As Tears Go By (6 page)

His
head swung wildly from side to side as he carried on. His frustration mounted,
segmenting his words into nonsensical sounds. Becca pinned her arm around his
chest, holding his limbs down in an attempt to subdue the thrashing.

Sharp
pain exploded in her jaw as his head jerked back and she winced, blinking back the
burn of sting-induced tears. “Hunter,” she said sternly. “You hurt Mommy. Take
a deep breath.”

His
shoulders heaved as he muttered sounds, waging an internal battle. Becca’s arms
remained around him, holding his back tightly to her front and his temper
slowly waned. Resting her chin on his soft brown hair, she carefully
transferred both his wrists to one hand, and used her other arm to apply
pressure to his shoulders. “That’s it. Deep breaths.”

Her
grip remained secure, the impersonal pressure of her hold settling him. It took
well over five minutes before she could let him go. When she finally did, she
braced for another attitude shift.

This
was difficult for all of them. Kevin’s absence from the house hadn’t disturbed
Hunter so much in the beginning, but once they’d started custody visits, many
of Hunter’s older habits returned with a vengeance.

Hunter,
like many children on the autism spectrum, needed a dependable routine. Becca
talked with his team at school and they helped her create charts that adapted
to their new family schedule. On Friday, Hunter had been fine. However,
returning home, even after three days with his father, seemed to be too
unsettling for her son to handle gracefully.

“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.

 
“No. Kevin would never hit me. It’s nothing.
Really. Just drop it.”

Braydon’s
gaze roamed over her body. His strong hand picked up her wrist and turned her
arm. “What are these marks from?”

Feeling
cornered, she snatched her arm back. “Look, I appreciate your concern, but I
assure you it’s misplaced.” She grabbed her purse and stood, hating how exposed
he made her feel. “I have an appointment. Thanks for lunch. I’ll send the
paperwork over to Mr. Dillard’s assistant when I get back. You should have it
by Thursday at the latest.”

He
didn’t look pleased, but that wasn’t her problem. Taking the long way to the
door so she didn’t have to get close to him again, she fled her office. She
held her breath as she raced to the elevators and didn’t exhale until she was
safely tucked inside and rushing toward the ground.