Keeping Score (7 page)

Like hell they would.
“If it’s the damage to the Devry name that’s causing you such concern, I’ll just stop using it.”

Marilyn recradled the receiver with restraint. It was almost half past three in the morning. The room was still dark, but she couldn’t go back to sleep—not because of the media but because of her parents. They made her feel as if she were sixteen years old and needed permission to date the neighborhood bad boy.

No, she definitely wouldn’t be going back to sleep. Marilyn swung her legs over the side of the bed. She glowered at the phone. Yes, she was sixteen again. Her parents were telling her what to do, and her friends were telling her who to date. Warrick was the only one encouraging her to be herself. But could she be herself if she stayed with him?

Warrick unlocked the front door of his home late Sunday morning and crossed the polished hardwood entryway. He left his travel bag at the foot of the stairs, then continued down the hall. Marilyn stood in the kitchen, as still as a statue.

His gaze moved from the rolling pin raised in her right hand to the cordless phone gripped in her left. “What are you doing?”

She spoke at the same time. “You scared the
crap
out of me. I thought you were a burglar. I was getting ready to crack open your skull with this.” She waved the rolling pin.

He glanced again at the weapon. “That would have hurt.”

“That was the point.” She set down the rolling pin and leaned heavily against the blond wood and white-tiled kitchen island.

Guilt shivered through him to see her so shaken. “I’m sorry. I told you I’d be back today.”

Marilyn looked up, pressing her right hand against her heart. “You said you’d be back in
Brooklyn
. What are you doing
here
?”

Warrick shrugged. Since she was no longer armed, he took the chance of moving closer. “I live here.” He almost smiled at the confusion that blinked across her honey features.

Marilyn’s brows knitted. “You said I could move back in.”

“You can.” Warrick stopped less than an arm’s length from Marilyn, crowding her. He leaned a hip against the island.

Marilyn stepped back. “But you’ll be here, too.”

He searched her chocolate eyes. They were wary but warm. “It’s a big house, Mary. You’ll have as much—or as little—room as you’d like.”

Marilyn dragged a hand through her glossy, dark brown hair. “Rick, I need time to think about where we’re going—and what we’re going to do about us.”

He moved closer. Her jasmine scent teased him with memories of happier times. “Why do we have to be apart for you to do that?”

Marilyn walked away from the island in the center of their silver and white kitchen, increasing the distance between them. “Because I can’t think when you’re around.” She stood with her back to him.

Her voice was low and frustrated. But her words were like an aria to his soul.

“Then maybe we’re supposed to stay together.” Warrick’s gaze moved over the green T-shirt hugging her torso and the black biker shorts tracing her curves.

She sighed. “Rick ...”

“We’ve been apart for four weeks and you haven’t made a decision. You need a new strategy.”

She threw him a skeptical look over her right shoulder. “What would you recommend?”

Two long strides carried him to her. “Instead of thinking about the things that are trying to tear us apart—and I’m not minimizing them—remember why we got married in the first place.”

Warrick drew his fingers through her loose hair. Marilyn’s sharp intake of breath made his knees weak. He wasn’t too late. He hadn’t already lost his wife.

But did he have what it took to keep her? He didn’t even know what that was.

Marilyn turned. Her movement brought her closer to him. Warrick wrapped a loose embrace around her waist. She could pull away from him if she chose to. She didn’t move.

“I remember. But I don’t know if it’s enough.”

“It is for me.”

Marilyn’s gaze shifted from his, then returned. Her eyes were dark with uncertainty. “I need to decide on my own, Rick. I don’t want you to influence me.”

But it was all right for Emma to influence her?

Warrick crossed to the kitchen doorway. “Like I said, Mary, the house is big enough for both of us. I’ll stay in the guest room until you make your decision.”

“I need to be alone to think.” Marilyn’s voice followed him down the hallway.

Warrick strode to the staircase. “Then
you
can leave.”

“And go where? I can’t stay with Em any longer.”

Warrick’s shoulders relaxed. A small victory. He mounted the steps. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“You’re not being fair, Rick.” Marilyn climbed the stairs behind him. “You let me think you’d move out so I’d move back into the house.”

“I never said I was moving out. You made that assumption on your own. I can’t control what you think.” If he could, he wouldn’t have been sleeping alone for more than a month.

“You lied to me.”

Warrick carried his travel bag to the now empty guest room. “What are you afraid of, Mary?” He put down his bag and faced his wife. “That you won’t be able to fall out of love with me?”

“It’s not a matter of how I feel about you. I didn’t sign up to be a celebrity’s wife.”

He hooked his hands onto his hips and ignored the stir of anger. “No, you signed up to be
my
wife, in good times and in bad. I guess this is the bad part.”

Marilyn stepped back as though she were under attack. “You didn’t tell me you were a magnet for the media.”

“And you didn’t tell me you’d run at the first sign of trouble.” Warrick held Marilyn’s gaze, forcing her to face the truth about what she was doing.

Marilyn hesitated in the doorway. “I’m not running, but I’m thinking about it.”

“I won’t give you a divorce, Mary. I don’t like living under a microscope. But I won’t give up my job because of it. I won’t give you up, either.

The silence was long. Marilyn seemed relieved—or was that his imagination?

“Then we’ll have to figure out something else, won’t we?” She turned away.

Warrick listened to her footfalls taking her back downstairs. Then silence.

He’d expected her to put up more of a fight. Warrick scowled at the room’s deep green carpeting. As his first move toward wooing his wife, he probably could have delivered a better homecoming. He scrubbed both hands over his face, then turned to unpack his bag.

No doubt about it, he needed to work on his game—on and off the court.

5

“Dr. Evans?”

