Page 61 of On Merit Alone
Long fingers curled around my own, gently stopping me from poking him and pulling me forward. He pulled on my hand until he had it tucked so close to himself that it was touching his chest. My palm spread out against it, and his spread on top of my own.
His heart was like a drum beating against my palm. Rapid and hearty and moderately out of control. I sucked in a breath, an aching feeling entering my chest. He was not okay. Even though it seemed like he could be, his normal calm demeanor not much different than usual, he was not. If the pounding of his heart said anything, he was in turmoil.
“Ira,” I might have whimpered. “How can I help?”
Slowly, he opened his eyes, his irises latching onto mine right away. He stared, holding my gaze in intense seriousness. In that same sad voice, he said, “Just the light, sweetheart.”
I forced myself to ignore the way my heart flipped at the name he chose to use. Last time he said it flippantly, laced with a tone of teasing. Now, his voice was soft. Familiar. Like he meant for it to come out like it did. Like a secret between us. One that he intended to keep.
I swallowed, but I didn’t move my hand away. “Ira, you gotta eat. Then we can negotiate the light.”
He pouted, his full lips puffing out as he sighed. Then, with a lazy, exasperated sort of gaze, he finally said, “Pizza.”
Pizza was not a great mid-series dinner choice, but I’d be damned if I told him that now. I leaned forward to slip my phone out of the side pocket of my leggings. Ira tracked the movement, his eyes unashamed as they looked over my outfit.
“Pizza, got it,” I said. Tapping away on my phone, I pulled up the delivery app for my favorite pizza in the area. Then I said, “All meat sound good?”
I peeked an eye down at him and he simply nodded. I screwed my mouth up. “I’ll get wings and fries too, just to be safe.”
Once the food was ordered, I leaned forward again to adjust his ice pack before looking back down at him. Though I’d slipped my hand from under his, his large palm still remained on the spot along his chest. And while I looked away, his eyes stayed on me, staring without interruption.
“What?” I asked him, thinking maybe he would finally tell me what happened tonight.
“You look… different,” he said. The first coherent sentence he’d spoken other than bugging me about the damn light.
In a rush to get over here, I didn’t get a chance to change out of my home clothes. So now I sat next to Ira in a matching lounge set. Pale green leggings hugging me on the bottom and a matching tanktop, sports bra combo up top. My hair was pushed away from my face with a little green scarf that tied at the top with bunny ears, and I had on Mom’s earrings—medium gold hoops that grandma had given me for my eleventh birthday. I never wore jewelry on court, but I wore Mom’s earrings every day at home. They made me feel closer to her even though we were never alive at the same time long enough for us to be that close. I also wore Dad’s sweatshirt a lot, but tonight I rushed out so fast that I forgot to grab it or any other sweatshirt to cover myself. Which I wasn’t too worried about with Ira anyway. I knew he wasn’t thinking lasciviously.
I felt bashful under this man’s watchful gaze as he remained so close to me, so soft under me, so open with me. Which is why I ducked my head as I answered, “I rushed out in my home clothes when you told me to come. I was worried.”
He hummed. Lifting his hand, he brought his fingers to my face and moved it so that I was looking at him. Then he smiled almost imperceptibly. “It’s cute. I like it.”
I grimaced. I did not want to be feeling this acrobatic flipping in my heart and stomach right now. Now was not the time. So, reaching for my second zip-up bag, I winced a little as I said, “I'm gonna hit the light until the food gets here, okay? Don’t get mad at me.”
“Why would I—” he stopped talking. Rather, he couldn’t talk anymore as I laid the ice-cold bag of water over his face, then quickly moved to get up. I could hear him sputtering into the plastic as I made my retreat. It took him until I reached the light to finally regain his footing, shooting up at the waist to glare at me. “What in the hell was that?”
I glared back. “You need to cool your thoughts, King. Now lay back down.”
I cut the lights. He said nothing, but I could feel him looking at me as I returned to the living room. When he continued to stare, even as I took up a place by his side, I used my finger to push hisforehead down. Slowly he let me push him back to the ground and after wrestling me a little for the bag of cold water he finally let it go, allowing me to take possession of it again.
“You’re going to put that cold ass shit on me again, aren’t you?” he asked warily.
“Just embrace it. It’ll help you stop thinking so much,” I said. He only winced in response, readying himself for the ice cold sting. Leaning forward I placed the bag onto his face again. “I do this when I start to spiral. My grandpa used to make me stick my head in the freezer. Said it was because I’m such a hot head. Then he’d stand behind me with grandma, and they’d both remind me of all the reasons I have not to be so angry. This is my way of doing that now, I guess.”
He didn’t remove the cold water from his face, and he didn’t respond, but as I moved slowly to gingerly lay down shoulder to shoulder with him, I found myself swallowing hard as his fingers latched onto mine between us.
I didn’t pull away.
I took a breath instead, letting it out in a long, controlled stream. I didn’t know how to do this—how to be there for someone when they were hurting. But I would try my best if only to bring back the smile I had yet to see since I walked into the dark hole Ira was drowning in.
“Stop me if I get anything wrong okay?” I started. I could tell he was confused, but he just grunted, playing along with me. “You’ve had one of the most successful careers ever in NBA history. So no matter what happened to your knee today, you can’t be mad about that.”
Grumbly Ira was back. A simple noise was his only acknowledgement that he heard me or that he cared. I took that as my cue to keep going.
“You hurt yourself playingprofessional basketballfor a living. I’m sure little childhood Ira’s dreams have already come true. Nomatter what happened to your knee today, you can’t be mad about that.”
His grumble turned into a soft grunt, his hand squeezing mine softly as his thumb traced a line up the side of my hand. I shivered.
“You’re pretty much a shoo-in for the hall of fame. You can never be mad at that,” I said, bumping my shoulder into his. This actually got a soft chuckle out of him, the sound like water in a drought.
