True, at first he’d thought she was perfect. However, that old adage about judging books by their covers was finally sinking in. So what if she had a child that needed some extra attention? Her homelife didn’t detract from her beauty, it added to his respect for her. And the more he understood autism the less it intimidated him. Before, he wasn’t prepared for surprises. Now he was banking on them.
Friday afternoon he took a cab to her building. Yes, she hated surprise visits, but this was her work and he’d brought some papers for her regarding the deal with Apricot. He could have faxed them, but—
“Mr. McCullough.”
The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Slowly turning, he came face to face with the crazy sword lady. Great. He ignored the urge to cup his balls protectively. “Hello, Nikki.”
“We didn’t expect you here today. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I need to drop some papers off to Becca.”
Nikki eyed him appraisingly. The girl was a tiny thing, but she somehow managed to provoke the intimidating awareness one might achieve while aiming a switchblade at the boys downstairs. “I can deliver the papers to her.”
He cleared his throat. “No, I’d like to speak to Becca.”
“And if I say she’s busy?”
“I’ll wait.”
Nikki arched a narrow brow. He imagined her in a Viking helmet commanding an army of crazy bastards and shook it off. “I could kill you, you know.”
“I know.”
“Don’t give me a reason. I just got a new shovel and I want to keep it clean and shiny for a while.”
She was completely insane. How she was the boss of this set up was beyond him. “I promise if I hurt her I’ll bring my own shovel and dig the hole myself.”
She nodded. “She has a meeting in twenty minutes. If you want to catch her, you better head in now.”
“Thanks.”
He followed the hall to Becca’s office. When he knocked lightly on the door she called out an invitation. The moment he stepped inside she visually tensed.
“Jeez. Stalk much?”
“I needed to drop off these papers and I wanted to give you this.”
He placed the papers on her desk and dropped a puzzle piece on top. While researching autism he’d quickly figured out the puzzle piece was a symbol for awareness. It represented how different each case was. It also symbolized each child being a part of the puzzle the world was trying to solve. But mostly, it was intended to show her he understood.
Her eyes followed the small puzzle piece and she swallowed. She didn’t look at him.
“I understand why you’ve been blowing me off. I just want to talk, Becca. Let me take you out, treat you, whenever you have some time for yourself. No pressure. You’re worth waiting for.”
Her shoulders lifted and he had no idea if she was pissed, upset, moved, or thought the whole display was a cheesy attempt to get back in her pants. It wasn’t about her pants. It was originally, and if he were being honest with himself, he craved getting her back in his bed, but he was really interested in the woman behind the mask.
He placed a business card on her desk. “There’s my number. I can be patient.”
He was disappointed she let him leave without saying a word, but he didn’t want to intrude too long. Maybe he truly wasn’t meant to be with her. Maybe God figured he’d be in way over his head if he forced her hand and this was His way of protecting her.
He’d given her his best effort, made it perfectly clear her homelife and any obstacles with her son weren’t enough to deter him. If that wasn’t enough for her to give him a chance, then maybe it was time to— His phone buzzed.
Where we met. 7:00. No promises.
A grin slowly took shape as he read her words. Finally, some headway. His chest lifted as relief set in. The doors to the elevator closed silently. Pocketing his phone, he smiled at the small victory and threw his fist into the air. “Yes!” He traveled to the ground floor doing a touch down dance the entire way. As the doors parted, his professional façade fell seamlessly back into place.
The rest of the day passed in a blur of work he sincerely hoped he did well, because all he could think about was seeing Becca again, just the two of them.
Braydon waited inside the bar, at the same table where they’d first met, and sipped his beer. At seven o’clock on the dot, Becca wandered in, her posture protective and hesitant.
His body reacted to her presence immediately. His stomach tightened with excitement as his vision widened at the stunning image she created. Slowly, she approached, and he sensed her nervousness. Her soft fragrance sank into him, filled his senses, infiltrated his brain, and twisted his body like a crank. He was literally in knots over this woman.
“Hi,” she whispered, her gaze darting to the floor.
He stood and pulled out a chair for her. “Hi. Thanks for meeting me.”
She lowered into the seat and looked around. She obviously needed a drink.
“Can I get you something from the bar?”
“Um, a glass of white wine would be nice.”
“Be right back.” He went to the bar and returned a minute later with her glass of wine. Waiting for a waitress meant possible interruptions later and he wanted Becca all to himself. This might be his only shot at convincing her he wasn’t the enemy.
Her delicate hand took the glass, holding the stem between her petite fingers as she sipped. Her nails were short and clipped neatly. No polish. Odd, but that little detail did things to him. His mind pictured them tracing over his skin, but at the same time he attributed this telltale trait as a testament to her competence as a hands-on mother.
The glass clicked down on the ceramic surface and she patted her palm lightly over the lip of the table. She was still nervous.
“I asked you to meet with me, because I realized some things I didn’t originally know.”
Her eyes closed as she breathed out a soft breath. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. This is why I tried to keep my distance.”
“Becca, I still want to know you. Very much so.”
