Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)
“I haven’t figured that out yet. But I don’t want to raise our children in the media spotlight.”
Warrick caught his breath at the image her words painted. He wanted to raise a family with Marilyn so badly he could taste it. But he also wanted to play basketball. “I’m not ready to give up my career, Mary. The Monarchs have a chance to win it all. That doesn’t happen every season.”
“I’m not asking you to retire this minute. You could retire after the finals.”
He was glad she believed the Monarchs would make it to the finals. But he didn’t want a combination championship-retirement party. “Michael Jordan has six championship rings, and he and his wife raised a family.”
She gave him a flat look. “You’re not Michael Jordan and I’m not his wife.”
“You’re the one who brought up Jordan.”
Marilyn threw up her arms. “That’s because you want to be just like Mike.”
Warrick shook his head in denial and frustration. “Now who’s putting words in whose mouth? I’ve wanted to play pro ball my whole life. Of course I want a championship ring. Who doesn’t want to be the best in his field?”
“But you don’t need a ring to prove how good you are. There are plenty of athletes in the Hall of Fame who don’t have a ring.”
Warrick rubbed his forehead. She was guessing, but she was right. “Once a celebrity, always a celebrity.”
“What does that mean?”
“Retirement didn’t end the media’s fascination with Jordan. They still follow him around. And he’s not the only celebrity parent on the planet. There are plenty of them.”
“I never wanted us to be among them.” Marilyn dropped her gaze. “You’re not giving me much hope.”
“And you aren’t giving me any.” Warrick turned and marched out of the room.
As irritated as he felt, walking away from her tonight was hard. He’d never be able to walk away from her for forever.
7
Nine o’clock in the morning was late enough for the sun to put pressure on Warrick as he jogged beside the Monarchs’ franchise owner, Jaclyn Jones. He was dragging. He hadn’t gotten to bed until after two in the morning and even then he’d had a restless night. But he’d been doing this morning jog—usually around the Empire Arena with Jaclyn—every day for the past twelve years. They had an agreement that, if she was at the arena by nine o’clock, they’d run together. If not, it was understood Warrick shouldn’t wait for her.
“How’s your back?” Jaclyn ran beside him. At six-foot-one, the former Women’s National Basketball Association shooting guard was still in game shape although she’d retired from the game years ago.
“Better.” Warrick’s pace was slightly slower on the mornings he ran with Jaclyn. Speed wasn’t the point. He was running for distance and aerobic endurance. He’d work on his time splits later in the afternoon.
“It healed overnight? That’s incredible.”
Warrick gave her a suspicious look. Her neon yellow T-shirt was almost brown with sweat. “I’ll be one hundred percent by Thursday’s game.”
“Tomorrow night? That’s nothing short of a miracle.”
Did he detect mockery in her tone? “What’s your point, Jackie?”
“Nothing.” She gave him an innocent look that wouldn’t have fooled anyone. “I’m just surprised that your back took you out of the game last night, but this morning you’re doing laps around the marina and vowing to be in playing shape tomorrow.”
Warrick controlled the tension in his voice. “We’re lucky to have good trainers. Between the ice and massage, my back’s a lot looser. Mary gave me a massage last night, too.”
Jaclyn’s eyes widened. “Is that a good sign?”
Warrick wiped the sweat from his brow. “She doesn’t think so.”
“I’m sorry.” Jaclyn sounded almost as disappointed as Warrick felt.
“So am I.”
They continued in silence for several feet. The quiet between them was introspective but comfortable. Warrick breathed easily—a deep breath in, a long breath out. The air was salty from the marina. The cool sea breeze regulated his body temperature. Warrick leaned forward as they came to the first short incline. The strain pulled at his quads and his glutes. He picked up the pace of his breathing.