Page 3 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Two

Ira

I didn’t know how we were pulling this off. I wasn’t convinced it wouldn’t all go south at any given moment, either. But I was also kind of digging it.

Typically, it would be impossible for a starting player on the Denver Defenders basketball team to go out to a bar this public during the season.

As we officially just made it through the second round of playoffs (fourteen games later, might I add), I had assumed it would take a miracle to “go have a beer” out in the city like my brother-in-law suggested.

But here we were in the back room of a decently fixed-up bar on the outer side of town doing something else that was pretty hard to come by—watching a women’s basketball game while we were still in season.

Generally, the men’s and women’s seasons never ran into each other.

It didn’t make much sense to host competing attractions in a place where money was the main objective.

But an early start to the season on the women’s side and a triumphant but struggling stint in the playoffs on ours was stacking the two programs on top of each other in overlapping seasons for the first time in the city’s history .

Causing a real headache with practices and playing time, too.

The dirty looks the women had given us told us enough of what they thought of it. Truth be told, I didn’t blame them. It wasn’t our schedule that was being tossed around for accommodation’s sake, it was theirs.

“Arghhhh!” A wet smacking of lips and the gurgling sound of a milk-drunk baby pulled me out of my daze.

I looked down my shoulder to meet the big brown eyes of my nephew, Maddox, in my arms. His weird little baby face caused my heart to ache a little, a dizzying mix of pride and envy I’d been getting acquainted with ever since this little blob was born.

“Are all babies this chill inside a bar?” I asked the short-haired infant. “Or are you just the coolest, Mads?”

He answered by smacking his forehead right into the side of my neck. When he worked up the strength to pick the big round thing back up, he looked at me so shocked that we both broke out in a laugh.

“Yo, dude!” Neil, the aforementioned brother-in-law who I had sort of forgotten about, clipped from the other side of our high-top table. He was motioning with outstretched hands and snapping fingers. “Hand him over.”

Call it a reflex, but I instantly cuddled Maddox closer to my chest and away from his father. “Why?”

He chuffed. “For starters, you insulted him. Of course he’s the coolest baby around. None of these other babies even come close, c’mon.”

“I know that’s right,” I said, lifting my hand and smoothing it under Mads’ until we were high fiving. Another giggle as big as he was tumbled out of his toothless mouth, and I smiled, absently flicking a glance at Neil. “And second?”

He crossed his arms, pouting. “Secondly, I hate that he likes you more than me. I’m his dad!”

I shrugged. “Kid’s got taste. ”

Picking Mads up, I swung him around to my other hip.

A silent message that I wasn’t giving him up.

Then, I picked up my barely-touched beer and took another barely-there sip.

I didn’t drink much during the season, especially not during a run as grueling as the playoffs.

Call me old-fashioned, but I liked to give one hundred and ten percent on the job.

My job just so happened to include my body, and alcohol did bad things to a body.

The only reason I agreed to come out with Neil in the first place was because I knew my sister Iris could use a break from the baby, and I could use a break from the unusually long season that was currently still underway.

I would never wish a loss on the team. Not on myself either.

I was too damn competitive and had come too damn far for that shit.

But I’m not going to lie, there was a time during this last seven game stretch when I thought we weren’t going to make it out on the winning side.

And oddly, I had been the tiniest bit at peace with it.

Even though we were playing well, I still thought about how nice it would be to finally get a break.

Only, a break now would mean a loss, and I hated that shit.

And that’s where my competitiveness came in.

Always there. When I was tired, when I was hurting, when I was up, or when I was down.

The desire to win was always there, and it wouldn’t let me give up now.

Just like it wouldn’t let me give up four years ago when my knee gave out on me so hard, everyone was convinced it was the end of my career.

I couldn’t give up, even though this bone-deep fatigue was starting to settle into more than just my overworked muscles but my mind, too.

That competitiveness, the need to be the best at the best level for as long as my body would allow, had always been the driving force of my career.

But lately, even that hadn’t been enough to stop the nagging feeling that there was something else, or rather, something new out there for me.

And maybe it was finally time that I started needing something different .

Staring at my little nephew, who was alternating between chewing his hand and leaning forward to chew on my nose, I tried to convince myself to liven up for him at least. But true to form, I was so dog tired as this grueling season neared its end, I was surprised I was even keeping my eyes open.

“Yoo-hoo? You in there, superstar?” Neil asked, snagging the baby and my attention at the same time. Motioning to his face, he said, “You’ve got some drool here.”

“Where?”

He continued moving his hand all over his face. “Here.”

I narrowed my eyes. “So my whole face?”