Her lavender eyes flashed up at him, surprise clear on her face. “But I have a child.”
He nodded. “I know.”
Her mouth tightened. “Having a child’s a full time job, Braydon. Having a child like Hunter is like having two jobs. Being a single parent makes three. Add that to my actual job at the agency and I have four. I can’t take on another job right now. Dating is work. I just…” Repressed sorrow transformed her face. “I have nothing left for that.”
Weariness showed in purple shadows beneath her lashes. Her soft blond hair didn’t have the same bounce it did when he’d first met her. Her shoulders hunched slightly and he wanted to pull her close and hold her. When she said she had nothing left, he realized the luxuries she went without were mostly the ones meant to pamper her. “You’re tired.”
She met his gaze, her chin jutting out slightly with patient endurance. “I’m exhausted. Tired’s just my baseline.”
“I have no intention of being another job, Becca.”
“Everything’s a job.”
“How often does Kevin take him?”
“Every other weekend and overnight on Wednesdays, but that may change.”
“Because Hunter doesn’t deal well with shifts in his routine?” Her gaze flicked to him and he smothered a grin. He’d caught her attention. “I did some research. I wanted to better understand your situation. I’m far from an expert, but I sort of get it now.”
She shook her head. “No one gets it completely. You can’t get it in a visit or from reading an article. Unless you’ve lived it, you’ll never know what it is to be responsible for a child with autistic.”
“I believe you.”
“All the victories we cherish in life, Hunter will likely never experience, because they aren’t triumphs to him. His view of the world’s so different from yours or mine or anyone else’s. He’ll celebrate his o
wn personal joys, because autism’s personal. But all the other stuff, making new friends, getting promoted, falling in love … those things will never matter to him.”
“How do you know that?” he asked. “From what I’ve read there are lots of kids like Hunter that grow up to live independently.”
“Because each case is unique and I know my son. He can’t be measured on levels. Autism’s a spectrum. I don’t know the future, but I know my son. He can’t tolerate being touched. His shoulder is basically the only place I get to hold him. I know some day he may develop the independence to live on his own, but I’ll always worry he’ll inadvertently burn down the house—even when he’s fifty. And when I’m gone, who’s going to worry then?
“Most children his age are riding bikes and playing with friends. Hunter doesn’t have friends, because he doesn’t understand our way of socializing. He’s not interested in socializing. It isn’t a choice. He simply doesn’t possess the skills. No matter where I take him and what we go through together, he’s getting an experience that’s nothing like mine. He’ll never see our world as we do and all I can do is celebrate the small moments I get a glimpse through a window into his world.”
“And what about you, Becca? Do you care about falling in love?”
“I’ve been in love. The fall nearly killed me. I can’t suffer that again.”
“Love isn’t supposed to hurt.”
“Yet it has the ability to beat us down more than any other emotion.”
Braydon swallowed. She was really sharing quite a bit. He’d hoped she would, but pairing her confession with the look of longing and defeated hope in her eyes, was a lot to take in. “Hunter sounds like an amazing kid.”
“He is.” Her smile was sweet, telling of engrained affection. “Hunter can do things we can’t. He can tell you any part of a train, play the piano, not the greatest concertos, but The Rolling Stones without instruction.” Her eyes glazed with moisture and her lips trembled as the next words seemed to require some effort. “But he can’t hug his mother.”
His chest constricted with blighted happiness. Placing his fingers over hers, sensing she could use the physical contact, he squeezed. This incredible woman had gone through life with a son incapable of showing her physical affection and a husband who neglected to provide almost all contact.
His family was so affectionate it was stifling. He had six siblings and every single one of them hugged him every time he returned home. He couldn’t imagine not having that easy physical affection he’d always taken for granted. His skin would starve to death.
“I can’t imagine what it’s like for you, Becca.”
She nodded. “That’s my life. I’ve adapted to it. I don’t expect others to be so accommodating. They don’t have to be. I know he’s different, but he isn’t my burden. He’s my gift. I love him with every ounce of my being. Which is why I won’t let just anyone into our life.”
“Life’s a long time, Becca. Do you plan on going at it alone? That’s a lot for one woman.”
“Well, I may be one woman, but I’ve done a hell of a better job than the man intended to be my match.”
“Sometimes we choose wrong for ourselves.” A familiar concept to him. “I don’t need to meet your ex-husband to know he didn’t appreciate the good thing he lost.”
Her lashes lowered. “No. He didn’t appreciate us.” She sighed and sat back. “But the thing is, he got the real me. He didn’t get me on my way to a meeting or out for drinks with friends. He got the everyday me. She’s not fancy. She’s not tidy. And she’s not interested in stroking some grown man’s ego, because she’s too busy trying to raise a man, against most odds. And anyone who isn’t with her, is only in her way.”
There was such quiet strength to this woman it boggled his mind. “I want to be with her.”
Glancing away, she shook her head slowly. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Explain it to me then.”
