Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

Warrick maneuvered past him and continued talking. “Speaking of reading comprehension, Saint Anthony reads the Bible. A lot.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed at the hated nickname. “I do.”

“And he never misses an opportunity to remind us of his knowledge of the Word. I’ve learned a lot from you, Saint Anthony.”

“I’m glad.” The tension in his tone belied his statement.

Anthony’s attitude disappointed Warrick the most. He could have sworn envy was one of the seven deadly sins. Why was the Bible-quoting starting forward giving him so much grief?

“I’ve learned a person could quote chapter and verse from the Good Book without having a clue of the meaning behind the words.”

“I do know—”

“My favorite quote is from Matthew chapter seven, verse one: ‘Judge not that ye be not judged.’”

He turned from the forward to Serge. “Every season, you ask to be traded to a winning team. You’re on a winning team now, man. Make the most of it.”

Warrick’s gaze passed over Vincent, Darius, Roger, Jarrett, and the rest of the Monarchs’ players. “I’m not going to defend myself, and I wouldn’t ask you to. We’re teammates. There’s only one question we have to ask and answer. Do we have each other’s backs?”

Warrick strode back to his locker, collected his gym bag, then crossed to the door. DeMarcus nodded before holding it open for him.

What did DeMarcus think of the things he’d said to his teammates?

Did it matter?

“See you at practice in the morning, Coach.” Warri

ck left the locker room.

He felt freer, healthier, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Tonight, he was glad he’d spoken his mind to his teammates. Marilyn would say it was long overdue. And she would be right.

But what would be the fallout of his speech and how would it impact the final game of the Eastern Conference Championship on Saturday?

16

Thankfully, the diner near the Empire Arena was almost empty. Marilyn and her companions had missed the Thursday morning breakfast crowd and beat the lunch rush. Still, she kept her voice low as she questioned the two women on the other side of the table. “Why did the other Monarchs freeze Rick out of the game?”

Jaclyn Jones glanced at Andrea Benson. Before either woman could respond, Marilyn spoke again. “Tell me the truth. I attended the game with the other Monarchs wives. I saw what was happening.”

“I know. I saw you.” Jaclyn was stunning in a deep orange dress that hugged her perfect figure. Her dark brown curls cascaded wildly past her shoulders.

“So did I.” Andrea stirred creamer into her coffee. In brown slacks, matching jacket, and tan shell, she made a much quieter appearance than Jaclyn. Still, she exuded a sexy confidence that commanded as much attention as the Monarchs’ owner.

“I’m sure every sports reporter in the arena saw me.” Marilyn couldn’t mask her contempt for the media. “They seemed almost as interested in me as they were in the game. I felt like a specimen on a Petri dish. That’s one of the reasons I’m not reading the paper or listening to the news this morning. I’m tired of their criticisms and innuendos.”

Why hadn’t she received a Google Alert update from her mother? A voice mail message probably was waiting for her at home.

Marilyn returned to the reason she’d asked the two women to join her that morning. “Why were the other players keeping Rick out of the game?”

Andrea laid her teaspoon beside her mug. “Most of the press is giving Rick all the credit for the team’s success. His teammates resent that. They’re taking their jealousy out on him.”

Jaclyn sipped her mug of coffee. “The media’s placing all the blame for the team’s failures on Rick’s shoulders as well.”

Marilyn bristled. “Aren’t these grown men? Why are they acting like spoiled children? Rick wouldn’t talk about it, but I know his teammates’ behavior bothered him.”

The cozy diner was fragrant with the scent of freshly baked pastries. Marilyn’s gaze settled on the display of cookies, brownies, bagels, and muffins. But in her mind’s eye, she saw the expression on Warrick’s face during the game and drive home last night. He’d looked cold, distant—and hurt. She’d felt his pain like a knife in her chest. Marilyn had wanted to rush the court and shake his teammates until their eyes rolled back.

Jaclyn’s voice pulled Marilyn from her thoughts. “Marc told me Rick finally gave the other players a piece of his mind after the game.”