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“Why would I lie?” There was a shrug in the words. “For sympathy? The truth certainly doesn’t paint me in a good light. In fact, it adds credence to your father’s allegations.”
Marilyn’s ears were ringing. Her lips were numb. She couldn’t understand what her mother was saying. “What are you talking about?”
Celeste’s chuckle was bitter. “Your father claims I’m more interested in social status than sex.”
Marilyn shook her head, hoping to clear her mind of the image her mother’s words painted.
“Is that why he had an affair?” She still didn’t believe it. Her father cheated on her mother? Impossible. Her father was a hardworking, devoted family man. He wouldn’t cheat. “Why did you stay with him?”
Celeste sniffed. “A divorce would have been too embarrassing. And he promised never to stray again.”
Marilyn hesitated. “Why did he stay with you?”
Celeste’s laughter was amused this time. “Perhaps he’s more interested in social status than sex, too.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, it’s been a couple of years now.” Her mother tried to sound indifferent, but there was hurt in Celeste’s voice.
Her father had been unfaithful. The affair had happened years ago. She’d had no idea. The information was too difficult to process. It was a side of her parents’ relationship she hadn’t needed to know.
Marilyn rubbed her eyes. “Why are you telling me this, Mother?”
“Why does a mother confide anything to her daughter? Because she doesn’t want her child to make the same mistakes she’s made.”
Marilyn hugged herself with her free arm. “So you think I should leave Rick.”
Celeste snorted. “I didn’t think you should marry him in the first place.”
Marilyn remembered well her mother’s objection to her marriage. Neither of her parents had given their blessing.
She stared across the room at the framed photograph of herself and Warrick on their Hawaiian honeymoon. He looked happier and much more relaxed than she’d seen him all year. If only they could return to that exact moment in time when they were just Warrick and Marilyn, not the Monarchs’ superstar shooting guard and his wife. His celebrity was taking a toll on him—on them. They hadn’t signed up for this.
No, you signed up to be my wife, in good times and in bad. I guess this is the bad part. Warrick’s words were like a talisman for her to hold on to.
“I’m going to save my marriage, Mother.”
“Then you’re a fool.” Celeste’s accusation stung.
Marilyn’s lips twisted. “Like mother, like daughter.”
“How dare you say that to me?” Her mother’s reaction lacked heat. Marilyn heard more uncertainty in those seven words than her mother had revealed to her in Marilyn’s entire thirty-three years.
“I dare because it’s true. You said Father admitted to having an affair, but you remained married. I know Rick hasn’t cheated on me. Yet you’ve demanded that I end my marriage and come home. Before you issue fiats on what everyone else should do, make sure your own decisions are unimpeachable.” Marilyn disconnected the call with much more control than she felt.
Warrick was right. Their marriage was about them. No one else’s opinion of their relationship mattered. Still, Marilyn looked forward to proving everyone—Janet, Emma, Arthur, and her mother—wrong.
The Monarchs took possession of the ball during Sunday night’s game in Miami. The shot clock started its countdown.
“What are you gonna do about your kid?” Marlon Burress’s taunt needled Warrick as he was certain the Waves’ shooting guard had intended.
The Monarchs led game five of the Eastern Conference Championship by an amazing—for them—nine points with less than four minutes left. The series was tied at two. Warrick didn’t want the Waves to claim a third win. Apparently, neither did his teammates. But the harder the Monarchs fought to maintain their lead, the more incendiary Burress’s comments became. The other player was getting to Warrick. He was already in foul trouble.
The shot clock ticked down to twenty seconds. Warrick was out of sync with the rest of his team. He jogged back to the Waves basket. But he was a step behind Serge and the intended play. A step too far to claim the pass the forward sent him. Vincent hustled back to save the play and send the ball back to Serge.
“Stay sharp, man.” The center’s voice balanced the knife’s edge between anger and frustration.
The shot clock read eighteen seconds.
