“Paranoid? How’s that?”
“You said everyone knew you were off your game yesterday. That sounds paranoid to me.”
“I’m not paranoid.” Masculine irritation tightened his voice.
“By everyone you mean Jamal, don’t you?”
Warrick was silent for several strides. They were following the path of an incline about halfway through their workout. Jaclyn felt the strain in her hamstrings. She shortened her strides and leaned into the hill. They finally crested the incline, then circled back to the Empire.
Warrick swiped the sweat from his brows. “Jamal wants my spot.”
“Why do you allow him to get to you?” Jaclyn’s blood started a slow boil. Right now, Jamal Ward wasn’t one of her favorite people.
“Maybe he has a point.”
Jaclyn tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re one of the most consistent players in the league.”
“Then why don’t I have a ring?”
Strain. That’s what she heard in her friend’s voice. It made her worry about him even more. “A lot of NBA players don’t have rings. Some of them are even in the Hall of Fame.”
Warrick looked at her. “I don’t have many more opportunities to get to the Finals.”
With his chronic injuries both to his back and his knees, Jaclyn could understand Warrick’s concern. “I want to make it to the postseason, too. But it takes a team to win a championship.”
His voice was reflective. “We don’t play like a team. And each season, it gets worse.”
The Empire came into sight. Jaclyn glanced toward the practice facility on the left. Was DeMarcus in his office? She’d noticed the head coach usually started his day early.
She glanced at Warrick. “Why didn’t you take more shots last night? You had several sweet looks, but instead of shooting, you passed the ball. Why?”
He picked up the pace. “I thought someone else had a better shot.”
“Why have you started second-guessing yourself? Sometimes, Rick, you can’t pass the ball. You have to take the shot. You know that.”
“And if I miss?”
“When did you lose your nerve?”
Warrick was silent for a distance. “Your grandfather tried to build the team around me. Twelve years later, we still don’t have a ring. The front office brought in Bling for energy and Jamal for excitement. I’m no longer team captain and a rookie’s after my spot. I have good reason to wonder whether I have what it takes to contribute to the team.”
“I disagree.” Jaclyn wiped the sweat from her stinging eyes. “If you don’t even try, you have no one but yourself to blame if you fail.”
The truth of her words applied to her just as well as they applied to Warrick. But had she waited too long to save the Monarchs? Gerald and Albert had devastated the team and divided the loyalty of the front office. They’d crippled sales and rendered the Monarchs virtually invisible in their own community. Was there anything left to save?
DeMarcus strode in
to Oscar Clemente’s office and dropped a sheaf of papers on the assistant coach’s cluttered desk. “Why did you change the game plan for Atlanta?”
Oscar sprawled back in his chair. Either he hadn’t noticed or didn’t care about DeMarcus’s anger. “Your plan didn’t give Rick enough touches.”
Warrick Evans. DeMarcus’s nostrils flared at the thought of the other man. “According to whom?”
“According to everyone who’s ever watched his game footage.” Oscar swung his black leather chair side to side. The motion was easy and unconcerned. “It takes him a little longer to warm up. But once he’s warm, he’s our best weapon on the court.”
DeMarcus stepped back from the paper-strewn desk, drawing his gaze across the disheveled office. News clippings of every play-off win, conference final and community commendation the team earned during the almost twenty years since Oscar had been with the team lined his office walls.
A Monarchs mug and stress ball sat on Oscar’s desk. A Monarchs mouse pad lay beside his keyboard, and the franchise logo decorated his computer desktop.