The Winner's Game Read Online Free PDF

disappointed.
    Isn’t marriage supposed to be about love? Don’t we love each other? Why, then, is it so hard? Why am I so weary? And sad? And lonely? And heartbroken?
    And guilty.
    I take a deep breath, feeling my chest swell, then retract. The air fills my soul with a tiny shred of hope that somehow, some way, this will all pass.
    We’ll make it. We have to.
    I finally stand erect and lift my gaze to meet my audience. “I’m sorry, kids.” My voice is still shaky. “Especially to you, Ann. But please don’t worry about your father and me. This is just a little misunderstanding.”
    â€œSure, Mom.” I can’t tell if Ann is agreeing with my comment or sarcastically expressing doubt about it. I guess it doesn’t matter.
    I lift my chin and announce, “Tomorrow will be a better day.” Slowly, but deliberately, I begin moving in the direction of my bedroom. As I pass by the couch, I silently mouth the words, “I hope.”
    Â Â 
    The bedroom is warm, but the bed is cold. It’s been like this for a while now, and I don’t just mean tonight. Gone are the times when we kissed good night, then slept as one, wrapped together, sharing each other’s heat. Nowadays, we turn out the lights in silence and retreat immediately to the lonely edges of our mattress, lying awake, neither of us venturing so much as a toe across the unseen middle divide. We’re more like boxers in our corners awaiting the bell to fight than lovers wishing for a small sign of tenderness. I know he could reach me if he tried—and I him—but of late, neither of us have been willing.
    Tonight, I stretch my arm as far as I can across the cold bed, wanting to touch his broad shoulders…but I know the act is a lie. If he were here, I would not be so bold. I would keep to my side, to myself, waiting for him to want me…and he never would.
    It is almost one in the morning, and Dell has still not returned home.
    I can’t sleep when he leaves. I worry about him. I want him here with me, even if we’re fighting.
    Fighting is infinitely better than ignoring!
    And resolving our differences…well, that’s infinitely better than fighting.
    I wish I knew what to say or do to get us out of this rut.
    I wish I knew how to show him that we’re not broken, just bent.
    I wish he would come home, walk into the bedroom, take me in his arms, and just…love me. Like he used to. I would apologize, I swear it! I would love him back.
    At a quarter after one I hear the front door open, then close. Then footsteps across the floor. They stop outside our bedroom. The door opens, and Dell’s shadow enters.
    The black shape crosses to his side of the bed and undresses in the darkness, then slips beneath the covers.
    â€œYou awake?” he whispers.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œSorry about earlier.”
    â€œMe too.”
    There is a long silence. “So…we OK?”
    Are we? “I guess.”
    Another pause. “Good night, Emily.”
    â€œGood night.”
    That’s it. No kiss. No embrace. Not even any resolution.
    The bed is still cold…

Chapter 5
Cade
    T HE PRINCIPAL is standing inside the front door when I get to school. “Ahoy there, matey,” he says. “Be that Mr. Bennett beneath the eye patch?”
    â€œIt be indeed, Principal Smitty.”
    Principal Smitty is a good guy. I’ll miss him next year when I move up to middle school. He’s very big on “spirit days” as a fun way to “kiss another school year good-bye,” as he likes to say, so every day during the last week of school has its very own theme. Monday was Make-Your-Own-Hat Day. To show my spirit, I wore a giant sombrero made of cardboard and scraps of linoleum I found in the basement, plus duct tape and bright blue glitter from Mom’s craft desk. The best part was that it stuck out at least a foot and a half from my head and poked people