Page 48 of On Merit Alone

He didn’t say anything about the first channel to appear being the sports channel. Instead he just plopped himself down on the couch beside me. Close enough now that our legs were pressed right up to each other’s, he turned his head down to look at me. “What else do you like to watch?”

“Um…”

“No lies, Six,” he commanded.

“I don't really watch a lot of shows, I watch a lot of content, I guess,” I said vaguely.

Taking it in stride, like he did everything else, he said, “Cool. What kind of videos do you like to watch? ”

I ducked my head, my hands going up to press into my cheeks, already embarrassed.

This piqued his interest, causing him to lean away from me to get a better look. He was smiling, anticipation clear on his face. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No!”

“You sit up here watching pimple popping videos all night, don’t you?” he pressed, teasingly.

“ No, Ira! Even though those are sometimes satisfying…”

“Six!” he exclaimed, his chest bouncing as he laughed. “You’re sick!”

I covered my face. “I didn't say I watched them all the time! Just sometimes, okay! And that’s not what I watch anyway?”

“What do you watch then?” he asked, coming down with soft lingering chuckles. His eyes sliced my way when I didn't answer. “Before my hair turns gray, Six. C’mon.”

“I like to watch compilation videos. Mostly dogs. Dogs are my favorite,” I said.

He smiled pleasantly at that, his fingers already working to pull up the video streaming app and find a compilation. Absently he tossed over his shoulder, “And when it isn’t dogs, what other compilations do you like?”

The sound of an ad rang in our ears, but I ignored it looking down at my hands. In a more subdued voice, I chose to admit something that I didn’t think I would to another person. Ever. “Families.”

Ira’s head snapped up, his gaze locking with mine. “Families?”

“Yeah,” I said. My shrug could have pulled off the nonchalance I was aiming for if I didn't tremble with it. “Surprise visits. Pranks. Christmas mornings. That kind of stuff. I like watching them sometimes.”

A lot of the time.

He hummed, a lingering pause rolling between us. I winced in apprehension. That look resembled curiosity. He was going to ask questions, and I was going to have to answer them. At least he sat back, feigning a casual look at the TV when he did. “Do you follow any family blogs specifically?”

Swallowing, I sat back too, focusing my gaze ahead but not seeing much of what played on the screen.

“No. I’ve never wanted to give myself the illusion that I was a part of something I’m not.

If I let myself get attached to any one thing, I’ll be disappointed when it ends.

” I shot him both an apologetic and pathetic look since he knew firsthand what happened when I got attached. How easily I became disappointed.

“Is that why you’re always holding back?” he asked. “Why I only see you smile like that rarely, after weeks of knowing you?”

I lifted a shoulder lamely, because yes.

That’s exactly why I had been holding back around him.

With Ira, blind annoyance had turned to admiration so quick it gave me whiplash.

And still, the more time I spent with him, that admiration turned to adoration.

His easy laughs and simple calm, his way of being that both tested me and complimented me.

They all pulled feelings and emotions out of me like a thread that had been sewn up so tight for so long, I thought not even the sharpest scissors could snap it free.

Ira had done it all so easily that it was hard not to be guarded on what he was about. Like I said, I had to be prepared for an imminent future in which he would be done with me. And that future would look a lot harder if I let myself fall for him completely.

That would all be difficult to admit though, even if I was willing to say any of it.

“So you were orphaned at fourteen,” he said, but I could tell it was a question. I nodded, the answer simple. He looked down at me. “So that would make you a ward of the state.”

I nodded again, thinking about a time all those years ago when I’d first become alone.

“I grew up out east. Virginia. I didn’t love going to school, but I wanted to be on the team, so Grandpa worked out a hybrid program where my grandparents took over my schooling and the school system did the testing.

That way I could still be a part of the teams and compete to win myself a better chance at a good college scouting me. ”

“How are we talking about basketball again, Merit?”

I patted his arm as if to tell him to ‘hold on.’ He did, letting me continue.

“When everything happened and the state wasn’t able to locate any living family who might take me in, I went into the system.

But since my schooling was advanced far past my age and I had already been scouted heavily by colleges out west, I only stayed in homes for about two years before I was permitted to graduate and move away. To start on my own.”

“How early?” he asked.

“I was seventeen when I graduated… Basically seventeen,” I said.

He hissed, his head shaking in disbelief at my words. I was numb to his reaction. Of course, I appreciated his shock and surprise, but everyone had this reaction—impressed that little Merit Jones made it on her own so young.

What they didn’t know is that I had to. The moment I walked into a stranger’s home to play at “family” when we all knew it was for the benefit of a paycheck, I knew I had to get out as fast and as grand as possible.

I paved a way and never looked back. Though, those years were just as much a pain as they were an accomplishment.

Something in Ira’s expression caught my interest. Something soft and consoling with no praise in sight, just compassion. It threw me off. So did the warm hand that slid into mine, lacing our fingers together and bringing my hand up to his mouth.

I held my breath as he pressed soft kisses to the top of my hand. When he was done, he pressed that same spot to the side of his cheek before flipping his gaze up to stare at me.

“I’m sorry you had to do that, Merit,” he said, his voice clear and full of earnestness .

My heart squeezed. He didn’t praise me for my efforts or applaud me for my achievements, he apologized for my loss.

Not the loss of my family, though I assumed that was included, but the loss of the life I thought I would have.

The loss of the little girl I was one moment and the next, having to become a grown adult.

He apologized for all the things nobody else saw.

