Keeping Score (10 page)

“Thank you.” Her praise warmed him. But then, he’d always felt that she believed in him—until she’d asked for a divorce.

Warrick strode to the closet to hang up his jacket. He pulled his shirt free of his pants to unbutton it. It felt odd dressing and undressing in the master bedroom, but sleeping down the hall. How long would this continue? And how would it end?

“I don’t think anyone could play with that level of intensity every night.” Marilyn’s voice carried from across the room.

Warrick turned from the closet and wandered to the dressing table to drop off his cuff links. “My game needs to be consistent. My teammates should be able to count on me to come through when they need me.”

He sounded like his father, but the old man had been right.

“That’s a lot of pressure on you.”

He came to a stop at the foot of their bed and unbuttoned his shirt. “A professional should be able to play at a high level every game, especially during the play-offs.”

“You know better than I do.” There was a shrug in Marilyn’s voice. “But I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

He removed his white shirt and undershirt. Marilyn’s eyes darkened and her throat muscles moved as though she were swallowing. Her reaction to him went a long way toward restoring the confidence battered by tonight’s game. It was good to know he could still turn his wife on.

Warrick was tempted to remove his pants, but was afraid his blatant reaction to her would make her turn away. “Are you ready?”

Her eyes were on his torso even as she gestured toward the bed. “Lay down on your stomach.”

Warrick stretched out on the mattress. He folded his arms to form a pillow for his head and relaxed his shoulders.

Marilyn straddled him, one smooth thigh on either side of his hips. Warrick closed his eyes and swallowed a groan. Maybe this hadn’t been one of his smarter ideas. Having his wife this close to him without being able to love her might damage his back irreparably.

“Where does it hurt?” Her voice was a husky whisper.

He wished he could tell her. “Near my waist.”

Her soft, slender fingers tested his taut muscles. “Here?”

He didn’t know. He didn’t care.
Just touch me.
“Yes.”

She pressed into his lower back muscles and a groan slipped through.

Marilyn stilled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No, that felt good.” Warrick’s erection flexed in agreement.

A comfortable, intimate silence settled between them for several minutes. Warrick closed his eyes and pretended their marriage had returned to normal.

Marilyn’s gentle words interrupted his illusion. “Your career is taking a hard toll on your body, especially your back and knees.”

Warrick opened his eyes. He stared across the large room toward the green Venetian blinds masking the windows. Marilyn had called them sage.

“It’s not my career. It’s the other players.” Marlon Burress had been even more zealous in his defense once he realized Warrick’s back was flaring up.

“You don’t have to do this anymore.” Her tone remained soft, her words measured.

Warrick tensed beneath her touch. “What are you saying?”

“Relax.” Marilyn rubbed his bunched muscles with her palms.

Warrick’s body obeyed her command. “What do you mean?”

Marilyn’s massage continued up toward his shoulders. “You have a sizable savings. You’ve been very prudent with your investments. You could retire.”

Warrick frowned. “And do what?”

“Well, other retired athletes have done commercials. Doesn’t Michael Jordan do underwear commercials?”

Warrick grunted. “Jordan can get away with doing underwear commercials. He has six championship rings.”

“Then you can do something else. You have enough money that you can take your time and figure out what you want to do. And I make good money.”

“I’m not living off my wife.” His voice was flat.

“It wouldn’t be forever.” She used extra effort to ease his newly knotted muscles. “Only until you decided what you want to do next.”

Warrick struggled to remain relaxed. “I’m not done with basketball.”

Marilyn continued her soothing massage and hypnotic tone. “You don’t have anything to prove.”

Warrick lifted his head to meet her eyes. He felt cold and isolated when her hands fell away from him. “What’s on your mind, Mary?”

Marilyn moved to his side before returning his gaze. “I heard your conversation with your father.” She jerked her chin toward the phone on her nightstand. “You probably didn’t realize you were taping the call.”

Warrick rolled over and got to his feet in one motion. “No, I didn’t.”

Behind him, Marilyn shifted on the bed. “I didn’t mean to listen. When I got home, the machine showed it had one saved message. I was just checking it.”

