Keeping Score (11 page)

“They don’t—”

“I’ve seen them do it, Rick.” Jaclyn’s voice was thin and breathy as though she was running outside her comfort zone.

Warrick slowed his pace. “I can block out their criticism.” He could. He’d just have to work harder. “I’m not weak.”

“If you were weak, we wouldn’t be in the championship game.” Jaclyn’s voice was stronger now.

“Each win is a team effort.” Warrick wasn’t buying her denial.

He led Jaclyn around the turn in the asphalt pedestrian path and started back toward the arena. The course beside the water was brutally cold by winter but comfortably cool in the summer. Along most stretches, he enjoyed the smell of the marina. At other points, the stench of dead fish tested his gag reflex. Still, he loved running along the water. Warrick slowed his steps further.

Jaclyn kept pace with him. “The team’s contributions are important. But don’t undermine your role in the wins, Rick.”

He shook his head in exasperation. “If my role is so important, why are you questioning my mental toughness by suggesting my back pain’s in my head?”

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve held back all of your insecurities.” Jaclyn exhaled. “You don’t defend yourself when people criticize you, regardless of whether they’re justified. Instead, you become quiet and the stress manifests itself as backaches, headaches, and knee problems.”

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m defending myself right now.” His tone was dry. “So maybe your theory is wrong.”

“No, it’s not.” Jaclyn paused. “You’re arguing with me now to avoid discussing the cause of your stress.”

Warrick snorted. “When did your law degree become a license to practice psychology?”

“When we became friends.”

Her soft response took the edge off his temper. “We’ve already talked about my problems.”

“Yes, but not how you feel about them.”

Warrick blew out a breath. The arena—and his escape—was still too far away. “Ah, the feelings discussion.”

“Are you really going to let machismo stand between you and the championship?”

Warrick’s mental brakes came on. The worst part was she knew she’d gotten to him. That’s the kind of insight that came with twelve years of friendship. She was the bratty younger sister fate wouldn’t let him avoid.

“I’ll get us started.” Jaclyn’s tone held a wealth of concern. “There’s tension at home and on the team because of the media. You don’t know where to stand to get out of the storm.”

How did she know? His gaze shifted away from her sympathetic eyes. “That sums it up.”

Their hour-long run was almost at an end. They’d gone just over eight miles. The arena was coming into view. Two more miles—and freedom.

“You’re probably thinking that it’s time you made a choice.”

He gave her a blank look. “What?”

“You’re probably wondering which one to give up, marriage or career?”

His irritation stirred. Maybe she didn’t understand after all. “Which would you choose?”

“Neither.” Jaclyn’s laughter was as carefree as a woman in love. Marilyn used to laugh with him like that. “We’re competitors, Rick. We don’t make choices. We find a way to have it all.”

His smile was reluctant. “How?”

She shrugged and sped up. “The team needs you and you need the team. You want Mary and she still loves you. You just have to convince your teammates and your wife they can’t live without you.”

Warrick wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his left forearm. “You make it sound easy.”

“I know that it’s not. But I also know that both the team and Mary are worth fighting for.”

She was right about that.

Warrick jogged beside his friend and franchise owner. Jaclyn Jones had played to win in the Women’s National Basketball Association. She’d brought that same intensity to the Monarchs’ front office. If she were in his position, she’d find a way to save her marriage and career. Warrick didn’t doubt that. The question was, could he do the same?

“How’s Rick’s back?” Emma took her prepackaged meal from the cafeteria’s microwave oven and peeled the plastic film from its container. Steam and mouth-watering fragrances floated free.

Marilyn led Emma away from the microwaves and found an empty table for them. She removed the lid from her Tupperware bowl and took a moment to savor the scent of her recently reheated leftover spaghetti with ground turkey. “He seems much better.”

At least he’d seemed better last night. He’d been gone before Marilyn had risen that morning.

She stirred her lunch. Her stomach growled, expressing its disapproval of her eating so late. Despite the unconventional lunch hour, the cafeteria was crowded with other hospital staff, medical professionals, and administrators who hadn’t been able to break away before two
P.M.

Emma swallowed a forkful of her lasagna. “I heard some of the patients talking about his bad game this morning.”

Marilyn gave the other woman a sharp look. “Did they say anything about the other twelve players on the team?”

“Don’t get defensive.”

Marilyn scowled. “He’s my husband. Why shouldn’t I be defensive?”

Emma pursed her lips. “All they’re saying is that he’s not playing up to his potential.”

“The media wouldn’t be stalking us if he wasn’t one of the best players in the league.” Marilyn twirled her spaghetti around her fork. “That’s the problem. If he was the horrible player these so-called fans seem to think he is, we’d have more privacy.”

Emma swallowed a sip of her diet soda. “Have you talked about this with Rick?”

Marilyn suppressed a frustrated sigh. “I have and he understands, but there’s nothing he can do about it.”

Emma sliced into her lasagna. “Maybe he can get another job.”

Marilyn spun spaghetti onto her fork. “That’s easier said than done, Em.”

“All that you’re asking is for him to get a job that’s not as much in the public eye.” Emma ate more lasagna. “Did you tell him what the clinic partners said?”

“I won’t ask him to change his career to satisfy people he doesn’t even know.” She’d been starving a minute ago; now Marilyn’s appetite was almost gone.

Emma gestured toward Marilyn with her plastic fork. “How about changing his career to satisfy you?”

“I knew what he did for a living before I married him.” Maybe they should change the subject. But she didn’t have anyone else to talk with about this and she really needed a sounding board.

Emma sipped her soda, then lowered the can. “Have you heard from the partners yet?”

