Keeping Score (Brooklyn Monarchs 3)

“Yes. You’re the leader of this team. If you play tight, the team will play tight.”

Warrick’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. “You’re wrong. I’m not a leader.”

“I didn’t think so at first, either. But I was wrong. You’re doing more harm than good by not accepting your role.”

“It’s not my role to accept.” Warrick sat up to take some pressure off his back.

“You’re in the role whether you’ve accepted it or not.” Several silent minutes later, DeMarcus waved a hand at the windshield. “Turn left at the next corner. It’s the house toward the middle of the block on the right. You and I are alike.”

DeMarcus’s words dazed him.

“How?” Warrick activated his left turn signal and waited for traffic to clear before easing onto DeMarcus’s street.

“Neither of us was looking to be a leader. But we’ll do whatever it takes to get the W. That makes us leaders by default.” DeMarcus pointed toward his passen

ger window at a narrow brick house. “This is it.”

Warrick found a parking spot two doors down from DeMarcus’s house. He turned off the engine and popped the trunk open. He climbed out of the driver’s seat and met DeMarcus at the back of the car.

DeMarcus adjusted his travel bag’s strap onto his shoulder, then inclined his head toward Warrick’s trunk. “Grab your bag.”

Warrick’s brow knitted with confusion. “Why?”

DeMarcus gave him a direct stare. “You’re going to stay here until you patch things up with Mary.”

Warrick hooked his hands on his hips. “Is that why you had me drive you home?”

“Yes.”

“Why the pretense?”

DeMarcus met his stare. “Would you have come if I’d told you the truth?”

Warrick didn’t have to consider his answer. “No.”

“Jack didn’t think so.” He started toward his house, calling over his shoulder. “Get your bag and come on.”

Warrick glared at his coach’s back, half tempted to lock his trunk and return to his airport hotel room. But it had been a long trip. He was tired and he didn’t like hotels. He grabbed his bag, shut his trunk, and activated his car alarm.

Warrick followed DeMarcus up the staircase to the front door. “You talk about my wife interfering. That’s nothing compared to what you let Jackie talk you into.”

DeMarcus’s response was a noncommittal grunt.

Julian Guinn, DeMarcus’s father, must have been watching for them. He opened the door before DeMarcus even reached it.

“Eastern Conference Champions.” Julian pronounced the title with relish. His voice was thick with pride and pleasure.

Julian stepped aside, allowing both men to enter the house before pulling his son into a bear hug. “Good start to the finals, son.”

DeMarcus returned his father’s grin. “Thanks, Pop.”

Julian released DeMarcus. He slapped Warrick on the back, still beaming with a fan’s joy and pride. “Good game, son.”

Warrick looked at the older man in surprise. A glow of pride warmed his skin and relaxed his tension. “Thank you, Mr. Guinn.”

Julian chuckled. “I thought we’d agreed on Julian, Rick.”

Warrick smiled. “Yes, sir.”