kirk West of the New York Horn was barely visible in the throng of national and international reporters in the Denver Nuggets media room. “Did the Jordan Hyatt interview discussing your tattoo have anything to do with your poor performance?”
“No.” Warrick stared down at the sports reporter from the podium in front of the stuffy, overcrowded room Friday.
He’d known one of the reporters would ask that question during this postgame conference in Denver’s arena. The Monarchs had stunned the Nuggets on their home court during the first game of the NBA finals best-of-seven series Wednesday night. However, they’d failed to capitalize on that win tonight. Still the media spotlight remained on his bedroom.
Troy Marshall stepped to the front of the room and waved an arm to claim the reporters’ attention. “Let’s limit the questions to what happened on the court tonight.”
Kirk looked smug. “But last Saturday’s interview with Ms. Hyatt may have had something to do with what happened on the court.”
“It didn’t.” Troy’s tone was clipped.
A young female reporter toward the back of the room popped up from her chair. “Rick, how’s your marriage?”
With an effort, Warrick held on to his patience. “I’m here to talk about basketball, tonight’s game in particular. Does anyone have any questions about that?”
A graying gentleman with dark circles under his eyes pushed himself from his seat in one of the middle rows. “You seemed distracted tonight. What was on your mind?”
All variations of the theme. “The game.” Warrick stepped away from the podium. Troy joined him as he left the room. “I’m not doing any more of those.”
Troy tossed him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Rick. But you have to do them. League rules.”
Warrick’s muscles tensed as he strode with Troy down the hall toward the arena’s parking lot. “The rules don’t specify that I’m the one who has to talk with them.”
“All right. We’ll let Marc handle them from now on.” Troy braced a hand on Warrick’s shoulder.
The memory of his head coach during past postgame interviews tugged a smile from Warrick’s lips. “I don’t know who to feel sorry for, Coach or the media.”
Troy’s tone was dry. “Pity the media. But they brought it on themselves.”
Warrick chuckled. “Payback’s sweet.”
The next morning, after the long, uncomfortable flight from Denver, Warrick made his way to the New York airport’s parking garage. Still groggy from the nonstop commercial flight, he searched for his car keys. Since he’d checked in to a hotel near the airport, at least he wouldn’t have far to drive.
DeMarcus caught Warrick’s shoulder. “Could you give me a ride home?”
Warrick stopped. A survey of the baggage area located Jaclyn exiting the terminal alone. “You usually ride with Jackie.”
“I need to check on my father.”
That still didn’t explain why he wasn’t riding with Jaclyn. DeMarcus’s body language was relaxed. His eye contact was direct. It didn’t seem as though the couple had argued. So why weren’t they driving home together? It wasn’t his business.
“Sure, I’ll take you home.”
DeMarcus fell into step beside him. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” He wouldn’t think about the journey ahead, thirty minutes to DeMarcus’s house, then thirty minutes back to his hotel. So much for the convenient commute.