Marilyn made herself chew, then swallow the spaghetti. “I don’t know what to make of their silence.” But every time she thought about the partnership, her stomach muscles knotted.

Emma narrowed her eyes. “And if they do call you, who will you be, the Devrys’ daughter or Rick Evans’s wife?”

“I’m going to be Dr. Marilyn Devry-Evans.” Marilyn wasn’t reliving this argument. “I’ve told them I’m not bringing my parents into this partnership. Rick isn’t a part of this, either.”

“But the partners are concerned about what his image will do to their practice.” Emma fed herself another forkful of lasagna.

Marilyn took a long drink from her bottle of water. The ice-cold liquid soothed her. “What would you do if you were me?”

Emma straightened in the bright orange hard-plastic chair. “I’d realize that I had to make a choice between my job and my husband.”

Marilyn’s breath lodged in her throat. “Why?”

Emma made a face, part surprise, part impatience. She counted her fingers. “The partners told you they’re concerned about Rick’s image. Your boss warned you that he doesn’t want the media disrupting the hospital. Your patients are turning against you because your husband has lost his basketball magic.” Her friend spread her hands. “It’s obvious that if you want to get back to a normal life, you’re going to have to leave Rick.”

There was a buzzing in Marilyn’s ears. “You think I should sacrifice my marriage for my career?”

“It’s not just your career. He’s turned your whole life upside down.”

“But what
you’re
proposing would turn my life upside down again.”

Emma’s regard was steady. “It would be different if you were happy in the relationship, but you’re not. I warned you not to marry him.”

Her friend’s condemnation stung. Marilyn took a moment to pull her thoughts together. “Every relationship goes through a difficult period. No marriage is perfect one hundred percent of the time.”

“But you said yourself that, even though you may love Rick, you don’t think you can live with him.”

It hurt to have those words repeated back to her. “I’m hoping that Rick and I can work things out.”

“What if you can’t?”

She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to consider that she couldn’t have a happily-ever-after with Warrick.

“Lena, you’re appointment isn’t until next week. How are you?” Marilyn pulled the door to the examination room closed behind her later that afternoon.

Lena Alvarez, her pregnant patient who was close to her final trimester, sat fully clothed on the examination table. Her café au lait skin glowed in the ruby red, scoop-necked cotton dress. She’d propped her overburdened silver purse beside her. “Not so good, Doc.”

Marilyn’s heart thumped once with concern. She crossed to stand in front of her patient. She took Lena’s wrist and checked her pulse. “Are you in discomfort?” She counted the seconds on her silver Rolex.

Lena gently slipped her wrist from Marilyn’s grasp. “Only my heart.”

Marilyn lifted her gaze to Lena’s. “What?” She sensed the other woman was nervous but not in distress.

Lena rested her hands on her stomach. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my baby since my last doctor retired. I do. But I’m going to have to find another doctor. I wanted to tell you in person.”

Marilyn glanced at Lena’s stomach, rounded in her sixth month of pregnancy. “Why?”

Lena squared her shoulders and raised her chin. “I don’t want my baby delivered by a doctor who doesn’t support the Monarchs.”

Marilyn’s lips parted in shock. Her eyes stretched wide. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t want—”

“Lena, your reason doesn’t make sense. What do the Monarchs have to do with your pregnancy?”

Lena’s rounded cheeks flushed. She poked Marilyn in the chest with her right index finger. “You see? You don’t care about the Monarchs. If you did, you wouldn’t have to ask that question.”

Marilyn’s eyebrows crinkled with confusion. Were Lena’s hormones triggering her irrational behavior? “Of course I care about the Monarchs. My husband works for them.”

Lena rubbed her stomach. “Then why are you putting the team—putting your husband—through this?”

“Through what?” This must be some sort of dream, some sort of nightmare. She’d walked into a parallel dimension. Marilyn stepped back and lowered herself into the examination room’s chair.

Lena wiggled into a more comfortable position on the table. Her tone was just short of strident. “Can’t you see what the tension is doing to him? What it’s doing to the team?”

Marilyn studied the petite woman. Lena was passionate in her defense of the Monarchs. She honestly believed Marilyn was hurting the team. Medical schools didn’t prepare their students for sports fanatics. At least her medical school hadn’t. How should she approach this situation?

Marilyn drew a steadying breath, catching the hint of antiseptic beneath the vanilla-scented room freshener. She crossed her legs and folded her hands. “Lena, what do the Monarchs have to do with my ability to safely deliver your baby?”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with
you
.” Lena scowled. “It has to do with me and the fact that I don’t want the first person who touches my child to be the person responsible for the Monarchs losing the championship. My husband agrees with me.”

Oh, my word.
If Lena and her husband could, they’d arrange for their baby to enter this world fully dressed in a Monarchs’ home uniform, complete with sweatband, mouth guard, and Air Jordans.

Marilyn was the last sane person in this room. She had to pull herself together. The health of her patient depended on it. “Lena, you’re entering your final trimester. This isn’t a good time to change obstetricians.”

Lena’s expression became mulish. “This isn’t my first pregnancy. I have three children. I know how it’s done. If need be, I’ll deliver the baby myself.”

The other woman would do just that. And her husband—another Monarchs fanatic—would help her, making his hands the first to touch the next generation of Brooklyn Monarchs lunatics.

Heaven help us all.
Marilyn clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping open. She studied the expectant mother’s stubborn chin, tight lips, and determined eyes. “I don’t like to talk about my personal life with my patients.”

“We’ve had
this
conversation before. You know the date of my last period, but
your
life is this
big secret
.” Lena raised her hands and wiggled her fingers.

Marilyn ignored Lena’s interruption. “Rick and I are going through a difficult time right now. But we’re trying to work things out.”