Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Warrick’s spine stiffened. How dare someone threaten his wife. “You aren’t causing disruptions. The hospital’s patients are.”

Marilyn stared at the remains of her food. “I wish things would go back to normal and everyone would just leave us alone.”

Warrick rubbed his forehead. “It doesn’t matter what people say outside our marriage. I’m the only person who can tell you how to be my wife. And you’re the only person who can tell me what you need in a husband.”

She stood. Her body seemed tired. “What I need in a husband is not to have to share him with eight million other people. Can you give me that?”

She wasn’t the only one who wanted things to return to normal. How many more times would they have this same argument? Warrick implored, “What can I say or do to convince you that you’re not?”

/> Defeat clouded her chocolate eyes. Warrick wanted to demand she not give up on him, on them. Instead, he watched her walk away.

If she couldn’t tell him what she wanted to hear, how would he know what he needed to say?

Warrick stacked the tray with their breakfast dishes and carried it into the kitchen. He’d stopped defending himself to others long ago. He’d realized in high school that neither reasons nor excuses would persuade his parents to believe in him. What made him think he could persuade his wife?

9

The Monarchs had split their home games against the Miami Waves in the Eastern Conference Championship series. Warrick had hoped to win both of them. He stood in the locker room of the Empire Arena where he and his teammates had retreated after the slaughter that was game four. He’d showered and was halfway dressed. But their fans’ jeers and boos still thundered in his brain. His ears should be bleeding.

It was well after eleven o’clock Thursday night. His body was exhausted from the thrashing Marlon Burress and his Waves had dealt him during this fourth game of the best-of-seven series. But he knew his mind wouldn’t let him sleep when he got home. He’d relive this loss in his nightmares.

“What’s going on in your head, man?” Jamal’s tone punched at Warrick.

Warrick met the rookie’s angry eyes over his left shoulder. “Probably the same thing that’s going through yours.”

Jamal grunted. “You’re not living up to your media hype, superstar.”

Ice settled in Warrick’s stomach. He’d never asked for reporters to focus on him and forget the team. “I know I didn’t play my best game tonight. I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t play your best game?” Jamal snorted. “You played like shit.”

“So did you, Jamal.” DeMarcus stormed into the locker room like a thundercloud. His presence increased the tension by a factor of ten.

Jamal spun toward the team’s first-year head coach. “Rick’s buying into his media hype.”

“He thinks he’s our savior.” The disgust in Anthony’s olive eyes chilled Warrick. “As if all he has to do is walk onto the court and he’ll bring home the trophy.”

DeMarcus’s anger was unmistakable as he addressed the forward. He lifted his left hand and spread his fingers. “There are five men per team on the court at any one time. Where the hell were the rest of you?”

Jamal jutted his chin. “Rick needs to stop thinking about the hype and get in the game.”

Fire burned in DeMarcus’s gaze as it took in the players. “The team is more than one man. All of you need to get your heads in the game.”

Warrick froze. After benching him at the beginning of the season, DeMarcus was the last person he’d expected to defend him. In fact, he wasn’t used to anyone defending him. He forced himself to continue buttoning his shirt. The task was difficult as shock had rendered his fingers numb.

Anthony jerked on his shirt. “We’re not the ones the media is treating like the second coming of the Messiah.”

Jamal tossed a sneer over his shoulder at Warrick. “You ain’t got game.”

Every game, he did his best. Sometimes it was enough; sometimes it wasn’t. Tonight, it hadn’t been and he’d be the first to admit it.

DeMarcus hooked his hands on his hips. “Rick’s game wasn’t the worst tonight. You have that honor, rookie.”

Serge tied his shoelaces, then stood. “Barron was supposed to be starting in this series.”

The Frenchman’s words blindsided him. Warrick opened his mouth to say something—anything.

But DeMarcus spoke first. “Barron took himself out of the play-offs so he could get well. Was his absence the reason for your poor performance?”