Page 43 of On Merit Alone

Chapter Twenty-Three

Ira

You would think I cursed her and her entire family line. That’s how mad Merit was at me.

In the days and weeks following our fight, Merit wouldn’t talk to me, let alone look at me. If I passed her in the gym she would look the other way. If she saw me first, she would turn the other way. And God forbid I tried to go up and talk to her. To touch her.

Touching her was out of the question. She didn’t care who was around, she wouldn’t let it happen—sooner lighting her hand on fire than accepting the contact.

That really did a lot for a guy’s ego. And if I happened to catch her in a situation where she either had to talk to me or risk seeming rude around others, I almost wish she chose the latter because the cold way she addressed me seemed to do a great job at erasing every previous encounter we’d ever had.

Making every conversation, every look, every smile, and every bated breath seem cheap and fabricated.

I hated that she was mad at me. At first, I was mad too.

Stung by the fact that she didn’t immediately spring into the supportive Merit role that she played all those times before.

That’s the Merit I thought I would get when I opened up to her.

I definitely did not expect her to be the wounded one.

It pissed me off that she, of all people, would deduce me to someone who could only make baskets and couldn’t offer the world anything more.

But then I realized, we hadn’t even gotten to that part yet. Merit hadn’t even known my reasonings for wanting to retire. She hadn’t gotten that far. Whatever she was feeling stemmed solely from my desire to stop playing basketball, and that made me question, what was the real problem here?

I was willing to talk with her about it.

Seeing that tear roll down her face would have pretty much made me willing to talk about anything with her.

I don’t think I ever hated a drop of moisture more than coming from Merit’s eyes.

I instantly wanted to fix it, but she wouldn’t even let me near her.

And after a while, I was losing hope that she ever would again.

Figuratively, of course. We did essentially work in the same circles.

And, as fate would have it, we were currently doing a work thing together.

An interview segment with one of the local magazines or something.

And for all my questions about Mer’s reaction to my news, today’s task was starting to make some things painfully clear.

For this segment, a makeshift interview panel was set up in the middle of the arena. Behind a black curtain they had a newsroom with couches and the little fake coffee cups on the tables. They also had microphones and an entire camera crew, the hoop and half the court serving as a backdrop.

From our team, there were a bunch of guys—mostly all the top personalities and top scorers.

We usually did things like this—interviews, questionnaires, one on ones, behind the scenes—that sort of stuff.

But we didn’t usually double up with other teams. Now though, we were taking turns and going in segments with the women’s team.

First, the guys and I had a turn answering rapid-fire questions that made us laugh and got us all joking around like we normally did.

The girls did the same, though I was learning Merit wasn’t much of a joker with everyone else like she was with me.

Most of her answers were straight to the point.

All business. However, her team seemed to be used to it, so it didn’t throw the reporters too far off.

Next, they paired us up, matching the men’s and women’s teams with pairs they assumed would be most compatible. Naturally, because of our commonality of skill and recognition, Merit and I were paired.

At first I thought when she sat down next to me that she was just nervous.

For two weeks she’d been ignoring me at every turn, and now all of a sudden, she was sitting so close to me I could hear her labored breaths even as she tried to mask them under little coughs and clearings of her throat.

But then, as I bumped my knee into hers and she actually startled slightly, I realized she was out of it.

Jerking at the contact, she mumbled a quick “sorry” as she realized her positioning and moved to adjust it.

Discreetly, I hooked my pinky with hers on the couch, murmuring, “Stay,” under my breath. She immediately sank back down, no question or protest following. She didn’t look at me, but I could tell she was chewing at her lip as she waited for the interview to start.

That worried me. I had never seen her so nervous for anything.

This wasn’t even serious. Just something fun and lighthearted to put in the middle of some magazine. But by the way Merit was acting, you would think it was a job interview.

I bumped her knee again, attempting to lighten her up, but she remained stiff. Her hands wringing in her lap as the woman sitting in the chair next to us began.

