Keeping Score

In silence, he walked with DeMarcus to his black BMW. He deactivated the alarm and they tossed their suitcases into his trunk. “Which way?”

DeMarcus circled the car to the passenger side. “Take the Jackie Robinson to Eastern Parkway.”

Warrick made certain his coach was buckled in to his seat before exiting the garage and pointing his car toward the parkway. The four-door sedan felt a little smaller with the larger-than-life presence of the Mighty Guinn.

A tense silence lasted the first few miles as Warrick drove out of Queens toward DeMarcus’s Park Slope, Brooklyn, neighborhood.

Finally, DeMarcus spoke. “You were pretty quiet after the game last night.”

Warrick kept his eyes on the road. Freeway traffic was heavy at nine o’clock on a Saturday morning. “Not much to say.”

“Not much to say or no one to say it to?”

Warrick didn’t answer that.

DeMarcus continued. “You fought two teams to get to the finals—the Waves and your own.”

Warrick couldn’t ignore that. “We’re playing like a team again. We lost last night, but the series is tied. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“That’s because you wouldn’t let the other guys continue to shut you out of the team. You have a lot of heart.”

Warrick felt DeMarcus’s eyes boring in to the side of his head. What did his coach expect him to say? “I don’t know about that.”

“I do.” DeMarcus shifted in his seat. “When I played for the Waves and we were making our first championship run, the media turned their spotlight on me, just like they’re focusing on you now.”

“I remember that.” Warrick shifted in his seat to ease the tightness in his back.

DeMarcus looked away from Warrick. “My teammates tried to shut me out as well.”

Surprise loosened the muscles in his upper body. “Even Marlon Burress?”

DeMarcus chuckled. “No, not Marl. He was the only one who didn’t shun me.”

“Why?” Warrick saw the grin that spread across DeMarcus’s face.

“In his mind, Marl is always the center of attention.” There was affection in DeMarcus’s voice for his longtime friend and former teammate.

Warrick smiled. “I can believe that.”

DeMarcus sobered. “Like you, I wanted the title too much to let my teammates’ jealousy get in my way.

Warrick checked his car’s mirrors and his blind spot before switching lanes. They were getting closer to the Eastern Parkway exit. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I know what you’re going through.”

Warrick caught the exit, then maneuvered the weekend traffic as he mulled over DeMarcus’s statement. Silence again settled in the car for several miles.

“Turn right at the next light.” DeMarcus moved in his seat. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Warrick checked traffic before switching lanes. “That the Mighty Guinn—three-time MVP, two-time NBA champion, and Olympic gold medalist—can understand what a mere mortal is going through?”

“Sarcasm. That’s good.”

“Sorry.” Warrick tossed out the word without conviction.

“Sometimes I forget that you even have any emotions. You should show them more often.”

Warrick glanced at his coach and found the other man watching him intently. “Seriously?”