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knot in his gut. “All right. Ten.” He stood, hoping to bring the conversation to an end. “I’m sorry I let you down, Coach. I’ll get my mind back in the game by Saturday.”
    DeMarcus claimed the matching armchair and looked up at Warrick. “I don’t blame you for the loss, Rick.”
    Warrick clenched his teeth and settled back into his seat. Obviously, DeMarcus wasn’t done. “I appreciate that, Coach.”
    DeMarcus shrugged. “I blame myself. I thought the team could lean on you, but I was wrong.”
    The backhanded criticism was a punch to the solar plexus. How had his career fallen so far? A couple of years ago, he’d been the team’s captain and a starting player. Now he was coming off the bench because the current team captain was on the Injured List while he rehabbed at a substance abuse facility.
    Warrick forced a smile. “Nice try, Coach. But that mental game works better on a rookie.”
    DeMarcus’s grin turned into rueful chuckles. “I said the same thing when my coach tried that line on me. It was during my final season in the league.”
    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