As Tears Go By Page 5

  “Are you ready to come inside?”

  “Mmm,” he mumbled, affirming he was ready.

  She took his wrist and slowly led him through the garage. They weren’t quite out of the woods yet.

  The tendons in Hunter’s small hands and fingers flexed as he widened his fingers and rotated his wrists like talons. His head bopped as he repeated quietly, “Come inside. Come inside. Come inside.” Echolalia was a tendency of Hunter’s whenever he came out of a tantrum.

  Shooting Kevin a glare regarding his usual lack of assistance in a crisis, helped dispel some of her frustration. Thankfully, Kevin’s need to escape prevented him from lingering.

  “I’m gonna take off,” he said as Becca released Hunter’s arm as he entered the house.

  Pulling the door only partially closed she asked, “Has he been like this all weekend?”

  Kevin’s expression showed offense. “No, Rebecca, just today when I mentioned returning home.” His fingers forked through his hair. “I thought we were past this shit.”

  That was the thing with autism. It never ended. It had taken her years to come to terms with her son’s limitations, but it wasn’t all work. There were days Hunter blew her away with his abilities to do what ordinary people could not. She had, over time, embraced her son’s world, submerged herself in helpful literature, and met frequently with the people involved in his progress. Kevin had done no such thing.

  Being a parent of a child living with autism was tiring in ways most families couldn’t comprehend. But what utterly exhausted her was trying, for eight years, to teach her husband that their son was different, not broken.

  She retrieved Hunter’s bags and sighed. “How did you handle it?”

  With uninformed arrogance, Kevin said, “Rebecca, don’t assume to tell me how to parent my own son.”

  “We need to remain consistent. It’s what the—”

  “I know how to handle him!” he snapped, then huffed. “I have to go. I’ll pick him up Wednesday from school.”

  She nodded and entered the house. The sound of Kevin’s car pulling away dragged a lot of her tension with it. She found Hunter in his room pacing, a Koosh ball flapping in his hand as he marched from corner to corner.

  She placed his belongings on the floor by the bed and sat. “Did you have a nice weekend at your father’s?”

  “Daddy’s house is blue.” He paced to the other corner. “Wild Blue Yonder,” he said, matching the house to the exact crayon color.

  “That’s a nice shade of blue. Would you like to help me put your things away?”

  “Mmm.”

  She unzipped his bag and refolded his shirts. At least Kevin washed them. “Can you find your shirt shelf?”

  Hunter wandered to the closet, where the doors had been removed, and tapped the label with a picture of a shirt. “Good. Put these shirts there please.”

  He carried the shirts over to the shelf and shoved them into place.

  “Pants next.”

  They repeated the process until all of his belongings were put away. Hunter was being vocal, but his words were still pitched in a way that told her he was far from relaxed.

  They had dinner and that was another battle. Tomorrow would be better, because Hunter would be waking up in his usual bed and following his customary routine.

  It was anybody’s guess how long the trial period of split custody would last. If Hunter didn’t eventually adjust to their separation, she’d have to speak to the courts about altering the agreement, due to their circumstances and Hunter’s needs.

  If it came to that, Becca feared she’d burn out. Being a parent was hard work and could overwhelm anyone. But being a single parent of a growing boy with autism was daunting. Her skills would be tested to the max as she weathered the days alone.

  Kevin had never been the greatest helpmate, but he at least was there for the moments she needed to do the shopping or just take five minutes to regroup. Not to mention the moments she was physically drained and needed his strength to situate their son. Hunter possessed an inexhaustible energy and could be quite stubborn at times.

  Kevin loved their child, but part of her suspected it would be easier for him to simply offer monetary support and visit occasionally. It was only the remainder of his tattered conscience that seemed to keep him from making such a request, that or misplaced pride. His version of pride would never mirror hers in terms of their son. For some reason their son’s limitations had always fed his personal insecurities, where she tended to appraise Hunter’s progress with delicate discrimination.

  She wanted what was best for Hunter, but she also didn’t want Kevin in her house. The hollow joys of marriage were not worth the unbearable tension and betrayal. The day she relinquished her ideals of a united family she suffered crushing sorrow, not for herself or her husband, but because family should have been the one thing she provided for Hunter, and theirs was broken.

  All of these reasons were why she couldn’t take on one more thing in her life. She was tapped out.

  That night she battled with Hunter to brush his teeth, a tactile torture he hated, but tolerated, due to positive reinforcement and a detailed token economy developed with his team. Her reflection showed a bruise forming on her chin where he’d head butted her earlier.

  It wasn’t easy staying small as Hunter grew. Bruises were a commonplace occurrence. On the calm and content days he was a gentle-hearted boy, but when his frustration toppled his ability to communicate, the storm brewing within, often erupted and devastated his temperate nature.

  Her body ached as she stripped off her sweats and slid on a nightshirt. Another blotch of purple marked her arm. Before she went to bed, she quietly walked through the house and adjusted Hunter’s charts for the morning. Their life was orchestrated by routine.

  After she transferred every illustrated label to its proper place, she slowly took the stairs. Her mind briefly conjured Braydon, but she lacked the energy to consider what their association might become.

