Toward the Sound of Chaos Read Online Free PDF Page B

gross.”
    I
stare at him, my mouth agape. Did he seriously just say that? I mean, obviously
it was gross, but still, could he make me feel any worse?
    Jake
chuckles, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a half grin. “I’m teasin’ you,
Elle. Besides, I’d say we’re even after I ran outta your salon screaming like a
little girl, wouldn’t you?”
    Elle ? Where did that come from ? My whole life no one has ever called me Elle, but
I like the way it sounds in his deep, husky drawl. Like a dram of whiskey on a
cold winter night, warm and rough as it goes down. I swallow hard as I think
about Jake Tucker going down, and I have to drop my gaze so he won’t see the
come-and-do-ridiculously-naughty-things-to-me look that I give him.
    “Well,
you didn’t exactly scream. You were more like a ninja, disarming me faster than
I could blink and tossing my cut-throat razor like a throwing star before
vanishing into thin air,” I say, shrugging.
    “I’m
sorry I hurt you.” He swallows hard and glances at my wrists before turning
away.
    “You
wanna just start over?” I ask. “Hi, I’m Ellie Mason. I’m a single mom, and hairdresser.
I drink too much coffee, run my car into poor unsuspecting footbridges, and
puke all over nice men. I don’t do close shaves anymore though on account of
some trouble I had a week back with a highly trained ninja.”
    He
chuckles darkly. “Okay, let’s see. Jake Tucker, ex-Marine, PTSD survivor,
single—surprising right? I’m a sucker for hot blondes who puke all over me
after I pull them from burning vehicles. I also like long walks on the beach
where I tackle unsuspecting women to the ground to save them from rogue
fireworks, and I singlehandedly took out a cut-throat razor last week with my
stealth moves.”
    “For
your information, that vehicle wasn’t burning.” I laugh.
    “No
it wasn’t. I may have a tendency to over exaggerate in order to make myself
look better.” He grins and clears his throat. “You haven’t been at the beach
lately.”
    “Not
really. We went a few days ago, but we haven’t made it out since.” I lower my
voice so my son won’t hear. “Spencer’s friend, Lady, died.”
    “Olivia’s
Lady?”
    “Yeah.
My landlord won’t let us have an assistance dog, so we’d come and work with
Lady here at the shelter. He’s been a little torn up ever since. More
meltdowns, more attitude, and over things that never used to bother him
before.”
    Jake
studies Spencer, who’s so caught up in the puppies he hasn’t even seen Jake
yet. I can tell the Marine’s trying to work out what’s wrong with him, but he’s
too polite to ask.
    “Spencer
has Autism and SPD,” I blurt out. A part of me hates having to explain my son’s
diagnosis. It’s not that I’m ashamed, and I know as the parent of an ASD child
that I should be willing to answer questions in the hopes of removing the awful
stigma associated with Autism, but sometimes you can talk until you’re blue in
the face and it won’t change people’s prejudice. My son is not diseased, it’s
not catching, and we’re not looking for a miracle cure or a way to change him.
We just need to find a way to work with him. We need to sort out a way to make
all of those beautiful puzzle pieces inside his brain fit together.
    “What’s
SPD?” Jake says quietly.
    “Sensory
Processing Disorder,” I say. “It’s like a neurological traffic jam. His wires
get a little crossed sometimes and he can’t process loud noises, or touch, tags
on clothing, or scratchy material—even certain foods cause him distress. Most
ASD kids sit somewhere on the scale with Sensory Processing Disorder, but for
Spence it can be really debilitating. I’ve been saving up to buy him some of
those electronic ear muffs. The good ones that they use in the police force and
the military. They still let you hear but they block out any loud noise that
gets too close.”
    “The
fireworks.” Jake nods as if he understands and something in