Fast Break (Brooklyn Monarchs 1)

DeMarcus closed his eyes, absorbing the words that never lost their value. “Thanks, Pop.” He hefted his bag from his hotel bed. “I’d better check out of the hotel and get the shuttle to the airport.”

“OK. I’ll meet you at JFK. Safe trip.”

DeMarcus confirmed his flight information, then disconnected the call.

His parents had always insisted on picking him up from the airport. DeMarcus treasured the bittersweet memory of them waiting together for him. Now, his father insisted on continuing the tradition alone.

DeMarcus had started across the suite to the door when his cell phone rang again. Was his father calling back? He took the phone from the front pocket of his suit.

He recognized the number. “Hello, Gerry.”

“I thought we had an agreement.” The franchise partner was doing his best mafia impersonation.

DeMarcus folded into the living area’s sofa, settling his travel bag beside his feet. This could take a while. “I told you I wouldn’t deliberately lose.”

“A couple of wins at home are understandable. If you win on the road, you run the risk of rebuilding the team’s momentum. I can’t allow that.”

“I’m not worrying about you. The Monarchs are my responsibility.” In the silence that followed his response, DeMarcus checked his watch. He could give Gerald a couple of minutes before ending the call. The team and the airport shuttle were waiting.

“Do you really want me to leak a story to the media about your drug addiction? Is that what you want?” Gerald’s tone was taunting.

DeMarcus clenched his teeth. I’m proud of you, son. His father’s love and respect were all he needed. What would he do if he lost that?

DeMarcus breathed deeply, easing the pressure in his chest. “If you took that lie to the press, do you think I wouldn’t tell them you’re smearing my reputation because you want to move Brooklyn’s team to Las Vegas?”

Gerald’s chuckle mocked him. “Who do you think they’ll believe? A respectable businessman or yet another drug-dependent athlete?”

DeMarcus shot off the sofa. “Try it.” With that dare, he disconnected the call and exited the room.

He wasn’t going to hand Gerald his self-respect on a silver platter. He put the other man’s threat out of his mind. If Gerald tried to destroy DeMarcus’s family’s name, he knew his father would support him. He could only hope the community would do the same.

Jaclyn practically floated up to the shuttle she’d arranged to transport her and the team to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. DeMarcus stood beside her. She clasped her hands together to keep from touching him—part excitement from the win and part reaction to the way he looked in that sexy Italian suit. As the team arrived, Jaclyn stepped forward to congratulate each sharp-dressed player and coach as they boarded the vehicle.

“Great pass,” she praised Vincent Jardine, the quiet center who’d made the winning play.

“Nice shot,” she said to Jamal Ward, the hotdogging rookie who’d scored the winning basket.

“Good game,” she cheered Barron Douglas. The team captain had shown strong leadership on the court.

“I’m not trading you,” she told Serge Gateau, who’d protected the ball—and their win—in the final second of the game.

“Great defense,” she complimented Warrick Evans. The shooting guard had spent most of the final two quarters on the bench. But his defense in the first half of the game had positioned the team to win.

Jaclyn made a mental note to talk with DeMarcus about benching Warrick, but not while they were surrounded by players and coaches. She slid a sideways glance toward the head coach, who stood by her side, watching the exchanges. She’d wait until they were alone.

“Good game,” she told Anthony Chambers. The forward had managed incredible acrobatics at the net despite being double-teamed for most of the game.

Jaclyn preceded DeMarcus onto the shuttle and waited for the players and coaches to settle into their seats. “As I said at the beginning of the season, we’ve had a couple of tough years. But I believe in this team.” She met the eyes of each player, starters and bench, and every coach. “I believe in you. And tonight, you proved me right. You played like champions. You played with heart and snapped the twenty-three-game losing streak that we’d carried over from last season. I have faith that, at the end of this season, you’re going to bring the trophy to Brooklyn.”

The shuttle swayed a bit as the team accompanied its thunderous cheers with foot stomping and hand clapping. She felt DeMarcus’s hand at her waist to steady her. Still, Jaclyn sat before she lost her footing.

“No wonder the team loves you.” There was humor in DeMarcus’s voice that belied the clouds in his coal black eyes. What was on his mind?

“And I love the team.” She shifted in her seat to better study him. He was sexy in the warm-up suits he favored. But he was incredible in the black Italian suit, white shirt and silver tie he’d worn tonight. He’d been a distraction to her during the game.

Jaclyn lowered her voice. “Did the players give you a hard time because of the newspaper article?”

He shrugged. “Practice was awkward at first, but it blew over.”