Page 94 of On Merit Alone
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. Ijusttold 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. “Ateight. 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.Ihad 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?”
