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He’d intended to throw the verbal punch, but when it hit home, when she recoiled, he felt...remorse. Regret.
Then, to his surprise, she straightened herself and faced him boldly.
‘I dare say that’s because you only took responsibility for Brady ten months ago. If he’d been around when those kinds of women had tried to ingratiate themselves into your life, then I imagine some of them might have thought he was fair game.’
He inhaled sharply but then, astonishingly, she held her hand up to silence him.
‘I, however, do not think he’s fair game. But for what it’s worth, I know more about boys like Brady than you might think.’
‘Is that so?’
‘There’s something special about Brady.’ She smiled, a soft smile which inexplicably made Jake feel as though he was intruding on her personal memories. ‘And I’m willing to bet that it doesn’t fit with whatever you’ve been told about him being a difficult kid in school. I think you know it, too.’
Jake faltered. Her words made more sense than he’d have liked to admit. Before he could answer, she had started talking again.
‘And, for the record, I have no interest in drawing out anything with you.’
She was lying. He knew it as surely as he knew his own name. He knew it in the way her pupils dilated when she looked at him, the way her pulse still raced and the way her cheeks flushed slightly.
And he knew it in the way his entire body reacted to her.
One night hadn’t sated the extraordinary attraction between them. If anything, it had only made their chemistry stronger.
It was baffling. Yet here he was, drawn in, compelled to hear whatever else Flávia had to say. Though, whether it was for Brady’s sake, or simply his own selfish desire to prolong any contact with her, Jake couldn’t be sure.
‘What do you think you know about kids like Brady?’ He gritted his teeth. ‘Or is it just because he happens to have this damned obsession with venom, or snakes, or whatever?’
She actually snorted at him—even if he heard a faint shake behind the sound.
‘Sorry—a fascination,’ he corrected, remembering her earlier words. ‘As if it makes that much difference.’
She sucked in a breath, composing herself.
‘It does make a difference,’ she insisted. ‘Listen, I can see that you care for your nephew, and that you’re trying to do your best in a really horrible situation. But labels matter. Attitudes matter. And how you help Brady matters.’
‘I appreciate your attempt to help...’ He really wanted to say something else, but decided
it wasn’t the best idea. Her words echoed Oz’s only too closely, if a little more forthrightly, and it hit him again how little he knew about kids—any kids—but especially about his little nephew. ‘But you really don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I know.’ She scowled.
‘How?’ he pressed, uncertain why it mattered. Was he asking for Brady? Or was there a part of him that was hungry to know Flávia better? ‘How do you know?’
‘It isn’t relevant.’
He could feel his patience fraying and snagging at the edges. He just wasn’t sure why.
‘When you’re standing here telling me I’m not doing the best thing for my nephew, and that you believe the things I’ve been told are wrong, believe me, it matters. So, I’ll ask you one more time, Flávia—how do you know?’
She glared at him, her teeth bared in something of a snarl, and he got the sense that she wanted something said without actually wanting to utter the words.
Just when he thought she was going to concede the argument, or discussion, or whatever it was that they were even having, she squared up to him and spoke.
‘Because I was a Brady.’
The words hung there, between them, shimmering like a curtain.
‘What do you mean, you were a Brady? What is a Brady? He’s just a normal kid retreating into a subject that he’s decided has caught his interest, because his mother is dead.’
