Page 99 of On Merit Alone
I grunted and he just eyed me for a second.
“Do you like to talk or sulk after a game?”
“I don’t know,” I answered genuinely, never having thought about it before. Sitting down when prompted with a little nudge, I blinked my eyes up at the ceiling as I contemplated. “I’ve never had the option before. I usually just listen in the huddle, take my shower, and go home… alone.”
His eyes flipped up to my face for a second before he kneeled in front of me and patted his knee. I didn’t know what he wanted. That didn’t deter him. He just reached down and grabbed my foot, placing it on top of his knee and began untying the laces.
Flipping his gaze back up to mine in a quick glance, he asked, “How do you feel about the game then?”
He wasn’t lingering on the fact that my foot was now in his lap and he was already halfway through unlacing my shoe, so neither would I. Easier said than done though as his hands slipped under the back of my foot and tugged my shoe off. While he gently set the shoe down on the floor, he squeezed the back of my ankle. Massaging the tendon there in a surprisingly deft motion.
I hummed a moan, rolling my lips into my mouth to keep the entire sound from filling the air. He heard enough though, his eyes flicking up to mine as he smirked. Still, he didn’t comment on that, just coaxing. “You basically transcended to another level after that bullshit call. I love a good rage streak.”
“Right!” I said, remembering the numerous bad calls that particular ref always seemed to make on me and the rest of the girls. It’s like he was anti home team as a home team ref! It made no sense. I’m sure my tone of voice said as much as I grumbled, “He’s the worst.”
“Fucking John.” Ira shook his head as he moved onto my other shoe.
“Fucking John!” I echoed in a bubbling giggle.
I blinked down at him. I was smiling, and strangely my chest felt light as we spoke. Ira somehow sucked the anxiety I usually held after a too close game right up. Which suddenly made me shy.
He looked up at me, giving my foot an encouraging squeeze even before he had that shoe off. “What else, Six?”
I bit my lip. Peeking down at him, I didn’tnotwant to tell him. But what if I went too basketball nerd on him again?
The look he speared me with had‘in this lifetime, Six’written all over it though. So swallowing down my insecurity, I pushed on.
“Well… I’m a little frustrated with my team right now. I mean, I’m trying as hard as I can, and I’m playing better which is great, but I can’t do everything. It’s like they forget there are other people out there that they should be depending on. Again—I love that I’m back and playing decent again—but I just sort of hate the pressure you know?”
“Oh absolutely, they’re running you ragged,” he said. Below me, he’d taken my socks off and was starting in on the ankle wrap I’d been wearing on my right ankle since college. It was weak and always rolled, so it was best to tape it up to be more safe than sorry. I hummed agreeing marginally and he huffed. “Just because you’re the best player on the team doesn’t mean it's all on you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I don't think of myself as the best player on the team, Ira.”
Picking up my wrist, he started unraveling the wrap there too. That was another injury that seemed to pop up depending on the frequency of play. I kept it taped under a sweatband for preventative measures.
Mostly. It hurt sometimes too, but usually people didn’t notice. Ira did, and he let his fingers work into the sore flesh in steadymotions. I swallowed a groan as he ran his strong grip over a tender spot.
Ira scoffed, still focused on my earlier declaration. I gave him a slight glare, but he looked away briskly avoiding my eyes. “I said what I said.”
“There’s no place for the arrogance or self-inflation of a best player on a team, Ira. Especially when we all know we need each other in order to get where each of us want to go. I don’t think about that stuff. I just think about doing what I can do for the team.”
He grumbled a little. “Well, they need to also do what they can for you. I’m not suggesting they throw you a parade, just give you some fucking time to catch your breath.”
“It’s okay.” I reached out, my hand going to his hair reflexively to soothe before I realized what the heck I was doing and retracted it.
He smiled at me. “You can touch me, Six. I touch you.”
I felt nervous down to my bones. My core curling around on itself as I actually contemplated it. But as he just pointed out, holding onto my wrists as we spoke, he touched me so much more. He was comfortable with it; I was the awkward one.
Extending my hand again, I let my fingers brush through his curls in the gentle petting motion I had been originally going for. Then that same shyness took over and I pulled back, smiling softly at him before returning my hand to my lap.
I cleared my throat. “It’s okay. I’m not really worried about the playing time. It’s hard, but it’s only for a handful of months, not like your season.”
“I’mdamn sure worried about it,” he grumbled, but continued. “But whatisworrying you then?”
“There’s been a lot of pressure attached to my comeback,” I breathed and it was in saying it out loud that I finally felt this unfurling weight settle on my shoulders. It had been hovering there for weeks now and I refused to let it settle in fear of not being ableto handle it. I don’t know if I felt okay admitting it now because Ira was there, promising he’d shoulder some of it with me, but I was suddenly okay.
I was okay being scared and uncertain and nervous for myself around him, because he managed to somehow be all those things while also being strong and confident and believing too.