Things I thought only I knew. He saw them and he regretted them for me.

Getting choked up again, I sunk my shoulder into his side. He was warm and his arm curled around me almost instantaneously. “Just because you hide, doesn’t mean I don’t know you’re crying, Six.”

“Just let me. I’ll limit exposure later so you don’t get sick of me,” I breathed, my voice wobbly.

He breathed deeply but didn’t move our position. “I’d tell you if I was tired of you, Merit. And from the way things look on my end, that might never happen.”

“Ira,” I said on a whimper. I didn't know what to say to these words he kept showering me with. I just told him that I held myself back for fear of disappointment in the end. How was I supposed to react when he was pointedly making it that much more difficult to resist him?

“Just saying, Six. In my family we say what we mean. That was true on the night I found you shooting and I rudely told you that I thought you should be resting, and it’s true now when I’m telling you that I’m not going anywhere. I said it, I meant it. Simple as that,” he said.

All of those big words were nearly murmured in the small melodic tone he kept.

Snuggled under him like this, he didn’t have to speak loud for me to hear him, and he didn’t strain to.

He spoke in a voice that was just for me.

If there were a hundred people in this room right now, I think that voice would still be just for me.

It melted me, and I hid my face in the side of his throat in response.

Unsure of how to respond to the sensations he brought to my mind, body, and spirit. Not to mention my heart.

He just ran a languid hand up and down my arm as we sat. Soothing and present. Like him. Tightening his hold on me after a moment, he pulled me in closer. “So, you were enough of a hothead at fourteen for Grandpa J to tell you to stick your head in the freezer?”

I snorted out a laugh. “At eight . That’s when he started that.”

“What the hell were you doing at eight? Biting the heads off dolls?” he joked, the smile in his voice clear.

I hid deeper into his side. “Try popping the boys’ basketballs when they didn’t let me play with them.”

“Merit!” he laughed, shocked. Grasping onto my shoulders, he held me at arm’s length and pretended to shake me. I giggled on each shake. “Why am I not surprised you were an eight-year-old tyrant?”

In a gentle motion, Ira pulled me close, his forehead dropping down to mine, his hand sliding behind my neck. His proximity stirred me up and settled me simultaneously. The sigh he let out was content and resigned.

Right there, attached to me like he would hold me up no matter what, Ira finally asked—voice low, tone already sorry. “How’d they pass, baby?”

My breath hitched and I shook. Ira just held onto me tighter, almost fusing his body into mine. But he didn’t take back the question. He wanted to know. I could tell him.

“Mom and Dad were in a car accident. I was three and also in the car. They died on impact, but I survived,” I whispered. Turning my head, I craned my neck so he could get a better look at it. “I have a scar from the accident right here.”

Ira ran his fingers softly over the small marking but remained silent .

Gulping, my next breath was broken with an old pain that cut in a familiar but still painful way.

An old hurt I had and hadn’t come to forgive the world for quite yet.

“Grandma and Grandpa both got sick. It was really sudden. One week, we went into the hospital for Grandpa’s cough.

The next, Grandma was being admitted, and the next after that—well, then it was just me.

I was fourteen, and they both left in that hospital.

My whole family did, and I guess they forgot to take me with them. ”

His arms tightened around me, his head slipping down so that his mouth touched my shoulder. His body locking me in embrace so fierce, I wasn’t sure if it was more for me or for him. I accepted it and gave it back. Feeling safe for the first time ever when telling this story.

Ira didn’t ask for more details. He didn’t pry into topics that were clearly tough for me. Instead, he lifted his head to press his lips into the side of my neck, asking, “What was their number, Six? Your old number.”

I smiled now, memories of me playing in my family’s number with my grandpa being some of my very favorite. “Nine.”

He nodded as if it made perfect sense. Which to me it did, but never had I told anyone why I changed my number. Everyone who knew my old number just assumed I flipped the nine on its head. I never corrected them. Now Ira’s reaction made me wonder if he knew.

Reading my mind, he offered, “Balance. They’re halves of the same whole.”

My swallow was loud as I nodded. Surprised again at his total understanding of me, unprompted.

“One number symbolizes the end of a cycle. When my grandparents died, that was the end of a life, a love and a family as I knew it. Things had to change. I had to in order to survive. The new number represents destiny. I chose it to help me remember that destiny, to finally end the cycle.”

“You knew your destiny at fourteen?”

“More or less. ”

“What was it?”

“To be alone,” I croaked. It wasn't my imagination that he went stiff around me. He didn't interrupt me though. “It’s okay. I came to terms with it a long time ago. I was meant to be alone. Or else why would the world take everything away from me? I accepted that destiny a long time ago, but I’m still a little selfish. So I held onto basketball to help me through it and to keep me company on the hardest nights. It’s worked alright so far. ”

He was quiet. Quiet for so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Until he did.

“Merit?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry if you take this the wrong way, sweetheart.

You can be mad at me about it later,” he said.

Cupping my jaw he leaned down to crowd my space.

I breathed him in. Took in every part of those serious eyes as he beamed me with one of his most serious looks. “But I am going to ruin that destiny.”

“Why?”

“Because I am never leaving you alone again.”

And then he kissed me. Long and slow and deep. More powerful than before. More urgent. Every pull of his lips seemed like a promise he was all too eager to make. Every caress a declaration.

I let myself enjoy the feel of him for now. His pretty words and strong shoulders to cry on. I let myself feel it all now, feel it deep. Because who knew when it was going to be over, and I could never feel it again?