  Her body was tired and her concentration shot. Closing her eyes, she settled into her pillows and quickly fell into a dreamless rest.

  Chapter Three

  Nikki burst into Becca’s office like a storm capable of blowing the shutters clear off a house. “I brought éclairs!”

  Shoving the box of chocolate goodness on Becca’s desk she collapsed into a chair, draping one leg over the arm of the seat. Becca raised an eyebrow and asked, “Whatever would possess my dear carb-terrified friend to enter a bakery this early in the week? She certainly wouldn’t be making an attempt to butter me up with chocolate bribery.”

  The thin cardboard lid snapped down on her exploring fingers. Nikki gave a shameless grin. “Those pastries will cost one confession, please.”

  Pulling back her fingers and licking away a smudge of chocolate, Becca sighed. “There’s nothing to confess.”

  “Bullshit. I saw you two yesterday. He looked ready to take you right on the conference table.”

  More to the point… “Did you know he worked for Bradford?”

  “No. I swear. He must be fairly new, because I thought I knew everyone on their staff.”

  Becca had done some nosing around that morning. Turned out, Braydon was ‘newer’, but not the brand spanking kind. He’d been with the Bradford firm for almost three years according to their company bio page. This was likely one of the biggest deals he’d ever acquired. That bit of information gave her strength.

  If this deal was important to him, he had something to lose. Becca could use that to make sure he didn’t cross a line. Returning Nikki’s impatient stare, she asked, “Are you really going to come in here parading donuts and not let me have one?”

  Her friend huffed and fell back in the chair, nudging the box forward. “No. Eat them before I do.”

  Becca stole an éclair and moaned as the sugary scrumptiousness filled her mouth. The flaky pastry was still warm and the custard was just right.

  “So what happens now? You
two will be seeing each other a lot if the deal goes through.”

  “The deal’s going through.”

  “Does he want more?”

  “Doesn’t matter what he wants. What matters is that I do my job and take care of my responsibilities in this world. Braydon McCullough isn’t one of them.”

  Nikki studied her for a moment. “Is this about Kevin or Hunter?”

  “This is about me. My life needs to be as simplistic as possible. I need to protect myself from events I can’t abide. Yes, Hunter needs me, but I need him too. I need him to be happy. The divorce was hard on all of us. I’m not sure the custody agreement’s going to last. Hunter isn’t dealing with all the shifts well and that may mean, eventually, I have him all the time. I’m not complaining, only being realistic. What man wants to get involved with all that?”

  “There are plenty of men out there with autistic children, Becca.”

  She pursed her lips. “Nikki, please don’t pressure me on this. Yes, there are some great men out there, but they want great women with ordinary lives. Hunter’s own father couldn’t handle the way our life is. I can’t expect an outsider to step up to the plate. The divorce rate of families touched by autism is eighty percent. Who willingly takes bets with the odds piled against them? I won’t take that risk with my son. I won’t put him through more than he’s already been through. It’s too risky.”

  Nikki’s face was serious. She reached across the desk and pressed her hand into Becca’s. “Okay, sweetie. I understand.” She stood and went to the door, her fingers brushing over the picture of Hunter hanging on the wall. “He’s getting so big, Becs.”

  Indomitable pride filled her heart. “I know.”

  Nikki smiled despondently. “Why don’t we go to the park this weekend, the three of us?”

  “Hunter would love that.”

  “Then it’s a date.”

  After Nikki left, the fax came through with the negotiations between Apricot and Bradford. Their firm was scouting various locations for the new franchises to develop.

  By noon, she was starving and figured she’d pack up early for lunch. She had a showing downtown at one. As she lifted her purse out of her bottom drawer there was a knock at her door. “Come in.”

  She stood and stilled.

  Braydon smiled over a large box reeking of takeout. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I brought eggrolls, pizza, fries, and salad.”

  Her jaw dropped. He’d brought her lunch?

  “I also have the updated contracts for you to look over,” he said, stepping into the room and placing the box on her desk. His gaze snagged on the leftover box of éclairs, his long fingers flipping up the lid and noting the last of the bunch. “I’ll remember you have a sweet tooth next time.”

  There wouldn’t be a next time. Dropping her purse back in the drawer, she asked, “May I see the contract?”

  Sliding into a chair with smooth agility he removed the document from his breast pocket. Tossing it on her desk, he snatched up the last éclair. His mouth closed over the soft pastry, full, kiss-provoking lips wreaking havoc on her senses.

  Shaking off the effect he was having on her, she swept up the paperwork and paged through.

  “Can I interest you in an eggroll?”

  Bracing herself, she glanced at him over the pages. “No, thank you. I have a lunch date in an hour.”

  His gaze zeroed in on her. “With a man?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “Would this be a business lunch, or a personal one?”

  Crap. New Becca’s strong. Don’t back down. “I don’t see how that concerns you.”

  “It concerns me, because I want to see you naked again and don’t like the idea of other men doing the same.”

  Her jaw unhinged. She was outmaneuvered. “Braydon—”

  His head rolled back as he shut his eyes and moaned almost sexually, throwing her off. “I love when you say my name. Do it again.”

