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“No, you’re his legacy.” DeMarcus cornered her against the sofa. “He may not have known that, but I do and you should.”
“He left his team for me.”
“He should have left you with memories of who your parents were. What your father was like as a little boy. After your grandmother died, the franchise became your family. Your words. You said yourself the house you grew up in was never a home. Instead, your grandfather left you with a cold building and a grown man’s game.”
Jaclyn blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes. She planted her hands on his chest and shoved at him. “My grandfather was a good man. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
DeMarcus stepped back, giving her a breath of room. “Deep down, because of Gerry’s threats, you think I’m going to choose to protect my family and help him destroy what’s left of yours. Just like Bert and just like Nessa.”
Jaclyn’s lips tightened. “Why else wouldn’t you tell me he was blackmailing you?”
DeMarcus nodded. “I know you won’t believe me if I tell you you’re wrong. I’ll show you instead.”
Anthony Chambers snatched the ball and charged back up the court. The Monarchs trailed the Washington Wizards by one point. DeMarcus checked the shot clock. Sixteen seconds left. He read the game clock: 29.3 seconds. Anthony was driving to the basket.
DeMarcus clapped his ha
nds. “Barron, guard the post. Jamal watch your defender. Stay aggressive. Keep moving. No fouls.”
Anthony pulled up at the three-point line, passing the ball to Barron. The Wizards’ Rashard Lewis and Andray Blatche swarmed the point guard, forcing him to bounce the ball to Serge. The Frenchman pump faked the ball before returning it to Anthony. Eight seconds remained on the shot clock. Jamal fought free of the Wizards’ John Wall, signaling for the ball. Four seconds on the shot clock. Barron sent the ball to the rookie shooting guard.
DeMarcus watched in disbelief as Jamal stepped behind the three-point line. The shooting guard bent his knees and launched himself into the air. He propelled the ball over Wall and Lewis, a straight shot to the basket.
Silence dropped into the arena.
His shoulders tight, his neck tense, DeMarcus followed the trajectory of the ball from the tips of Jamal’s fingers over the straining arms of Lewis and Wall, across the paint—short of the basket.
Wizards faithful chanted, “Air ball! Air ball! Air ball!” The buzzer sounded and the fans erupted into shouts and roars of approval.
The announcer screamed into the microphone. “Ward shot an air ball! The Wizards win! The Wizards win! Ninety-two to ninety-one.”
DeMarcus turned to make the long walk across the court to congratulate the Washington Wizards’ head coach, Flip Saunders. “Good game, Coach.” The words felt heavy passing his numb lips.
He released Flip Saunders’s hand and maneuvered his way to Vom Two, the tunnel to the visitors’ locker room. DeMarcus passed reporters, television crews, rowdy fans and flirty groupies. He wasn’t aware of any of them. He’d been so certain the Monarchs would win this game. He’d promised Jaclyn he’d give her a win. How had things fallen apart in the fourth quarter? It wasn’t a rhetorical question. He needed an answer or he’d sit out the postseason—by himself.
DeMarcus stood as Jaclyn marched across his office. She circled his desk to confront him. Her stilettos brought her almost to eye level. Her lilac scent wrapped around him. “Start Rick. Jamal isn’t ready.”
He crossed his arms to keep from reaching for her and tried not to burn in the cinnamon fires of her eyes. He missed her. Did she miss him? At all? “We have a better chance of winning with Jamal.”
“We’ve dropped four straight games—the Celtics, the Wizards, the Grizzlies and the Cavs. How many do we have to lose before you make a change?”
He didn’t flinch. “We were winning with Jamal. We weren’t winning with Rick.”
Jaclyn planted her hands on her slim hips. The dark blue dress nipped her tiny waist and ended just below her knees. “Jamal’s a grandstander. Who goes for a three-point shot when you only need two points to win?”
DeMarcus pinched the bridge of his nose. She was still bringing up the Wizards game. That was almost a week ago. “He made a mistake.”
“One of many.”
“He’s aggressive.”
She arched a brow. “He fouls our opponents’ best free throw hitters. That’s not a good strategy.”
“He adds energy.”
“The other players have to clean up his mistakes.” Jaclyn turned to pace his office.
DeMarcus tracked her progress away from his oak desk, past his conversation table and fake plant to the bookcase against his far left wall. His office didn’t seem as cavernous as it used to. He was growing into it.