“It’s all right.” Warrick stepped away from the bed.

Could this day get any worse? His father’s words had followed him onto the court. Now they were getting between him and his wife.

“He’s wrong, you know.” Marilyn’s tone was tentative.

“What about?” He heard her rise from the bed.

“Your father implied you weren’t good enough for me. He’s wrong.”

Warrick turned toward her. “Then why are we sleeping in separate rooms?”

Marilyn twisted her fingers together. “I don’t know whether I can live with everything that comes with your popularity. That’s not how I envisioned our life together.”

They were right back where they’d started. Their marriage had morphed into a merry-go-round. “Then why haven’t you left? What’s keeping you here?”

She looked as though he’d slapped her. “It’s not as though I can turn off a switch and not be in love with you anymore.”

Warrick crossed his arms. “You’re standing in front of me, telling me you love me. But you admit you have one foot out the door. Which is it?”

Marilyn crossed her arms as well. “Both. You never warned me you were a star when we were dating.”

Warrick’s chuckle surprised even him. “How would that have seemed?” He extended his hand. “Hi, I’m Rick Evans and I’m a star.”

Marilyn slapped away his hand. “So you admit you misrepresented yourself.”

Warrick dropped his arm. “No, I don’t. I told you what I did for a living. I play for the Monarchs. I’m not a star.”

“The Monarchs changed.”

“I won’t apologize for that.”

Marilyn shook her head. “The quest for the ring. I’ll never understand it.”

Warrick arched a brow. “I hope that’s not true.”

Marilyn turned and put more distance between them. “You want to be the best. Your competitive drive is what got you to this point. But it’s also the reason the media and all of New York think they’re entitled to have an opinion on our private life.”

Warrick’s shoulders were heavy with regret. “I don’t like that part of my career, either. Unfortunately, society takes privacy as payment for success.”

Marilyn raised her eyebrows. “You mean
your
success. When I pictured spending the rest of my life with you, I thought it would be you, me, a couple of kids, maybe a cat. I never imagined we’d also be sharing our lives with the greater New York City metropolitan area.”

“We’re not sharing our lives with them.” How could he make her understand?

“There are stories about us in the news every day. They question your abilities. They ask readers whether I’m good enough for you. How do you think that makes me feel?”

He could imagine. It made him feel pretty crappy. “It doesn’t matter what they think.”

“That’s easy to say. It’s not as easy to put into practice.”

Warrick put his hands on Marilyn’s shoulders. “Try, Mary. All that matters is what we think—you and me—and I think you’re perfect for me.”

Marilyn frowned. “It’s not just what they write about me. I don’t like what they’re saying about you, either.”

Thank God she still believed in him. After his father’s phone call this afternoon and his teammates’ reaction in the locker room tonight, he’d felt as though no one did.

Warrick squeezed her arms. “I can handle the media criticism. I’ve been dealing with it since college. What they say doesn’t matter. Your words carry a lot more weight with me.”

She looked sad. “We can’t even go out without people mobbing us for your autograph. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Yes, it does.”

Marilyn held his gaze. “But you’re not willing to do anything about it.”

“You mean retire? Would you?”

“My job isn’t disrupting our lives.”

Warrick felt a stir of irritation. He dropped his hands from her. “How many dinners have been interrupted by your patients going into labor? How many times has your pager gone off while we were making love?”

Marilyn’s cheeks darkened with a blush. “I’m a doctor. My patients need me.”

“And I’m just a baller.” Warrick heard the bitterness in his words.

Marilyn settled her hands on her hips. “That’s not what I meant. At. All. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He was at the end of his rope. “If you believe in me, why isn’t our love enough to save our marriage?”

Marilyn expelled an impatient sigh. “We aren’t adolescents anymore, Rick. We need more than love to make our marriage work. We have to be realistic about what it takes to make a lifelong commitment to each other.”

“And what does it take?”

“I haven’t figured that out yet. But I don’t want to raise our children in the media spotlight.”

Warrick caught his breath at the image her words painted. He wanted to raise a family with Marilyn so badly he could taste it. But he also wanted to play basketball. “I’m not ready to give up my career, Mary. The Monarchs have a chance to win it all. That doesn’t happen every season.”

