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Marilyn glanced at her watch. The game would start in four hours. She should be able to get to the booth by then.
The Monarchs hadn’t come to play. They’d come to win. The Denver Nuggets weren’t making it easy for them, though. But then neither had the Cleveland Cavaliers, the New York Knicks, or the Miami Waves.
By halftime of game five, the Monarchs had scraped and battled to an 8-point lead, 87 to 79. As they’d returned to Vom Two, the tunnel to the visiting team’s locker room, the Nuggets’ arena had rocked with approval from the Monarchs’ fans who’d come to the Pepsi Center. It had sounded like a Monarchs’ home game.
But the Nuggets had made strategic adjustments during the half, including a decision to be more aggressive than they’d been all series. Now, three minutes into the third quarter, the Nuggets were assaulting the Monarchs’ 8-point spread. Warrick and his teammates were left with a tenuous 3-point lead, 91 to 88. And Jamal picked up his third foul.
Warrick jogged back up court with the hotheaded rookie. “No more fouls.”
Jamal seemed ready to argue, but must have noticed Warrick’s no-nonsense glare. “All right. Sofa play?”
Warrick nodded. “Go.”
Jamal found his position at the left perimeter. The Nuggets’ Jordan Hamilton joined him. Warrick moved into the paint with Denver’s Kenyon Martin. The Nuggets’ Danilo Gallinari followed Serge to the post. Gary Forbes dogged Anthony’s steps to the right perimeter. Melvin Ely guarded Vincent as he advanced the ball up court. Vincent crossed over, passing the ball to Anthony. Forbes moved in. Anthony shook free, pitching the ball to Jamal.
Jamal reached for the ball, keeping Denver’s Hamilton at arm’s length. Hamilton flung forward, chopping Jamal’s forearm and making him drop the ball. The referee whistled the foul.
Jamal straightened, vibrating with fury. He stepped to his defender.
Warrick moved between them. He settled a firm hand on the rookie’s shoulder. “No fouls. Take the shots.”
Jamal’s dark eyes glowed with anger. Still, he nodded his understanding. Three more penalties and the hotheaded rookie would be supporting his teammates from the sidelines with Barron Douglas, their team captain who’d come to Denver despite being on the Injured List.
Jamal missed both free throws. Undoubtedly, that was the reason Denver wasn’t afraid to foul him. They knew his free-throw shooting percentage was pitiful.
The Monarchs battled back and forth with the Nuggets for the rest of the third quarter and into the fourth. With less than two minutes to the game, Denver stole the lead with a series of lucky three-point shots by Forbes. Panic was settling in. Warrick saw it in his teammates. He sensed it in himself. They had to regain control of the game. But Denver wouldn’t fade into the night. The Monarchs were going for the win and the championship title. Denver was fighting for survival in the form of a sixth game.
Denver’s Gallinari shot a 2-point basket. Nuggets 103, Monarchs 99. One minute and seventeen seconds left to the game. Anthony recovered the ball. The shot clock counted down from twenty-four seconds. Anthony flung the ball to Vincent, who advanced it past midcourt. Twenty-two seconds on the shot clock.
Warrick clapped his hands. “Slow it down. Slow it down.” They needed to play their game, not get swept up in the Nuggets’ speed.
The Monarchs set up the Table Play, clearing Anthony to take the shot. Anthony dribbled twice, spinning around Gallinari. Eighteen seconds on the shot clock. Gallinari leaped with Anthony, colliding with the Monarchs’ forward. Anthony came down awkwardly, landing on his knee.
Warrick stiffened. His teammates froze. He sensed their collective horror as Anthony writhed in agony on the hardwood court. From a distance, the referee’s whistle sounded. The noise freed Warrick from his spell.
He jogged forward, reaching Anthony’s side as the trainers did. “Hold still, Tony. Hold still.”
“My knee, Rick. Oh, my God, my knee.”
“They’ll take care of you, Tony. Hold still.” Warrick rose to his feet.
He watched the trainers help Anthony from the court. Warrick felt his teammate’s pain as though it were his own. Pain, frustration, disappointment.
And rage.
Warrick turned toward Gallinari. The other man was jogging toward the Nuggets’ sideline.
“Let it go
.” Vincent grabbed his arm. “It was an accident.”
He glanced at Vincent, then looked around for the visiting owner’s suite. Warrick could barely make out Marilyn as she stood with the other Monarchs Wives Club members and Jaclyn. She raised her hand and his tension eased. Warrick followed Vincent to their sideline.
“What are we going to do now? They took out Tony. What are we going to do?” Jamal’s voice was shrill with panic.
“Calm down.” DeMarcus shot the order like a bullet. “Roger.”
Roger Harris, whose pregnant girlfriend was in the visiting owner’s suite with Warrick’s wife, shrugged off his jacket before coming forward.