“It’s Devry-Evans. How can I help you?” Marilyn paused in the Kings County Medical Samaritan Hospital’s parking lot Monday morning. She gave the stranger in front of her a visual once-over. Average height, average weight. A drinker with poor eating habits and a vitamin B deficiency. He wasn’t one of her patients’ husbands and he didn’t seem in need of medical attention.

The middle-aged man pulled a business card from the right inside pocket of his brown sports coat. “Kirk West with the
New York Horn
. Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

Marilyn stiffened. She spied the notepad and pen in his hands. “No, you may not.” She turned from him and continued across the parking lot toward the hospital. She never wanted to see another reporter—especially one from the
Horn
—ever again.

The reporter kept pace with her. “Dr. Evans—”

“It’s Dr.
Devry
-Evans. If you’re going to stalk me, at least get my name right.” A quick glance at her watch showed it was seven-fifty in the morning. She had more than an hour before her first appointment and she could use every minute of it.

Hospital employees were either walking or running between the hospital’s parking lot and its entrance. The high activity was due in part to the shift change. It also was a response to the medical needs of the community.

Marilyn maneuvered around slower-moving pedestrians and yielded to cars and an ambulance as she crossed the parking lot. The click of her low-heeled shoes was barely audible on the asphalt. A warm breeze carried the scent of cut grass and spring blossoms from the nearby landscaping. It also tugged several strands of her hair loose from the clip at the nape of her neck. The tendrils tickled her cheeks before she brushed them back.

“I don’t write for the gossip section. I’m a sports reporter.”

Like that makes a difference.
“I don’t care.”

“What do you say to people who are blaming you for your husband’s bad games?” Kirk’s voice was closer to her now.

Marilyn came to a sudden stop. Her blood began a slow boil. “How dare you harass me at my place of work? How long were you waiting in the parking lot?”

The same breeze that ruffled her hair riffled through his shaggy blond locks. A cocky grin brightened his round features. “About thirty minutes. I didn’t want to miss you in case you came in early.”

Marilyn unclenched her teeth. “You sound so proud of the fact that you were skulking around, waiting to invade someone’s privacy. How would you like it if I came to your job and harassed you?”

Kirk turned pages in his notepad. “There’s a simple solution. Give me a quote and I’ll leave.”

His audacity took Marilyn’s breath away. “Speak with my husband.
He’s
the basketball player, not me.” She started to walk again.

Kirk followed her. “But I want
your
perspective. Do you think it’s fair that the Monarchs fans blame you when the team loses?”

Why
did the fans blame her? That’s what baffled her. She wasn’t even on the team. Marilyn stepped onto the curb. The entrance to the hospital was within her sight but still several yards away. “You
cannot
follow me into the hospital. This is where I work.”

Kirk dogged her footsteps. Was it arrogance or disrespect? “Then answer me out here and I’ll leave you alone.”

Marilyn sped up. “I’m a private citizen. I don’t have to grant you an interview. You’re wasting your time. Leave. Me. Alone.”

“The public is interested in you.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Give me one quote and I’ll leave you alone.” He adopted a wheedling tone. “Just a few words. Do you think you should be blamed when your husband plays poorly?”

She would never give him a quote. He wouldn’t be able to print it anyway. “I have nothing to say to you. Go away.”

“Is there a problem?” A gravelly male voice interrupted them.

Perfect.

Marilyn briefly closed her eyes, then turned to the hospital’s administrator. “Good morning, Arthur. There’s no problem. This man was just leaving.”

Arthur Posey surveyed Kirk from the top of the reporter’s too long, windblown hair to the tips of his battered brown loafers. “It sounded as though you were asking Dr. Devry-Evans for an interview.”

Kirk extended his hand. “Kirk West. I’m with the
Horn
. I asked Dr. Evans for a quote for a story we’re doing on her husband.”

Arthur regarded the younger man as though Kirk had introduced himself as a leper. “This is a hospital, not a media center. We deal in life and death here. If you want to speak with Dr. Devry-Evans, make arrangements to meet her elsewhere.”

Kirk let his hand drop. “I’m just asking for one quote. It’ll take five minutes.”

Arthur’s stare should have turned Kirk into a pillar of salt. “Leave now or I’ll have security remove you.”

Why hadn’t she thought of that? She watched the men exchange steely stares. Several hospital employees gave them curious looks and wide berths on their way to the hospital’s entrance.

Kirk nodded. “All right.” He looked to Marilyn. “I’ll call you later.”

“Please don’t.” Marilyn was inflexible. She kept her eyes on Kirk as he walked away. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“I sent him away for the hospital, not for you.”

Marilyn straightened her shoulders and met Arthur’s cool silver stare. She ignored the disdain stamped on the older man’s bony features. “I know, and I’m glad you did.”

He arched a thin, black brow. “Are you? Growing tired of the limelight?”

At this rate, her teeth would be ground to the nub by the end of the week. “I’ve never sought the limelight.”

His smile was stiff. His eyes were cool. “And yet you married a professional athlete. That’s like marrying the president, then being surprised that you’ve become the First Lady.”

Marilyn was tempted to shake Arthur’s tall, thin body until his teeth rattled. But he was six inches taller and twenty years older than her. Besides, he was her boss. “Believe what you like.” She turned to leave.

He fell into step beside her. His brown briefcase ensured she didn’t get too close. “Thank you. I think I will. In the interim, please make sure you don’t bring any more reporters onto hospital grounds. In case you’ve forgotten, our patients take priority. We can’t have disruptions or distractions to our mission.”

Our mission.
He made the hospital staff sound like Templar Knights on a holy crusade.

Marilyn’s eyes stretched wide with incredulity. “I didn’t ask Kirk West to come to the hospital.”