“I’m not asking you to retire this minute. You could retire after the finals.”

He was glad she believed the Monarchs would make it to the finals. But he didn’t want a combination championship-retirement party. “Michael Jordan has six championship rings, and he and his wife raised a family.”

She gave him a flat look. “You’re not Michael Jordan and I’m not his wife.”

“You’re the one who brought up Jordan.”

Marilyn threw up her arms. “That’s because you want to be just like Mike.”

Warrick shook his head in denial and frustration. “Now who’s putting words in whose mouth? I’ve wanted to play pro ball my whole life. Of course I want a championship ring. Who doesn’t want to be the best in his field?”

“But you don’t need a ring to prove how good you are. There are plenty of athletes in the Hall of Fame who don’t have a ring.”

Warrick rubbed his forehead. She was guessing, but she was right. “Once a celebrity, always a celebrity.”

“What does that mean?”

“Retirement didn’t end the media’s fascination with Jordan. They still follow him around. And he’s not the only celebrity parent on the planet. There are plenty of them.”

“I never wanted us to be among them.” Marilyn dropped her gaze. “You’re not giving me much hope.”

“And you aren’t giving me any.” Warrick turned and marched out of the room.

As irritated as he felt, walking away from her tonight was hard. He’d never be able to walk away from her for forever.

7

Nine o’clock in the morning was late enough for the sun to put pressure on Warrick as he jogged beside the Monarchs’ franchise owner, Jaclyn Jones. He was dragging. He hadn’t gotten to bed until after two in the morning and even then he’d had a restless night. But he’d been doing this morning jog—usually around the Empire Arena with Jaclyn—every day for the past twelve years. They had an agreement that, if she was at the arena by nine o’clock, they’d run together. If not, it was understood Warrick shouldn’t wait for her.

“How’s your back?” Jaclyn ran beside him. At six-foot-one, the former Women’s National Basketball Association shooting guard was still in game shape although she’d retired from the game years ago.

“Better.” Warrick’s pace was slightly slower on the mornings he ran with Jaclyn. Speed wasn’t the point. He was running for distance and aerobic endurance. He’d work on his time splits later in the afternoon.

“It healed overnight? That’s incredible.”

Warrick gave her a suspicious look. Her neon yellow T-shirt was almost brown with sweat. “I’ll be one hundred percent by Thursday’s game.”

“Tomorrow night? That’s nothing short of a miracle.”

Did he detect mockery in her tone? “What’s your point, Jackie?”

“Nothing.” She gave him an innocent look that wouldn’t have fooled anyone. “I’m just surprised that your back took you out of the game last night, but this morning you’re doing laps around the marina and vowing to be in playing shape tomorrow.”

Warrick controlled the tension in his voice. “We’re lucky to have good trainers. Between the ice and massage, my back’s a lot looser. Mary gave me a massage last night, too.”

Jaclyn’s eyes widened. “Is that a good sign?”

Warrick wiped the sweat from his brow. “She doesn’t think so.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaclyn sounded almost as disappointed as Warrick felt.

“So am I.”

They continued in silence for several feet. The quiet between them was introspective but comfortable. Warrick breathed easily—a deep breath in, a long breath out. The air was salty from the marina. The cool sea breeze regulated his body temperature. Warrick leaned forward as they came to the first short incline. The strain pulled at his quads and his glutes. He picked up the pace of his breathing.

“Maybe the ice and massages did help.” Jaclyn’s words broke his pensive silence. “Or maybe the pain was in your head.”

Warrick stumbled and caught himself as he crested the incline. “You think I was faking it?”

“Of course not.” Her response was fast, firm, and disgusted. “I know you better than that. But I think it’s possible that your back pain was more psychosomatic than physical.”

Warrick struggled with a sense of betrayal. “Are you questioning my mental toughness?”

Jaclyn blinked as though someone had turned on the light in a very dark room. “Where are you getting these allegations?”

“Your own words.”

“You act as though I don’t know you.” She continued before he could speak. “I know your parents’ idea of encouragement is emphasizing whatever shortcomings they think you have.”