the tension in her fingers.
She gave a sturdy tug, as though to shepherd him away from there, and her entire body pressed into his side.
The level of protectiveness he sensed in her in that moment stunned Brent and touched him in ways he couldn’t define.
‘Wow.’ The jolly man’s mobile face worked.
No doubt in another moment he would voice his conclusion that Brent and Charles were ‘father and son’.
How would Brent’s father explain that? He’d done such a good job of ignoring the fact that Brent had ever existed.
How had Charles MacKay dealt with that? An inconvenient accident that had taken his son so soon after the death of the older man’s wife? If so, Brent was rather inconveniently ‘resurrected’.
‘If you’ll excuse us.’ The blandest of bland phrases. Brent decided it was somehow fitting.
He steeled his muscles to keep under his command. There would be no twitching of his head to the side, no drumming of fingers or anything else. Not in front of this man. No exposure. Brent started to turn away.
‘Surely you’d have realised the major industry event in my calendar year was at this venue tonight.’ His father’s words stopped him. The displeasure and self-centredness in them was clear. ‘You should stay out of the limelight altogether. I can’t have—’
‘I do what suits me. I’ve been in charge of myself for a long time now.’ Anger made its way through Brent’s reserve. That, too, he squashed down. It really wasn’t worth it, was it?
Charles couldn’t be proud of his success. The older man couldn’t see past the shame he felt in Brent’s existence.
You let Charles’s shame impact on you, on how you live, how you present yourself.
Had Brent done that? Would he have looked at his autism differently if Charles had done so?
Well, Charles hadn’t done, and that hadn’t changed. Brent spoke with that thought fresh in his mind. ‘If that doesn’t appeal to you, you’re welcome to stay clear of anywhere you think I might show up.’
As for Charles’s business activities, Brent had little clue and planned to keep it that way. If they crossed paths again, so what? Brent wasn’t about to actively keep away from anything for the sake of avoiding this man. What could Charles do, after all? Reject his son?
Been there, lived that, got the new and better, loving, close-knit family with Linc and Alex to prove it.
With that thought calmness came back to him. He did have Linc and Alex and they were what he wanted. Not the cold stranger in front of him.
‘Good evening. Don’t feel it’s necessary to speak the next time we meet—’
‘You must be highly medicated to succeed at hiding your flaw, even temporarily, for something like this evening.’ His father’s words held ignorance, accusation, harshness and confusion. ‘I didn’t know autis—’
‘Obviously you don’t know much.’ Brent spoke over the top of the older man. ‘Goodbye.’
He whisked Fiona away then. And he noted with some almost detached part of himself that his body responded perfectly to each of his commands.
Grip Fiona’s hand. Lead her around the two men. Nod politely at the goggle-eyed companion in passing.
Stride away, relying on the length of those beautiful legs of Fiona’s to allow her to keep up with his pace until they got outside and he sucked in a deep breath of cleansing air.
‘There’s a taxi. We’re going. We’re getting right away from here and from that—’ Fiona’s words were shocked, shaken. She flagged the cab forward with a hand that visibly trembled.
Brent turned his gaze to her and something deep and protective came to life in him. His voice was soft as he spoke, deep and gentle…‘Don’t worry. Everything’s fine—’
‘No. It’s not.’ She shook her head, a decisive shake that said she wasn’t about to be convinced.
And what else had she registered? Charles’s final word? That Brent had autism?
Moments later they were ensconced in the back seat and her shoulder was pressed to his, their bodies tucked as close as she could get them as she gave her address to the driver without sparing him as much as a glance.
All her attention was for Brent. In part that made him uncomfortable, and yet…
‘I should explain.’ Brent cleared his throat. ‘He’s not…I don’t…’
‘What? He isn’t important? You don’t care that he rejected you because you’re autistic?’ The words burst out of her and then she chewed her lip. ‘I’m sorry. I heard him, but I’d already wondered.’
It shouldn’t surprise him that she’d come halfway to figuring it out. But now, thanks to Charles, Fiona completely knew the one thing that Brent had worked to keep to himself, where he could guard it and control it…and no person could judge him for it.
‘Yes, I have a form of autism. It’s less of a challenge physically or in other ways than many people live and deal with daily, but it’s still an inherent part of me.’
The mix of emotions he felt as he told her this was difficult to define.
Fiona’s face tightened and she whispered, ‘How could he treat you like that?’
And Brent realised that for all he’d believed he’d resolved this in his heart and mind long ago, there was still…something there. ‘I—don’t know. I don’t know how he could have done that.’
The glitter in her gaze was anger and other emotions mixed. It made something inside him clench. He curled his fingers because suddenly he wanted to lace them with hers.
‘This explains your ability to concentrate your focus so intensely when you’re producing those amazing landscape designs.’ Fiona drew a determined breath, deliberately seemed to calm herself. ‘I’ve thought that was amazing. Now I understand it.’
She turned Brent on his ear by addressing his condition as though it were of benefit.
God, she was amazing, even if she wasn’t seeing the whole picture. ‘Well—’ Brent realised he was simply sitting there, soaking in her warmth. He would have drawn away from Fiona then. He had to get this back to some kind of ordinary footing before his body started leading the rest of him, short-circuited what his brain knew he had to do, namely leave her alone, and got him in trouble.
‘Please don’t…shift away yet. I need…’ Her words were low, a blend of anger and hurt and heart.
She had a generosity in her nature that Brent couldn’t seem to help responding to.
‘I know…that man revealed something about you that you obviously feel wasn’t my business.’ Her words were low, careful. ‘He had no right to do that, but you can trust me with the knowledge.