  She snapped her mouth shut and pursed her lips. “Please—”

  “Mmm, that’s it. Beg me, angel. Your wish is my command.”

  Her brow scrunched. “Come on!”

  “Oh, yeah, angel, make me come.”

  That’s it. She smacked the papers down on her desk. “Will you stop that!”

  His mouth kicked up and he peeked through one eye at her. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”

  “You’re trying to make me uncomfortable.”

  “Is it working?”

  Exasperated, she huffed. “Yes. Now, knock it off.”

  “Will you eat an eggroll?”

  It wasn’t funny, but his sarcasm disrupted her irritation. Crossing her arms, she said, “I don’t like eggrolls.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Fine.”

  He unwrapped a warm slice already on a paper plate, the grease seeping through the thin cardboard. Sighing and giving him a look that should convey how unimpressed she was with his tactics, she bit into the slice.

  “Have mercy. I love watching your mouth work.”

  Dropping her chin and tossing the plate on her desk, she scowled. “That lasted all of two seconds.”

  “Well, that’s not what any man wants to hear. Go on. Finish eating. I’ll behave.”

  “Will you?”

  “I suppose. But it won’t be easy. I should be rewarded for my efforts.”

  “I’ll be sure to pass along my praise to your boss.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that. We just broke up.”

  Her mouth paused mid-bite. “You dated your boss?”

  He shrugged and dug through the box of takeout. “Dated isn’t the right term. We…satisfied each other for a time.”

  The sudden jealousy snaking through her was completely inappropriate and uncalled for. “Like…she was your booty call?”

  He unwrapped another eggroll. “More like I was hers.”

  “What’s the difference?” What kind of man sleeps with the boss? One, it was unethical. Two, the woman was about twenty years older than Braydon—weren’t men supposed to be superficial about that sort of thing? And three, the idea of Braydon with that beautiful, dark skinned, willowy CEO made Becca really covetous and insecure about her own shortcomings. Not characteristically territorial, her bitterness was unsettling.

  “The difference is, she called the shots.”

  Becca frowned. “You mean you only came over when she suggested it?”

  “No. More along the lines of I only came when she permitted it.”

  “What?” She hadn’t meant to rudely blurt her shock, but… What?

  This was the same man that had dominated her body the other night, owned the boardroom the other morning. She simply couldn’t imagine him acting subservient in any way, even to an impressive woman like Miranda.

  Braydon shrugged. “We had a different sort of relationship, but it worked…for a while. When it no longer suited both our needs, it ended. We’re still friends.”

  Her mind went over everything she knew about Braydon. He wasn’t a softy. He definitely had an intimidating presence, nothing short of capable. As a matter of fact, he had a distinct air of authority about him, something a man didn’t acquire, but was born with. Imagining him being bossed around by a woman like Miranda Robinson simply didn’t make sense.

  “To each his own, I guess.” And if he was the sort of guy who only entertained a relationship “when it suited”, all the more reason to steer clear of him.

  Braydon paused and cocked his head to the side. “Really? I didn’t expect judgment from a woman who had sex as infrequently as cicadas over the past decade.”

  Her mouth snapped shut. The humiliating truth of his words stung even if he was only teasing. She resented his knowledge regarding her personal past. “That’s not nice. And for your information, I had sex more than once every seven years and I’d appreciate it if you’d butt out of my personal business.”

  He chuckled and went back to eating. “You know,” he said, almost
contemplatively. “I have no problem with taking control. The dynamic Miranda and I shared was unique. I liked pleasing her and she enjoyed asserting herself. You shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

  Tried what? Bossing him around or allowing him to take control? Both were unlikely. She already had enough people to decide for and whenever people tried to tell her how to live her life she tended to get uppity. With no time for dating she had even less time to contemplate fetish dynamics. All she’d hoped for in life was a typical marriage and family. Captain Kinky over there was again proving way out of her league.

  She really didn’t need to think about this. “I don’t think so.”

  “Could be fun.”

  Unwelcome memories of their encounter flooded her mind. He was probably right, it could be fun, but she couldn’t allow things to go that far—no matter how much her body wanted it. Shifting her weight, her legs crossed in an attempt to relieve some of the unexpected tension building inside of her. Flutters of excitement teased her lower belly as pressure built.

  She needed to focus. Finished with her pizza, she dropped the crust on the plate and wiped her mouth with a napkin, making sure there wasn’t any grease on her chin.

  When she looked at Braydon, his easy manner evaporated. “What the hell happened to your face?”

  “What?” Her hand fluttered to her jaw.

  “Did somebody hit you?” He stood and rounded her desk, not giving her a chance to brace for his nearness.

  Crap. She must have accidentally wiped away her concealer. Quickly reaching for her purse, she said, “It’s nothing. I bumped—”

  Her words cut off as he gently cupped her jaw and turned her face. His eyes were hard as he scowled at the bruise. “How did this happen?”

  “I told you. I bumped—”

  “You said you had to see your ex yesterday. Did that son of a bitch do this to your face?”

  Fury radiated from him, completely contradicting the gentle way he held her chin as he examined her.