As Tears Go By (9 page)

By the
time he went to bed he was exhausted. Reading about autism was taxing. Watching
parents cope with situations was draining. Imagining sweet little Becca dealing
with some of the things he’d witnessed online on a regular basis was
impossible. How did she have the strength left to work a fulltime job or have a
social life?

That
was when the light bulb finally exploded.
This
was why she refused to
date him. It had nothing to do with her ex or her divorce. It had to do with
her plate being full. Hell, her plate was overflowing. And he’d pushed her
buttons like an insensitive jerk. Sammy was right, he was set to
The Braydon
Show
and it was time to change the program.

* * * *

The week
passed quickly. Bray’s nights were spent at home in front of his computer. He’d
conducted so much research he deserved some sort of honorary degree. He’d also
done a lot of soul searching. Samantha was right. He was a shitty boyfriend. He
didn’t know if he had what it took to date someone like Becca, yet he wanted
to.

A very
small but real voice whispered in his head,
is she worth it?
Was she?
This wouldn’t be like dating other women. Dating a mother meant making
sacrifices he wasn’t used to. It also meant there wouldn’t be time for childish
games. Oddly, that appealed to him. He was done wasting time with momentary
companions. It was time for the real deal and Becca was as real as it got.

However,
Becca’s situation was perhaps too real. To be honest, parts of her situation
were out of his comfort zone. He wasn’t afraid of her son, of course. No. He
was afraid of coming to find out he wasn’t man enough to handle what she seemed
to manage on her own.

There
were definitely some shaky confidence issues lingering from his past. Weariness
set in as he rubbed his brow. Was she worth it?

Yes. No
matter how insignificant their night together may have been to her, it meant
something to him. Beyond the sex, were the similarities in their fields that
intrigued
him.
Seeing her at work validated the
self-conscious strength he’d suspected the first night he met her. Their
interactions in the office spoke of a chemistry not easily ignored. They
connected on a level that was new to him. He didn’t want it to be over. She was
enchanting and surely worth his effort. He couldn’t promise his future, but he
wanted to explore the possibility of a woman like Becca being a part of it.

The
only thing to do was talk to her. Figuring there had to be some sort of custody
arrangement with her husband, he emailed her on Thursday.

I’d like to get together to talk. Just talk. Please let me
know when you have time.

~Braydon

The
reply came through that afternoon.

Braydon,

I don’t understand what it’s going to take. I thought I made
it perfectly clear my life does not allow time for dating. Please stop.

~Becca

So that
approach wasn’t going to work. Neither would another surprise attack. It was a
shame her feistiness only provoked him. For as timid as she was that night at
his apartment, there was an underlying assertiveness to her, very visible in
her job, which turned him on. Why he became so focused on this woman was a
mystery, but he couldn’t shake the sense that he needed to spend more time with
her.

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 own 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?”