“I’m not the one who let the baby teethe on me.” He shrugged. Then, popping a bottle out of the little purse bag on the chair between us, he situated Mads in his arms so he could feed him. “Anyway, how you feeling, man?”

“Tired,” I admitted. Leaning back in my seat, I tried not to depress into the uncomfortable chair like it was a plush loveseat.

I could probably melt into a chair made of concrete right now, I was that wiped.

Going from back-to-back seven-game stretches to another one in a couple of days could do that to a guy.

But Neil did have a six-month-old. I peeked an eye up at the new dad. He must have it hard, too. “You?”

“Tired,” he agreed with a sigh. With beaming eyes, he gazed down at his son as if he were his own personal miracle, and I could just tell that it was the good kind of tired. Mine was too, but…

But?

I shifted in my seat, uncomfortable with the direction of my thoughts lately.

Even though this was the best season the Defenders had had in quite a long time, it somehow felt taxing in a way basketball never has before.

I was suddenly the employee punching out right when the clock struck time to leave.

The guy who left at five on the dot just to speed home to nothing. I had never been that guy.

Life was feeling almost half-lived all of a sudden. It was almost like I’d been invited to a party but only allowed to watch from the other side of a glass.

For as long as I could remember basketball had always been my dream.

From the day my dad brought me and my brother to the court to watch our older sister play to the day I made my very first basket, I knew I wanted to be a professional basketball player.

Not just a player, but a good one. And I had lived every day in the pursuit of that dream.

So, what were these restless feelings plaguing me recently? And why were they getting stronger every time I was around the people I loved most?

“Think you guys have a chance against the Dunes?” he asked, referring to our next-round matchup against San Francisco.

“I know we do.” I nodded, leaning forward on my forearms. “As long as we can hang in there and not gas out, I think we have a chance to go all the way.”

“ Really ?” He whistled, and I could tell by the way he smiled he was impressed. “Takes a lot for you to gas yourself up like that. You must really be confident this time.”

“I am,” I said, glancing up at the screen behind the tall bar. “I have a feeling about this team, you know? It’s been hard, but something about it has me believing.”

He eyed me for a second, then he leaned in too. “Ever think that something might be you?”

I dismissed him, blowing out air and shaking my head. Sure, I was good. I knew I was good, but it took much more than one man to make a team. I told Neil as much.

He just shrugged. “I’m just saying. You guys have been on fire ever since you came back. Every year you get closer and closer to the big one.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So, some people are just the glue,” he said, letting his eyes trail up to the TV too. He watched in silence for a second before shaking his head. “And some lose their stick after a while. Are you seeing the Dynamite lately?”

I winced, sucking my teeth in a hiss.

He was talking about the Denver Dynamite, our women’s team.

In short, they were doing terribly. They had been ever since their star player got hurt in the same way I did exactly one season ago.

Now that she was back, I know they hoped to be doing much better.

But even with number six back on the court, they were slow to gain any momentum in the first games of the season.

Neil cut a knowing look my way. “Doesn’t look good, huh?”

“No.” I shook my head. “Not at all.”

“Damn. I thought they would start doing better once Merit got back in.”

I grunted, repeating, “Takes more than one to make a team.”

While this was true, I still looked at the television screen with a degree of pity.

It did take more than one to make a team.

Way more. But they were doing so well until she got hurt.

And without her, they struggled. I could only imagine how the pressure of everyone counting on her to raise them back up from the ashes was weighing on her now, judging by that stiff, unforgiving air about her I could recognize even from the other side of a screen.

Not to mention when I ran into her the other day.

“Know much about her?” he asked.

“About who?”

“Merit Jones, what do you mean who ?” he said, chin jutting toward the TV.

“Oh,” I said, a flash memory of skin so smooth you would never know those hands were holding basketballs all day came and went through my brain. I shook my head. “Nah, not really.”

“That’s surprising. You two are like the two biggest names in the arena,” he said.

I shrugged. “Don’t know her. Only seen her once or twice, actually. ”

“What was she like?”

“Sort of uptight.”

“So, like, the opposite of you.”

I slid him a glance. “Are you calling me loose, Neil?”

He grinned. “If I am?”

Leaning in, I covered the baby’s ears. “You watch your mouth around the baby.”

He laughed and I smiled, releasing Mads and wiping a little milk drool off his bottom lip. Looking back at the screen, I sighed. Another quick turnover against the Dynamite and a close-up of number six, who looked like one more tightening of her screws would crumble her all together.

Definitely uptight. And from what I could tell, sort of lost.

Maybe we did have something in common after all.