“Ira King and Merit Jones! The sports world has been trying to get the two of you in a room together since that infamous moment on game four’s sidelines,” Tonya, the interviewer, started. “Welcome! And thanks so much for doing this with us. ”

“Thanks for having us,” I said, giving her an easy smile. Beside me, Mer grimaced what I assumed was supposed to be a smile.

“Okay, so,” Tonya started. “This one will be just like your last round with your teammates. We’ll do quick easy questions just to get to know the person behind the player.

We’re especially excited to get to know two of the biggest stars to bless Denver sports with their presence, and in the same era no less! ”

“That sounds good to me,” I said leaning back in my seat. Merit didn’t respond, so I nudged her with an elbow.

“Sounds good,” she echoed, barely looking up from her hands.

Weird. She was being noticeably weird, though we all powered past it.

“Okay, so I’ll ask a question and you both can take turns giving an answer. Good? Okay, let’s get started then.”

I couldn’t resist slipping a look at Merit as the interviewer did some kind of nod to the cameras and the rest of the crew, letting them know she was ready.

She looked stressed and was barely hiding it.

That dreaded feeling I’d had as she walked away in the parking garage that day chose now to resurface.

But before I could decipher what any of it meant, we were starting.

“So, we all know that you guys have your rituals on the court, but what are some things that you do off the court that keep you grounded and help in your daily life?”

I gave Merit an opportunity to go first, in case she wanted it, but not long enough that the silence that followed was awkward. Instead of letting it linger, I jumped right in. “Well, this might make me sound lame, but I call my parents almost every morning.”

“Really? I love that! What do you guys talk about?” she asked.

I shrugged. “You know, whatever. Sometimes we just chat, I ask them how they’re doing. I just like to check in, that’s all. When I don’t, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Aw!” she cooed. Redirecting her attention, she glanced to my side. “And Merit? Please tell me yours is just as cute! ”

Merit slowly lifted her head and smiled self-deprecatingly. “Um, well I can’t say I’ve got anything as cute as that. I usually start my mornings with practice, so…”

And that was it. Nothing else to add. Nothing personal about herself. Nothing about her family. Just practice?

“Okay, well we love a dedicated woman! Let’s move on,” Tonya said, rolling right along. “We see on court that both of you have dedicated coping mechanisms during high stress moments. Ira what’s your off court coping must have?”

“That’s easy,” I said. “I like to cook very badly. My parents used to hate it when I was stressed out because I would nearly blow up their kitchen. I still do it, but it’s my own kitchen I’m setting on fire now.”

“ Wow . Well I’m sure tons of people would love to try whatever you’re cooking in the King's kitchen.” Predictably, she turned to Merit next. “And Merit, how about you?”

“Um…” Merit visibly winced. “Well, if I’ve got something on my mind, I usually go out and shoot until I feel better.”

“No wonder you have such an accurate shot, Merit! You’re always practicing,” Tonya joked, making no one laugh. “Moving right along. If you could do anything but play basketball, what would be your dream profession?”

“Firefighter!” I answered quickly. When she asked why, I told her about a field trip in middle school to a firehouse where I fell in love with it.

Moving over to Merit was almost like blind hope at this point. We all hoped that she would say something different, but somewhere in the back of our minds, we were beginning to understand that she wouldn’t.

Merit must have too, because she shrugged helplessly. “I can’t imagine myself doing anything else.”

There was an awkward pause as everyone took her in. It was painful. Enough that I leaned over to her, bumping her shoulder playfully, cameras be damned. “If you had to choose, Six.”

She looked over at me, her eyes doing something different for the first time in a week. Instead of anger, they held pain. She shook her head, her voice going hoarse as she swallowed, “I’ve only ever wanted to play basketball. This is my dream.”

“Okay,” Tonya said slowly. “Oh! Who is your go to person in life. Who do you go to for anything, good or bad.”

“My sister,” I answered. “She was my idol growing up. Still is, to this day.”

“And Merit?” Tonya asked more quietly, as if she was wary of the answer.

“You can probably guess by now, huh?” Mer said, her voice so fucking small. It broke my heart. But strong as she was, Merit still faced it. “It’s normally just me… so.”

Just me . She’d said those words before and I never put much stock into them. Now, all of a sudden, I had a bad feeling about this.