Keeping Score
That was the year after DeMarcus’s mother had died, Warrick realized. “Real sensitive guy.”
DeMarcus smiled at Warrick’s sarcasm. “He did what he felt he had to do to win. We should take a page from his book. Do you have what it takes to be a winner, Rick?”
He didn’t think about it. He didn’t hesitate. He just answered. “Yes.”
“That’s what matters. It doesn’t matter what the media writes, what fans say, or what opponents do on the court. All that matters is what you believe.”
“I believe in this team and myself.” And I believe in my marriage. “We can win the conference, Coach.”
DeMarcus nodded. “Then fight for it. Nothing worth having ever comes easily.”
Warrick’s heart beat faster. “You’re right.”
He was going to fight for both rings, the championship ring and his wedding band. He knew what he needed to win the conference championship—a strong defense and a relentless offense. What did he need to save his marriage?
“Rick had a tough game last night.” Emma shook dressing over her chicken Caesar salad.
The hospital cafeteria was almost empty on this Friday afternoon as Marilyn joined her friend for a late lunch. She popped open the tab on her can of diet soda and took a long drink. “In all of the series, the Monarchs have struggled with the first game.”
“They may need to have someone else play against that Miami Waves guy they’ve matched Rick with.” Emma stabbed several lettuce leaves and a chunk of chicken.
Her friend knew less than she did about basketball—which meant Emma was clueless about the sport. But she spoke as though she were on the coaching staff.
Marilyn squelched a smile. “It was one game, Em. I don’t think Marc Guinn should throw out the game plan just yet.”
Emma swallowed the forkful of salad. “Well, I hope Rick does better tomorrow night.”
“He will.” Marilyn warmed with pride each time she thought of her husband’s contributions to get his team to the play-offs for the first time in fifteen years. But was the price he was paying worth it?
Emma gathered more salad. “Have you heard from the clinic partners?”
“No, and I don’t think I will.” Marilyn spooned up her Italian wedding soup.
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “Stop being so negative. Of course they’re going to call you. They’ll probably offer you the partnership.”
“But who will they want, me or the Devrys’ daughter?”
Emma’s tone was exasperated. “Who do you want to be?”
Marilyn sighed, part irritation, part frustration. “Marilyn Devry-Evans. That’s who I am. I think we’ve met.”
“Come on, Mary. Everyone is defined by someone, whether it’s your kids, career, or spouse. Someone defines you.”
Marilyn spoke with measured calm. “I’m aware of that and it makes sense on some level. But these other identities shouldn’t overshadow who I am.”
Emma snorted. “This is the opportunity you’ve wanted for years. If they offer it to you, whether they want you to be Marilyn Devry, Marilyn Evans, or Marilyn Monroe, you’d better grab it.”
Marilyn spooned more soup. “They don’t want Marilyn Evans, remember?”
“Have you heard from Rick?” Emma’s question interrupted Marilyn’s gloomy thoughts.
“He hasn’t returned my calls.” Her heart was like a dead thing in her chest.
Emma shrugged one shoulder. “Well, when you first moved out, you didn’t return any of his calls, either.”
Marilyn lowered her spoon and pushed away her soup. The tiny meatballs and barley weren’t as appealing now.
“I asked him for a divorce.” She drew her gaze from her lunch to her friend.