Page 36 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Twenty-One

Merit

I stared at the wall of my apartment. Distracted. Restless. Itching to do something with myself.

Today was another day of normalcy. I practiced, I watched film, and I practiced a second time with Ira watching and telling me what to do from his spot beside the court, stretching his knee.

It was a normal day, but for many reasons it wasn’t.

Starting with the fact that between my two warm-ups and two practices, I wasn’t able to get a groove for anything—not drills, not shots, not even the conditioning exercises that we did at the tail end of practice to keep our bodies in shape for the season.

Everything was off, and I was looking forward to my routine practice with Ira, hoping that he’d see something that I didn’t, or have some kind of advice.

Spoiler, he didn’t. And as we waited for his knee to be cleared for activity, it wasn’t like he could jump in and drill with me either. So the whole time I practiced my shots, only getting worse as time went on, I also had those watchful eyes that made me squirm following me as well.

At least when he was coaching me it was worth it to have that uncomfortably hot and unnerving gaze on me.

I at least got something out of it. But when he didn’t have anything to say about basketball after watching me so intently for long minutes, it just felt…

intimate. And I should not be feeling intimate with Ira King.

Should I?

I mean, I’d been to his house. He’d sat in my car. I'd cheered for him at his games… I’d hugged him. But that was all friendly, right? And something about the way his quiet eyes had followed me along the court all day was decidedly not friendly. It was… hungry.

That was probably what threw me off. Why I couldn’t make a shot to save my life. Why I’d spent most of practice casually checking over my shoulder to see if those soft grayish-brown eyes were still on me.

They were. They didn’t leave me the entire practice. And when he said goodbye, slipping arms around me and bringing me close to his body like this is just what we did now—hug each other goodbye! Yeah, I think that’s when my brain officially broke.

Or maybe it was when I hugged him back, feeling instantly better in his arms than I had the entire frustrating day.

“Ugh!”

Shooting up from my spot on the couch, I marched over to my front hallway and started lacing up my shoes.

I needed to get out of here—do something to occupy my mind or else I’d just continue to fall subject to the memory of Ira’s strong arms banded around my back or his warm shoulder pressed into my cheek.

Or the way he rumbled a soft chuckle as I protested slightly about him letting me go.

No. I didn’t need to keep thinking of his smile or his scent or the fact that I loved the way he wore his mostly curly hair. I didn’t need to keep thinking of any of it, especially not when it was starting to leak away from just basketball.

Like how I found myself daydreaming of actually driving my car somewhere the next time he decided to sit in it.

Taking us somewhere fun and sitting with him as we talked and possibly making him smile that small, surprised smile he sometimes gave me when I said something he didn’t expect.

Or how I found myself staring at him a little too long when he raised his jersey to wipe sweat off his brow.

Or when he made a shot that even he didn’t think he would, and the most brilliant cheeky smile would take over his face…

when he complimented me and it felt like it was about more than just my game.

A soft sting resonated under my fingertips as I pulled my laces too hard, the fabric rubbing so quick it burned. “Shit!”

Quickly I sucked the digits into my mouth to try and alleviate the pain. As I did, I caught a glimpse of my whole family, their pictures on the wall staring at me. Judging.

“What?” I grumbled. Only because I knew exactly what my grandparents would say.

Grandpa would scoff and shake his head. “Can’t run from your own head, Mer. Face it before it faces you.”

Grammy would rub my shoulders and press her cheek to the top of my head in one of her quick hugs.

“Don’t be so closed minded, Love Bug. There are a million different ways a situation can play out.

It would be foolish of you to avoid the one you actually want from coming true.

Lean into it. There’s no reason to be so scared. ”

Which was wrong. The only truly foolish thing would be hoping for an outcome that wasn’t possible. Especially when I knew the most likely result.

Rising, I had my gym bag slung over my shoulder in a second. And even though I shunned the would-be words of advice I imagined from my grandparents, I still touched fingertips to their photos as I passed by toward the door. “I won’t be too late, promise. Love you.”

