Page 27 of On Merit Alone
“No,” he said. “It’s not weak. It’s in your head, Six.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those mentality nuts.”
He gaped. “Don’t tell me you’renot.”
Crossing my arms, I locked a hip. “I’m not.”
His jaw literally dropped. “How can you be as good as you are and denounce the credibility of mentality?”
As good as you are.
“I—”
“You’re crazy,” he said, looking at me like I was actually crazy.
“No, Ira, listen.” He was turning and walking away, and I didn’t know why, but it got to me. I wasn’t crazy. He had to know that. So I went after him and latched onto his elbow to keep him from walking away. I released him as soon as he turned a look over his shoulder at me. “I obviously believe in mentality. I just also believe in hard work. Input equals output and all that.”
“True, but you’ve been competing long enough to know it’s never a one-for-one deal,” he said. “You can be the hardest worker on the court and still lose because your attitude is shit. You can be the weaker of a pair and still come out on top. Input doesn’t always equal results. You know that.”
“Nor does a good attitude always equal sunshine and butterflies,” I countered.
“You’re not seriously arguing with me about your right to have a shitty attitude, are you?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine, I agree. It makes sense when it comes to games. But what does that matter when it comes to an injury?” I asked. “I can’t just believe my knee is one hundred percent and make my ACL magically as strong as it was before I tore it. I have to work for that.”
He paused, looking at me. Then he looked down at his own knee, bracketed in a black brace that outlined the limb in what looked like a constricting way. He’d played with it from the very first game of his comeback. Never playing a game without it.
It must help.
“You know this thing doesn’t do shit, right?” he asked, conflicting directly with my thoughts.
“Your brace?”
“No, I’m talking about my bionic knee—of course the brace, Merit, C’mon.”
“Okay, okay,” I said, holding my hands up like he usually did. “Why do you wear it then?”
Instead of answering, he unfolded his big body to the ground, patting the space beside him in invitation. “Come here.”
For some reason my belly flipped at his command, but I did. Sitting a bit further away than the spot he designated. My muscles ached a little on the way down, thanking me greatly as they settled into relaxation. It felt so good to sit, I had to stop myself from moaning just from the sensation. When I looked over at him, I was surprised to find he was already watching me.
“You know, it wouldn’t hurt to take it a little easier if you’re tired,” he said.
I leveled him with an annoyed look. “You know it wouldn’t hurt you to share your opinion a little less. You pass it out like candy.”
“Everyone likes candy.”
“Not when it comes unsolicited from the stranger in the creepy white van,” I corrected.
He laughed. “Thank you, Merit, for comparing me to a child snatcher. I must say, I haven’t heard that one yet.”
I quirked a smile that I hid with my shoulder. “Yeah well, if the shoe fits.”
“You know, you must have forgotten this in the wake of me kicking your ass just now, but you are the one who wanted this advice, remember?” he said. I blinked at him with innocent eyes that made him tilt his head in that laugh again. “Alright, smartass, look.”
And then he was pointing down at his brace again. Slipping twofingers underneath the side of it he lifted up. A lot easier than I would have suspected, it popped off, now dangling from his fingers as he held it between us like a prize.
Surprised, I leaned toward him. “Was it loose?”
