Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Jamal gaped. “Roger hasn’t played since the first half, Coach. It’s going to take him a minute to warm up.”

“He has thirty seconds.” DeMarcus was grim. “Rick, take Tony’s free throws. Make them. We’re down by four. There’s seventy-one seconds on the clock. Manage the game.”

Warrick hooked his hands on his hips. “We’re playing tight.”

DeMarcus frowned. “What do you suggest?”

Warrick looked across the court at the Nuggets. They were a younger team. But where Denver had speed and endurance, Brooklyn had heart.

He challenged his teammates with a grin. “Let’s have some fun.”

Vincent nodded. “We’ve got your back, Rick.”

Jamal’s eyes lit up. “Take us home, Superstar.”

The referee whistled the game back in. Warrick took to the free throw line and made both baskets. Nuggets 103, Monarchs 101. One minute and eleven seconds.

The Nuggets’ Ely took possession of the ball. The shot clock reset. Ely jogged down court. Vincent guarded him close. He bent his knees and spread his arms wide. Ely advanced midcourt. He kicked the ball to Martin. Warrick stepped into the open lane and plucked the ball midair. He blew by Martin and Ely. In his peripheral vision, he tagged Jamal on his right and sent the rookie a no-look pass. Jamal stuffed the basket to tie the game at 103 with one minute on the game clock.

The Monarchs never looked back.

They kept just ahead of the Nuggets, 111 to 109. The game clock drew down to twelve seconds and the final possession of the game. The Nuggets’ Ely sprinted up court. The shot clock turned off. The Monarchs set up the triangle defense, luring him deeper into the paint—keeping the Nuggets away from the perimeter and a three-point shot that would win them the game.

Ely pitched the ball to Gallinari, who spun toward the net for the fade away. Serge sprang into the air and rejected the shot. Nuggets fans wailed their dismay.

Jamal picked up possession.

Nine seconds.

“Table!” Warrick shouted.

Jamal hesitated before heaving the ball to a wide-open Roger, who’d replaced Anthony. Roger flew down court. The Nuggets’ Forbes closed in from behind.

Seven seconds on the clock.

The Monarchs hustled across the hardwood. Forbes stretched forward and slapped the ball from Roger. Monarchs fans screamed.

Denver’s Gallinari claimed the ball on a bounce. He pivoted on one leg and sent it back to Martin. Warrick ignored his swelling knees. He slid into the lane. His right arm shot out, stealing the ball inches from the Nuggets’ Martin.

Four seconds on the clock.

Warrick steadied himself. He dribbled once and stepped up to the perimeter line.

Two seconds on the clock. The arena silenced. The air stilled. His vision narrowed to the net.

Warrick held his breath, leaped into the air, and sent a rainbow to the basket. The buzzer sounded as the ball reached its highest arc. Its echo held on as the ball descended and slipped inside the rim. Three points. Nothing but net.

Monarchs 114, Nuggets 109.

Warrick released his breath and sank to his knees.

The Monarchs’ bench cleared, sweeping DeMarcus along and raising him to their shoulders. Serge and Jamal raised Warrick from the court and settled him onto their shoulders. Warrick threw back his head and laughed. Confetti fell from the rafters. Balloons lifted to the ceiling. The sound system blared Lady Gaga’s “Glory.”

Warrick raised his gaze to the visiting owner’s suite. Inside, Jaclyn, Julian, Althea, and the Monarchs Wives Club were dancing and jumping around. Marilyn blew kisses through the glass.

The Monarchs were National Basketball Association Champions. Warrick raised his fists and roared in victory.

“Why do they keep playing that video?” Marilyn wiggled closer to Warrick as they lay together in the hotel bed. She buried her face in his bare chest to avoid watching the third replay of her Olivia Newton-John impersonation on the news. Her body warmed again as she inhaled his scent, sex and sandalwood.