Her fingers brushed over his cuff link and his chest swelled at the slight contact. Her eyes combed over his tailored suit. “You’re a very well dressed man, Braydon. I’ve seen your home. It’s impeccably kept. You even have tiny glass jars for each one of your spices all stacked in a row. My life’s messy. My house is hardly ever clean. That’s my reality. Glass breaks.”
“It’s only glass. I’m sturdier than that.”
“When Hunter has a meltdown, I take the brunt and it rips me apart. I don’t get to lose it at home, though sometimes I want to. He needs Mom to be Mom under all circumstances, come rain or come shine.”
“It’s understandable that you need an outlet, Becca. And yes, my apartment’s immaculate. It’s just me and I’m hardly there. I’m an architect, not a neat freak. I grew up in a house of nine. Nine, Becca, and not a single one of them is normal. Our home was complete chaos most of the time. Nothing was ever where it belonged, people were always coming and going, and there was never a single peaceful room in the house.”
She smiled as if this bit of information amused her. He’d made the mistake of judging her before really knowing the real her and he didn’t want her to make the same mistake. The professional he was in the city was very different from the guy he was at home.
“And you know what? I miss the pandemonium. It’s lonely as hell here. That’s probably why I never hang out at my place. I need the noise. I crave the chaos. You think a messy house and some shouting’s going to scare me off? Not a chance. I was bred from a clan of Irish psychos—well, not psychos, but they’re all a bit nuts—in a harmless way, of course.”
She shifted and her lips firmed like they did whenever she was silently debating with herself. “It’s more than shouting.”
“I watched videos online. I saw how difficult it can be. I promise not to run scared. Let me in, Becca. Show me how it works. Teach me. And for once, accept the help being offered to you.”
Her face tightened and she drew in a deep breath. “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “There’re so many other women out there. Easier women with easier lives.”
“I want you.”
A tear slid past her lashes and fell to disappear somewhere on her lap. “I’m nothing special.”
Those quiet words ripped at his heart. “You’re everything special. At first, yes, it was all superficial, but now…after everything I’ve learned about you…I think you’re extraordinary. I want it all, Becca. The sexy woman, the tireless mother devoted to her child beyond all else. I want you, just as you are, jagged edges and all.”
“I think you’re running toward false illusions.”
“I’m an architect. My job’s to envision ideals and build them. Let’s build something great together. We have a connection, Becca.”
A shallow laugh slipped past her lips. “I can’t devote my life to ideals. I exist amongst tangible realities.”
“You have to dare to dream.”
“I’ve learned to dread dreaming. I’m better off being content with the simpler gifts in life. Wishing only gets me hurt.” Someone needed to shatter the oppressive emptiness filling her.
His hand closed over hers and he gave a small squeeze. “Then let me show you some of the simpler gifts. Don’t be afraid to let yourself feel what we share.”
She reached in her purse and he thought she was pulling out a tissue. Disappointment and the extreme sense of failure flooded him when she placed a ten on the table. Slipping her hand from his, she stood and he did the same, panicked she was leaving and not ready to let her go. “Becca—”
“My car’s out front. You can either drive with me back to my house or follow me there.”
“What?”
“If you really mean it, Braydon, everything you just said, then you’re welcome to come home with me. Hunter won’t be back until Monday evening.”
His pulse doubled. She was letting him in?
“There’s one condition though,” she quickly added.
“What?”
She swallowed
then faced him, her eyes serious. “If it becomes too much and you can’t take it, you tell me. Right away. I don’t have time for games. And neither does Hunter.”
He stepped close, catching his hands on her hips. His lips pressed to hers—a small gasp of surprise slipping past—and he whispered, “I can take it, but I also promise, I’ll always be upfront with you about my feelings.”
She twisted out of his hold. “And one more thing.”
“You said one condition,” he teased.
“I changed my mind. That happens a lot. Get used to it.”
He loved when she got fresh with him. “What’s the other condition?”
Her face flushed and she seemed to struggle forming the words. “I’m not trying to sound presumptuous or scare you, but…”
Now he was intrigued. “Tell me.”
She met his gaze. “No I love you’s. I can’t take it and I have no interest in hearing anything you don’t mean. Those words are big and they mean something to me. They mean commitment, longevity, and unconditional acceptance. They aren’t to be thrown around.”
Braydon had never said he loved another woman aside from those in his family. It shouldn’t be a problem. “Agreed.”
Her smile was cautious, but eventually it formed. “Shall we?”
He took her hand. “Yes.”
Chapter Five
Becca turned the key in the lock of her front door as Braydon’s luxury sedan pulled in behind her van. Her heart beat erratically in her chest, her disbelieving mind still reeling at the fact that she was brazen enough to invite him. A big part of her assumed he’d get cold feet and bolt.
He’d clearly done his homework. Never expecting to date after her divorce, Braydon was ahead of the game. Somewhere deep in a hidden corner of her mind she’d categorized the difficult steps of dating as a single mom and found it so improbable she never thought on the subject again. Yet, the unformed plan was there. It would start slow, maybe a few dates to see if there was a connection. From there, she’d explain that her child was autistic and watch for any telltale signs of discomfort that meant the man couldn’t handle that.
As Tears Go By Page 8
