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“I know it’s not fair, Marc. I’m sorry this has happened.”
DeMarcus barely heard his father above the pulse pounding in his ears. “This is bullshit.”
“I know, son.”
DeMarcus turned back to the table and gripped the sports section in his fist. He wanted to grab the reporter’s throat the same way. “I’m going to call the publisher and tell him he needs to focus on what’s important—education, crime and health care—and stay the hell out of my privacy.”
“I wouldn’t recommend doing that.”
“Why not?”
Julian sighed. “I know this is new to you. You led a relatively quiet life as an NBA player. For the most part, reporters left you alone. But you’ll only make the situation worse if you call them.”
“So what should I do?” DeMarcus prowled his room.
“Focus on the team and tonight’s game. The story will blow over. If you call the papers, you’ll only give them something else to gossip about.”
DeMarcus’s temper cooled. His father was right. Still . . . “What am I supposed to say to Jack? She has bigger problems to deal with. She shouldn’t have to worry about this crap as well.”
“Remember, the only one at fault is the press. You and Jackie didn’t do anything wrong.”
DeMarcus sighed. “So we should act like nothing happened.”
“Yes. Put this behind you and get ready for the game.”
DeMarcus checked his watch. It was seven o’clock. He was sure Jaclyn was already up. She was a morning person, just like him. “OK, Pop. But, first, I’ll check on Jack. Make sure she’s OK.”
“Then you’d better calm her down before she calls the paper.”
DeMarcus stood away from the table. “Thanks, Pop.”
“You’re welcome. And, Marc . . .”
“Yes?”
“Invite Jackie to dinner.” His father disconnected before DeMarcus could respond.
DeMarcus knocked on Jaclyn’s door, which was just down the hall from his own. He waited only moments before she answered. She grabbed a fistful of his silver Monarchs jersey and jerked DeMarcus into her room. The door automatically shut behind him.
Jaclyn released him to stomp across the hotel’s thick blue carpet from the dining area, across the living room and into the work space. She was dressed in a cool green coat dress, a marked contrast from the fury coming from her in waves. Had he looked as incensed as she did now? Even her riot of rich, dark brown curls were vibrating.
“Have you seen the paper?” Her voice shook with rage.
Had he sounded as infuriated?
DeMarcus watched her march back and forth across the room. “That’s why I’m here.”
“The papers in New York ran the story, too.” Her eyes glowed with temper.
“I know. I just spoke with my father.” DeMarcus walked farther into the room. Sections of the Atlanta Constitution were spread across the dining table. The front page of the sports section featuring their photo topped the pile.
“How did they even know that I would be in your room?”
“I’d wondered the same thing.”
“I’m going to call the newspaper.” Jaclyn reached for the papers, presumably to search for the publisher’s phone number.
DeMarcus stepped forward and pressed his hand on the newspaper. Jaclyn’s hand settled on top of his. “To say what?”
