Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

“We can’t.” Warrick shut down that option before it gained traction.

He avoided looking at Jamal. The rookie’s tension spiked each time he was reminded the shortened playbook was for his benefit. Warrick didn’t want the young player’s confidence shaken on the court.

DeMarcus pinned him with his coal black gaze. “Rick, you need to get into Burress’s head.”

Warrick’s brows knitted. “How, Coach?”

“You know Burress’s game better than anyone else.” DeMarcus was impatient. “You know him better than his mother.”

Vincent clamped a hand around Warrick’s right arm. He gestured across the Waves’ arena, drawing Warrick’s attention to Burress. The Waves player stood with his team on the other side of the court. “Be Burress.”

Warrick stilled. He understood what he needed to do. He’d always depended on physical ability and mental strategy to earn victories. Now he had to take his game to another dimension. He had to tap into a skill he’d never exploited before. His teammates needed it. His coach demanded it. But could he do it?

The buzzer sounded.

He was about to find out.

Vincent inbounded the ball over the Waves’ Chad Erving. The game clock restarted. The shot clock counted down from twenty-four. Serge worked his way to the post. The Waves’ Jarrod Cheeks defended him. Jamal took the left perimeter as Walter Millbank followed him. Warrick made his way to the right perimeter. Burress covered him like body odor.

Anthony couldn’t break free of the Waves’ Phillip Hawk. He tossed the ball to Warrick. Warrick used his back to block Burress. He stepped into the open lane and claimed the pass. Gripping the ball with his fingertips, he spun to face Burress. He stared into the other man’s fevered eyes. He gave the Waves’ point guard a small smile. It was a little amused and a bit mean. Burress’s eyes widened, then narrowed.

That got your attention.

Warrick would have powered through his defender on the inside for a run at the basket. Burress knew that. His body signaled he anticipated the move. But Warrick had gotten into Burress’s head. He’d read his thoughts and knew his intentions. Warrick dribbled once, feinted right, then danced a tightrope around Burress’s weak side. He sprang from the court. His jump shot rippled the net. Monarchs 110, Waves 105. Fifty-nine seconds left to the game.

The Waves’ Erving claimed the ball. He advanced it up court at lightning pace. The Waves needed time to close the score.

The Monarchs couldn’t allow that.

Staying in character, Warrick channeled Burress’s trash-talking. “Everybody’s going to know my name tonight.”

Burress cut Warrick a look, part surprise, part anger. “I doubt it. No one remembers second best.”

Warrick laughed. He fed off the power of getting under the other man’s skin.

From the sidelines, DeMarcus urged the Monarchs to a faster pace. Warrick played through the fire in his knees and the knots in his back. The Waves center pitched the ball to Walter Millbank. Jamal missed the block but pressured his man in the paint. Unable to take the shot, Millbank bounced it to Burress. Eighteen seconds remained on the shot clock, fifty-six seconds on the game clock.

Warrick moved in hard on Burress, careful not to draw a foul. Funny how silent the Waves’ point guard became when he played offense. Burress feinted inside. Warrick anticipated the trickery. Quick as a thought, he blocked Burress on the outside. Burress stumbled but protected the possession. Fifteen seconds on the shot clock.

Burress moved up to draw a charge. Warrick inched back to avoid the foul. He saw the exact instant when Burress realized he was mirroring him. Awareness dropped into his eyes, followed by anger. Warrick gave him the smile, part humor, part meanness. Burress came at him. Warrick planted his feet. Burress’s shoulder drove into his chest. Warrick allowed himself to fall to the court.

The referee blew his whistle. “Offensive foul. Number thirty-two.” That was Burress’s third foul. Three more and the point guard would find himself on the bench. The tables were turning.

The shot clock reset. The game clock drained to forty-seven seconds.

Vincent extended a hand to help Warrick to his feet. The center didn’t say a word, but his brown eyes gleamed with laughter. Warrick inclined his head. He arched a brow at the now furious Burress, one more dig before ambling to the free throw line. Warrick bounced the ball three times for luck. The first shot dove through the net, accompanied by boos and catcalls from the Waves’ fanatics. The second shot wheeled around the rim before dropping into the basket.

The Waves’ Erving grabbed the ball. Vincent guarded him, trying to slow the pace.

And so the dance continued as the game clock wound down. Each time the Miami Waves scored, the Monarchs responded. Burress grew increasingly agitated by the mental game, sending Warrick to the free throw line twice more. He had one foul to give before he was benched.

Warrick came off the charity line. Monarchs 116, Waves 110. The shot clock turned off. The game clock restarted with eight seconds left. The Waves’ Millbank advanced the ball to Erving. The center took off up the court. The Monarchs couldn’t take the pressure off the other team. They had to play hard to the buzzer.

In his peripheral vision, Warrick monitored Vincent and Serge as they blocked their assignments from the basket. He guarded Burress in the paint, keeping his eyes on the ball. Five seconds on the game clock.

Warrick spread his arms wide. “Watch and learn.”

A muscle jumped in Burress’s jaw but he remained silent. He stepped back, preparing for a three-point shot. Warrick gave him just enough room—but not too much. Burress went high. Warrick jumped higher. He slapped the ball away. Anthony caught the rebound and flung it to Vincent. Two seconds on the game clock.