Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

MELANIE RACED through Rachel’s house like the devil himself was on her heels, emotions flogging her with every step-remorse, anger, humiliation, regret… Without Rachel’s forgiveness, her entire world had splintered.

Go home.

Well, damn it, she didn’t have a home, she had a leased condo she could no longer afford, with someone else’s furniture in it, and someone else’s tastes on the walls. Unlike Rachel, who’d taken from their childhood a need to settle and had followed through with that need, Melanie had done nothing for herself. She hadn’t really cared to.

By the time she slammed out the front door, her throat was closed, her heart shriveled, and she could hardly see for the tears pooling in her eyes, the tears she refused to let fall.

She took a step toward her car, or at least that’s the message her brain signaled to her body, but suddenly she found herself running, running like hell across the neighboring lawn and up to the front door there, knocking with three bold knocks.

After a moment, Garrett answered. He wore trousers and an open shirt exposing a wedge of hard chest spattered with dark hair, a chest she knew to be warm and perfectly capable of holding her weight while she burrowed in.

“Melanie,” he said with surprise.

She took one look into his face, with his dark, passionate eyes and wide, firm mouth that always, always, spoke the truth, no matter what, and did the most horrifying thing.

She burst into tears and covered her face.

A steady hand settled on her elbow, just a simple, comforting touch. It made her fall apart even more, and her breath hitched in her chest as she continued to sob, utterly unable to stop.

“Are you coming in?” His other hand came up to steady her as well. “Yes or no, sweetheart. You come in and we deal with this, all of it, or you run off again. You make the call.”

“I can’t…”

“Yes or no,” he repeated quietly.

“Yes!”

He drew her in. She heard the door shut, but resisted when he tried to pull her close because though her feet had brought her here, she still didn’t feel like she deserved his sympathy.

“Come here,” he said, and ran his hands up and down her spine, not grabbing her butt, not trying to cop a feel, just…holding her.

She couldn’t remember a time when a man had offered her such simple comfort, wanting nothing in return. Or if she’d ever wanted one to. But she wanted that now, so much. Gripping his shirt in her fists, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent, wetting his skin, feeling soothed by the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. She had no idea how long they stood there, with buckets of her tears falling at their feet, the sounds of her crying muffled by his shoulder and the occasional wordless murmur he made as he held her.

Eventually she ran out of steam, which left her drained and weary. His hand swept back up her spine, gently stroking the back of her neck, before sinking his fingers into her hair to tug her face up. “Better?”

She sniffed, and for once didn’t care that her mascara was probably all over her face or that she needed to blow her nose. “Yes,” she said, marveling that it was true.

He led her through his living room to his kitchen, where he sat her at a bar stool and poured a glass of water for her parched throat. When she’d taken a long sip, he sat next to her. Reaching for her hand, he brought it up to his mouth. “Talk to me.”

She stared at him, feeling goose bumps rise on her arms from nothing more than the feel of his mouth on her palm. Lust, yes, but good God, this was more than any simple lust she’d ever felt. “Garrett…” She let out a surprised little laugh. “I can’t think with your mouth on me.”

“That’s new,” he said, and set her hand back on the counter.

“Yeah… no, ” she corrected, and nervously licked her lips. She was anxious, she realized. With a man. She was never anxious with a man. “It’s not new. I’ve felt this way around you for a long time, I just couldn’t admit it to myself, much less you.”

His eyes lit with such emotion she could hardly breathe. “Can you tell me why you’re here? Why you came to me?”

“Because you’re the only one I wanted to come to.” Every time she spoke, revealing another little truth she’d kept to herself, it was like lifting a brick off her heart. “You were right before.”

“Really? About what?”

“That I was hurting Rachel. That I did it because I wanted a little tiny bit of what I saw in her eyes. Some of that happiness.” She put a hand on her heart as it hitched. “I didn’t know I had to get it from within me.”

“Have you found that happiness?”

“I’m not sure,” she answered honestly, and another brick came off her chest. “I went to Rachel, tried to tell her how sorry I was…it didn’t go well. I was running away, you know. Running home, but then I realized, I don’t have one. And then I ended up here.” She looked into his eyes. One more brick fell away. “I wanted to be with you all along. I was just terrified of that wanting. Oh, Garrett.” She reached for his hand and squeezed, hoping to God she wasn’t too late.

He cupped her cheek. “Are you talking love?”

She held her breath, then let it out slowly, no longer willing to cajole, coax or lie. Not ever again. “I don’t really know the meaning of the word. I was thinking…” She stared at his fingers.

“Yes?”

What was it about him that gave her such strength, such hope? She looked into his eyes. “Maybe you could help me out with that.”

His smile was slow and full and filled her with such hope it hurt to breathe. “How’s this for a start? I love you, Melanie Wellers. I love you with everything I’ve got. That means that I think of you night and day, and being with you makes me feel alive. I want you happy. Do you think that could work for you, love in that context?”

“Oh, yes,” she gasped, starting to cry again. “And in that context, Garrett, I can honestly say…I love you back.”

“Be sure,” he said a little huskily now, getting off the stool to stand between her legs. He slid his hands into her hair. “Because I play for keeps.”

“For keeps is good,” she whispered, and reached up for a kiss to seal the deal.

ON TUESDAY, Ben drove them into Los Angeles. Rachel rode shotgun, staring silently out the window. Emily, in the back seat, sat surprisingly quiet as well, a set of headphones on her ears that might have been a brick wall between them for all she even looked at her parents.

The silence stretched, then stretched some more, until the tension in the car became the fourth passenger. Ben knew why Rachel was quiet; there was a whole host of reasons for that. She resented him for leaving, she didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want her daughter to be here.

But Emily, her silence seemed out of character for the preteen who lately had only two gears-fast-asleep and hyperspeed.

“You cool enough?” he asked Rachel, reaching for the air-conditioning.

She didn’t look at him. “Fine.”

He glanced in the rearview mirror to make sure Emily’s head was still bopping to the music only she could hear. “Look, Rach, I wish things could be different.”

“Really? What things?”

“Us, damn it. I know there are things about me that…”

“That what, Ben?”

“That scare you.”

Now her eyes frosted over to match her voice. “You don’t scare me.”

“Bullshit.” He checked the rearview mirror again. “Come on, Rach, truth. We don’t enough time left for anything else.”

“Okay.” She took off her sunglasses. “Truth. Because God knows how important the truth is when you’re getting on a plane in a couple of hours.”