Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Emma Mane had been Marilyn’s best friend since college. She gave man haters everywhere a bad name. What was she telling Marilyn while his wife was deciding whether to stay with him or leave? The possibilities made his blood run cold. Still, the fact Marilyn hadn’t asked for a divorce after four weeks with Emma told Warrick their love could survive an apocalypse. Why couldn’t Marilyn see that?

Warrick unclenched his jaw. “How much longer are you going to keep us apart, Mary?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know.” Warrick dragged a hand over his scalp. If he hadn’t already shaved his head, he’d have ripped his hair out by the roots. Marilyn sounded like a broken record and the lyrics were worse than the bubblegum pop she enjoyed.

He exhaled a soul-deep sigh, trying to lessen the pain that threatened to bring him to his knees. “You don’t know how long it will take to decide whether you can live with me. You don’t know what to do about us. What do you know?”

“I know this situation would be a lot easier if I weren’t still in love with you.”

The words weren’t enough anymore. “If you love me, come home.”

She shook her head, tangling her hair even more. “I don’t know if I can live with you and the media.”

“Then what was this?” He nodded toward the kitchen table and gestured toward the floor. “What were we doing here?”

Color darkened Marilyn’s brown cheeks. “I do love you, Rick. But I don’t know if love is enough.”

Her words were a sucker punch. Warrick struggled to stay upright and breathing. What more did he have to do to prove he was worth loving?

“Not enough for what?” His voice was raspy with fear. Could she hear it?

“I’d never planned to live my life in the spotlight. I don’t want strangers judging me, my husband, or our marriage.”

“I can’t control the media, Mary, no matter how much I want to.”

“I understand. That’s why I have to decide whether I can live under this constant pressure. What will it do to our marriage? What will it do to us?”

Warrick fisted his hands in the front pockets of his khakis. Were these Marilyn’s words or Emma’s influence? “I think our marriage is worth fighting for. Do you?”

She wrapped her hands around her arms. “How do you fight the media? Troy tried and lost his job.”

Troy Marshall, the Brooklyn Monarchs’ vice president of media and marketing, had had a tough time with the increased press scrutiny as the team had entered the play-offs for the first time in fifteen years.

Warrick closed the gap between him and his wife. “But he kept fighting until he got his job back.”

Marilyn waved her arm in an agitated gesture. “Thanks to that newspaper reporter, Andrea Benson.”

Troy and Andrea had jumped through a lot of hoops to find their happily-ever-after. In contrast, Warrick and Marilyn’s love story had been a slam dunk—until recently. Had their easy courtship made him too confident about their marriage?

Warrick ran his hand over his head again. His fingers shook just a bit. “They make a good team. I think we do, too.”

Frustration swept across Marilyn’s features. “I don’t want to be judged by people, like when the Monarchs Insider wrote that I ‘wasn’t worthy to be seen on a professional athlete’s arm.’”

Warrick’s jaw clenched. He’d never get over his anger with the blogger who’d called herself the Monarchs Insider. She’d posted insults about his wife on the Internet, causing them both pain.

“Honey, I’m sorry about that blog, but it was written by a jealous woman with an ax to grind.”

Marilyn turned away. Her voice was sad. “And hundreds of readers agreed with her.”

“Don’t let other people come between us, Mary. What they think or say doesn’t matter. All that matters is what we think and what we feel.”

She gave him a cynical smile. “You know you can’t fight public opinion, Rick. How long will it be before you start believing what other people write about us? How long will it be before one of those young, scantily clad women who wait beside the tunnel to your locker room catches your attention?”

This wasn’t Marilyn talking. Emma’s cynicism sounded in those words. “I’ve been walking past those women since I was in college. You’re the one who caught my attention.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “Are you telling me you never slept with any of those groupies?”