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Constance took a step backward. “Everything will work out. I’ll leave you gentlemen to talk alone now and get some work done.”
As Constance left the office, Troy gestured toward the visitors’ chairs. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Warrick took a seat. “Sure. Practice doesn’t start for another couple of hours. I was just coming to see you before hitting the weight room.”
“Thanks.” Troy gave him a searching look. “How’s the team feeling about playing the Knicks?”
Warrick rested his right ankle on his left knee. “We’re excited to start the series tonight. We know it’s not going to be easy. But, hey, the Cavs series wasn’t a walk in the park, either.”
Troy nodded toward Warrick’s black T-shirt. “I’m glad you’re starting. What’s going on with Barron?”
“Do you mean, is he still drinking?” Warrick nodded. “I think so. We took a risk with him. Some of us weren’t sure we should have let it go so long. But in the end, Bling made the decision for us. He wouldn’t change, so we had to.”
Troy knew it must have been a difficult decision for DeMarcus to change the starting lineup and for Warrick to take over Barron’s spot. “I don’t know what it will take to get Barron to clean up his act.”
“Let’s hope it’s nothing drastic.”
“Have you talked with Mary?”
A cloud settled over Warrick’s expression at the mention of his wife. A moment passed before he answered. “Not since game one of the Cavs series.”
Troy’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s more than two weeks ago.”
Warrick straightened in his seat and put both feet on the floor. “I know. She won’t return my calls. She left me a note instead.”
“What did it say?” Was he prying? It seemed that Warrick wanted to talk.
“She needs time.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t say.”
That couldn’t be good. “I’m sorry, Rick.”
Warrick stood. His movements were much slower than when he’d entered the room. “I’d better get to the weight room.”
Troy rose with him. His friend was hurting. He didn’t know what to say or do to help him. He circled his desk to lay his hand on Warrick’s shoulder. “Good luck. With everything.”
“I’ll need it.”
Troy watched the other man leave his office. His curved shoulders and dragging steps indicated the pain Warrick carried, and not just in his body. Troy hoped he never experienced that kind of hurt. He didn’t know if he’d survive it.
“I saw you through the window.” Jenna stopped beside Andrea’s table in the little sandwich shop. They were a couple of blocks from Madison Square Garden, home of the New York Knicks. Game one of the Monarchs versus Knicks series was almost an hour away—and counting.
Jenna angled her chin toward the window beside Andrea. It was the front of the eatery, which was made of glass. The Times sports reporter rested her palm on the back of the empty chair on the other side of Andrea’s table. “Mind if I join you?”
Andrea trie
d to cover her surprise. She swallowed a mouthful of her roasted turkey wheat wrap. “Of course not.”
“Thanks.” Jenna removed her laptop case from her shoulder and settled it beside her seat out of customer traffic. She placed her tray of chicken salad and bottled water on the table before folding her model-thin body into the dark wood chair. “I haven’t seen you since that miraculous Monarchs win in Cleveland Saturday. Good job on getting the scoop about Gerald Bimm and the blackmail rumor. You’re the original intrepid reporter.”
Andrea listened hard but didn’t hear any of the meanness that had tainted the tone of reporters when they’d spoken to her in the past. “Thank you.”
Jenna looked puzzled. “That was a big deal. You were the first with the story that an owner could be banned from the NBA for life. Why aren’t you excited?”
Andrea sipped the cup of coffee she’d ordered with her turkey wrap. Old fears and uncertainties tried to take hold of her. “I got another job rejection today. Sports is closing in less than two months and I’m running out of places to apply.”
