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When had they stopped talking with each other? How had their conversations devolved to No, thanks; All right; and Fine?
He wouldn’t accept that. “Did Arthur give you any more trouble today?”
Marilyn stopped at the foot of the stairs. She wouldn’t look at him. “We used to talk about our days. This is another example of how the Monarchs’ miracle season has changed us.”
Warrick flinched. Marilyn had quoted the nickname the press had given his team’s championship run. “I’m sorry. It’s one in the morning. The postgame press conference was tense. I’m all talked out.”
Tense was an understatement. Reporters had put his every move and emotion under a microscope.
Marilyn faced him with irony in her eyes. “I’m not going to read the newspaper to find out how you’re feeling.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
He should have left bad enough alone with No, thanks; All right; and Fine.
She spread her arms. “Then tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Are you a psychologist now, too?”
She stepped back. “I’m sorry.”
Warrick took a long step forward, catching her arm before she could turn away. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” He released her. “I’m tired and not thinking straight.”
Marilyn’s voice softened. “I know the fans booed the team.” She raised her hand as though reaching for his jaw, then let it drop to her side without achieving her goal.
Warrick flinched. The echo of the crowd’s disgust still reverberated in his head. “It’s probably all over ESPN now. They’ll replay that from now until the next game Sunday night.”
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“Tell me how you feel.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say the words. “How would you feel if someone jeered at you in the delivery room?” He forced a smile.
Marilyn still looked sad. “I’m sure it bothered you. It bothered me.” She hesitated. “Are you feeling discouraged ?”
“No.” He knew she wouldn’t stop until he answered her questions. He admired her tenacity—but not tonight. “I’m embarrassed, frustrated, and tired. But I’ll be fine after I get some sleep. In the morning, we have to prepare for Sunday’s game.”
Marilyn’s expression eased. “That’s all I wanted to know.” She turned to mount the steps.
Frowning, Warrick followed her. “We’re two games away from elimination, but there are three games left in the series.”
“I know.”
Did she think he was a loser? Is that the reason she wanted a divorce?
“There’s no reason for us to give up.” On the championship or their marriage.
Marilyn continued up the stairs, not bothering to look back. “No, there isn’t.”
At the top of the stairs, he took her arm. “What are you thinking?”
She returned his gaze for several silent moments. “I want you to win this championship, Rick.”
He blinked. Was he dreaming? Had he fallen asleep standing up without realizing it? He’d go with that. “I’d have thought you’d want the season to end. Why do you want us to win the championship?”
“Because it’s what you want.”
God, if only she’d give him everything he wanted. The thought gave him a sweet ache in his gut. “You realize that, if the Monarchs win the conference championship—”
