Page 89 of On Merit Alone
He walked me over to the couch, sitting me down in his lap there and pulling me in close to his chest. I buried myself there,hoping the weight of him would keep me safe from it all. Keep me safe from myself. Yet, I continued to shake with the brazenness of being broken and baring it all for him to see.
He tried to shush me; to calm me down or normalize me, but I just wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t. I was an exposed wire. Electric in the most detrimental of ways.
Begging, Ira pressed his forehead into my own. His nose going to mine as he pulled me even closer still. “Please Mer. Calm down.”
“I tried to tell you,” I sniffled against him.
“Tell me what?”
“About me,” I said. “About basketball. It might not be everything to you, but it’s all I have, Ira. All I have left of them. All I have in the world. Without it there isn’t anything left.”
“No,” he said on a breathy exhale. “No, no way in hell, Merit. That’s not true.”
“It is,” I whimpered.
He hissed my name, and I could feel his lips hovering close to mine. “You are everything beautiful and wonderful about the world. You are strong. You are determined. You are kind. You are not just basketball. That’s not all you have and it’s not all you have to offer. It’s not all either of us have.”
Like a broken record, I hitched a sloppy breath. “It. Is?—”
“No,” he growled in a whisper, cutting my words and my brain off by the soft press of lips so lush and so gentle, I wasn't really sure if it was a kiss or if he just didn’t have anything else to use to shut me up.
He pulled back for a second, his eyes tracking along my face before pressing forward again. This time, his lips slipped fully over mine in a tender but firm pressure. His hand went to my face, stroking my cheeks, removing my tears as he moved his lips along mine and made my sobs disappear.
He wasn’t seeking anything from me but giving instead. This wasn’t sensual or needy in any way. He was just being there withme, providing comfort in all the ways he knew how. And I accepted it, melting into him as his kiss made me forget about my pain, if only for right now.
After long moments, he leaned away from me, his voice still a whisper as he said, “You are not alone, Merit. Not anymore. Now you have me.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Ira
“Mama,”I said in a hushed whisper as I set my tablet up in the unfamiliar kitchen, my mom on the other side of the screen.
“What’s wrong, Ira?” she asked right away. And—oh shit, I forgot my headphones.
Cursing, I ran over to the bag I had gone down to grab after Merit had fallen asleep and fished out my wireless earbuds. Back in front of the screen, I glared down at my mother, whispering, “Why do you assume something is wrong?”
“Because you call me Mama only when you want something, child. Now, what is it?” she pressed, her lips smacking and her hands going to her hips.
Peeking up, I checked the couch to see if I was waking Merit, but she didn’t stir.
Not a light sleeper.
I could add that to the category of new things I was learning about her today.
I was trying to stop kicking myself for being so ignorant. For thinking I knew anything about her or had any right to judge her when it was clear I hadn’t even begun to understand what she’sgone through. But it was hard. The best I could do was stay with her until she was feeling better.
She’d fallen asleep in my arms, still crying but at the very least less hysterical after my lips had fallen upon hers. I didn’t plan on kissing her, but as soon as our mouths touched, I knew I wouldn’t stop. Not when I felt so much and the only way I could possibly express it to her was through that expression alone.
I wanted to make her understand that she didn't have to be alone. That I could be here for her for more than just basketball. That must have been why she freaked out when I told her my news. Because in her eyes if I wasn’t around for basketball, I just wouldn’t be around. But that was wrong, and I was going to show her how wrong she was about me.
Which brought me back to my mother.
Mirroring her stance, my hands on my hips and a fake glare marking my face, I spoke to her like I meant business—which I did, but respectfully of course. “I need a recipe, Mama.”
“Oh lord, what’s wrong now?” she asked, her dramatics always preceding her ears. To punctuate the fact, she called out for my dad. “Isaiah, your son is in some kind of trouble again!”
“Ma!” I hissed, pointing an accusing finger at her. “I am not in trouble!”