And maybe it was just my brain playing tricks on me, taking advantage of my turbulent feelings, but for a moment I found myself wishing I was saying the words to someone who could actually say them back.

My steps faltered as I rounded the corner to the court. There was someone there already. I could hear the bounce of the ball and the swish of the net just on the other side of the rocks.

That was strange. In all my years of coming to this place, I’d never once encountered anyone else here.

“Here” was a basketball court almost completely made into rock.

With walls the size of hills and the color of foreign clay—not to mention the large stone steps that bracketed the west side of the court in a zigzagging funnel-like configuration—the rock amphitheater turned court was an amazing part of the city not many knew about.

It was also one of the first places I’d found when I moved here.

I liked to visit it when I was feeling similar to how I’d felt back then.

Confused. Scared of change. New .

It was weird that back then I’d felt all the same things that Ira was making me feel today for an entirely different reason.

That night I’d set out to find something new, unlike I’d ever seen before.

When I stumbled upon the old, abandoned amphitheater court, I stumbled onto something that was forgotten but still stood strong—sort of like myself. I had been coming back ever since.

Now, every time something big happened, every time there was change in the air that I felt too withered or broken or unprepared for, I came to the chained away courts and wiggled my way past the gates.

The amphitheater was old, but it obviously got used during the daytime judging by the loose bolts on the rickety gate and the hoops that continued to be maintained. Apparently years ago, a new amphitheater court was built further down the rocks and this one became forgotten to most.

The city had stopped upkeep on it, but they hadn’t stopped wiring electricity to the large post lights that hovered above the courts.

They also left brooms and other maintenance materials behind.

So it was an unspoken rule to those of us who came to this spot to do our part to maintain the court—sweeping off dust, rehanging the nets, or even repainting the lines for those more dedicated.

Tonight, I’d come with the offering of an extra ball since I didn’t have time to plan ahead for a net change and didn’t have the skills to fix anything else up.

I also planned on sweeping off any dust or debris that accumulated too.

Now though, as I heard the definite sounds of shoes scuffling on court, the swish of the net, and the bounce of a decently inflated ball, I contemplated even playing here at all.

Chewing my lip, I stalled at the gate. I had no idea who was around the corner of the large rock wall, but what would I do if it was a man?

I wasn’t usually intimidated easily, but being in a dim, lowly populated area in the middle of the night where no one could hear me scream was not my idea of practicing safety either.

Plus, if Ryan found out about it, he’d murder me. Even if I was already murdered, he’d resuscitate me just to finish the job himself.

But what if it was a girl? It didn’t make it inherently less dangerous, but it did make the chances of me freaking out that much lower. Tiptoeing forward, I decided to take a peek. My fingers gripped the chain link fencing as I leaned onto my toes to take a look onto the court.

While I was expecting to see some neighborhood guy with rec ball form and slow sloppy movements, my eyes were almost assaulted with the sight of a wide muscular back and swift athletic steps .

It was a guy, but rather than someone bulky or scary looking like I’d imagined in the dramatic murder scenarios, he was tall and lean.

Clad in thin fitting joggers, a loose long-sleeve and a head of cropped curls overtop a fade.

And if his white shoes with familiar red accents weren’t enough to tip me off, the way he moved across the court like a graceful bird taking flight or a forest animal through the trees—in his element and lethal to all prey—was enough to seal the deal.

I knew this person. I knew him from the first movement he made. I definitely knew the way he hooked his hand, letting his wrist linger in the air as he watched a three point shot from just outside the dusty line go sailing through the basket.

Ira.

What was he doing here? Why was he everywhere I seemed to be? And why did he have to look so good in everything he did?

That lip I had bitten, I was gnawing now.

I was torn. I could turn around and leave right now.

I came here to forget the way he was making me feel after all.

If I went out there, I would just be subjecting myself to feeling those same feelings.

Maybe even worse as there was no one else around to cut in if things got too… us.