DeMarcus frowned. “I’ve never used drugs.”
“And you can explain that to the media once the story breaks.”
The image of what such a story circulating their community would do to his father threatened to drop DeMarcus to his knees. “If the Monarchs don’t have a losing season, you’ll lie to the public, claiming I’m addicted to drugs. That’s how you intend to get me to cooperate?”
Gerald slipped his hands into the pockets of his navy suit pants. “The press will jump all over the story, don’t you think? I can see the angles now. The Mighty Guinn a drug abuser. Is that why he retired early? Did his coaches and trainers know? How will it effect his Hall of Fame induction?”
Blood rushed through DeMarcus’s veins, burning his skin. “No one would believe you.”
The franchise partner’s smile shone with malice. “Are you sure?”
DeMarcus spun from Gerald before he gave in to the desire to remove his boss’s smile, taking several teeth with it.
No one would believe Gerald’s lies that DeMarcus had a drug addiction. He may have lived in Miami the past fifteen years, but he’d grown up in Brooklyn. People in the community knew him. They knew his character. They’d never believe Gerald.
Would they?
Could he risk it?
10
“How’s your back?” Jaclyn was a little breathless as she ran beside Warrick Evans on the boardwalk behind the Empire, which tracked the marina. She’d picked up her pace to keep up with him, but she was fairly certain the six-foot-seven-inch shooting guard had slowed to accommodate her.
“The spasms come and go. Some days are better than others.” The shooting guard sounded distracted. He’d been that way for a while.
“Was yesterday a good day or a bad day?” The home game against the Utah Jazz Monday night had been the team’s eighth straight loss.
“I was off my game yesterday. I know that and so does everyone else.” Warrick’s terse tone was out of character.
It was eight o’clock Tuesday morning. The November sun had risen late, and the lamps crowning the slender black posts along the marina fence had long since gone out. The fall air blew crisp off the water. She was comfortable this morning, but soon it would be too cool to run here.
“Why were you off your game? Was it because of your back?” Jaclyn’s gaze dropped to Warrick’s legs. Had he sped up? Probably. He usually ran faster when he was agitated, as though he was running away from something. What was it?
“Are you asking as a franchise owner or as a friend?”
That hurt. Jaclyn lengthened her stride to match his pace. “After twelve years, you should know the answer to that.”
“You’ve never been my boss before.”
Jaclyn stared hard at him until Warrick’s eyes met hers. “I’m the granddaughter of one of the founding owners. I’ve always been your boss.”
Warrick looked away. “Point taken.”
She heard his contrition. “For the record, if I’d wanted to have a conversation with you as your boss, I’d have had it in my office wearing a business suit. I wouldn’t race after you in a T-shirt and shorts, sweating like a pig.”
His surprised chuckle drew the tension from their run. Jaclyn breathed easier as Warrick slowed his speed. She brushed the sweat from her brow.
“I’m sorry.” Warrick was subdued.
“You should be.” Jaclyn glimpsed Warrick’s smile in her peripheral vision.
“Thanks for running with me this morning. I wanted to try a couple of miles out here to test my knees and back.”
Jaclyn gazed around the marina. Winter blue waves bounced the scattering of yachts still on the waters. Chatty seagulls danced on the chilly breeze. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad to be on hand in case your back locks up and you have to be carried back to the Empire.”
“You’re a pal.”
Jaclyn tossed him a look. He still seemed preoccupied. “So, what’s bothering you? You’ve been sullen and distracted for weeks. And now we can add paranoid.”