Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

Home. Her home. His heart skipped a beat just thinking about it. He needed to get on a plane, now, before he did something stupid, like admit he didn’t want to go at all.

“Come on, Ben. Get in.”

“Why?

“Why?” She seemed stunned by the question. “Because I’m driving.”

“I mean, why are you doing this?”

They stood in the parking lot of the hospital. The street was busy and noisy around them. And the sky, the goddamned sky, was so bright he could hardly stand it. Rachel stood at his side, the breeze brushing over her short, short blond hair, putting color into her cheeks. She looked bright too, so bright he could no more look at her than he could the sky.

“Why am I doing this?” she repeated. “Because I’m taking you home to recover.”

“Your home.”

“Well, yes,” she said, the first hint of temper in her voice. “As you don’t happen to have one.”

“Rachel. No. ”

She stared at him, a hand on her hip. It took her a moment to speak, and when she did, her voice was husky with emotion. “You’re not in condition to traipse off to the four corners, not quite yet.”

She thought he was in a hurry to leave her. And though his leg was screaming, as well as the rest of his body because just the walk out had sapped his strength, he leaned on his crutches so that he could reach out and grab her hand. “I hurt, Rach.”

“Oh! My God, you should have said so!” She patted down her pockets, then came up with his pain prescription. “I have-”

“No,” he said tightly. “I mean I hurt here.” He put her hand over his heart. “I hurt for Emily, for what might have been. I hurt for what I let happen, because there’s no way the two of you can ever forgive-”

“Ben-”

“Hell, I can’t forgive me.” He drew in a shaky breath. “Look, the best thing we all can do is get on with our lives.”

“Just like that? Just forget that you came here, how we all connected despite ourselves? We should forget everything, just like that?”

He stared into her wet eyes and closed his. “Yeah. Just like that.”

“Fine.” Now her voice was tight. “But get in the car. Not even you, superhero, can get on a plane tonight. You’ll need rest first, at least one night’s worth. I’m offering you that.” When he just looked at her, she shook her head. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to tie you down, physically or otherwise. Just come, use a damn bed, then go. Go the hell away.”

Again. She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to. He’d pissed her off good now, which hadn’t been his intention. He’d wanted to go away immediately to avoid just that. To avoid all the emotional stuff they’d drudge up by having to say goodbye yet again.

“Are you getting in?” she asked, arms crossed. “Or are you going to be stupid and catch a cab to the airport?”

They both looked at the short line of cabs along the sidewalk.

“I’d bet my last dollar you have your passport and all you need right there in your backpack,” she said softly. “Am I right?”

“Aren’t you always?” he tried to quip, even added a half smile, but she just lifted a brow. “Yeah,” he admitted on a long breath. “I’ve got everything I need.”

She looked away. “Well then.”

He touched her, ran his fingers along her hair, the edge of her ear, watching her shiver, wanting that last touch, that last memory. It would have to hold him awhile; he didn’t think he could come back any time soon and be able to stand it. That he was thinking of coming back at all made him realize just how weak he must really be. “I’ll…uh…”

“Send for Emily?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Rach-”

“Just go,” she whispered, and covered her face for one beat before dropping her hands and walking around toward her car door. “Just stop dragging it out and go the hell away.”

Beating him to the punch, she got in, revved the engine, and drove off.

Leaving him weaving like a drunk on the unaccustomed crutches wondering how it had come to this, with them destroying each other all over again.

BEN GOT ON the first plane out of Los Angeles, heading toward Africa, determined to lose himself in other people’s miseries and to forget.

But as he rubbed his aching leg, all he could see were the lights of South Village, California, and the disappointment and hurt on Emily’s face.

And the real love in Rachel’s eyes, whether she’d admitted it or not.

THANKS TO THE STORY of Asada hitting the papers and the ensuing resurge in Gracie’s popularity, none of it really hit Rachel for about three weeks.

But after it’d all died down, there was no getting around it. Ben was gone, really and truly gone. It seemed as if she’d just gotten used to having him around again, and now that he’d left, she felt…different.

Odd how she’d been able to work with a broken heart, but she had. Maybe it was because of her broken heart. In any case, she gathered her latest drawing off her easel, of Gracie kayaking through the rough waters of life, with the handicap of one hand tied behind her back and a short oar. The handicaps of everyday living.

At the sound of the truck outside her window, her concentration broke. The trash men were late again. They were also in a hurry, given that the guy dumped half the contents of her trash on the sidewalk. “Hey!” She leaned out the window to make sure he heard her. “You need to clean that up!”

Startled, he looked up. Flushing with guilt, he bent to retrieve the fallen trash.

“Mom!” Emily came running into the room. “What’s the matter?”

“Absolutely nothing.” She dusted off her hands. She watched with satisfaction as the man picked up the last of the scraps he’d dropped.

“But…you were yelling.”

“Yes, and you know what?” She turned around to face Emily. “It felt wonderful- Oh, my God.” Her daughter’s hair was…gone. “What on earth have you done?”

Emily grinned and tugged at the extremely short tufts still on her head. “Do you like it?”

“You…cut it all off?”

“Yep.” She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin. “I’ve always wanted it this short but you kept saying no.”

“I would have said no again!” She had to consciously lower her voice at her daughter’s stricken expression. “I understand it’s your hair, and you’re stretching your wings and becoming a teenager and all that, but-”

“M-ooo-mmm,” Emily said, drawing the word out into five syllables.

“You should have asked!” She was yelling again and didn’t care.

“I wanted to be like you!” Emily yelled back.

Rachel stared at her. “You…really?”

“Really.” Emily’s eyes filled. “But you hate it. And you’re yelling. Why are you yelling, Mom? You never yell.”

“Oh, baby, I don’t hate it, I promise.” Rachel gathered her in for a hug and had to laugh at them both as she swiped at a tear on Emily’s face. “I guess I still want you to be my little girl, needing me for everything.”

“I do need you, I’ll always need you.”

Rachel buried her face in her baby’s short, short hair. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve…felt a little shaky lately.”

“Without Daddy?”

Even now, the thought of Ben was like a knife to the chest. “Yeah.”

“Is that why you’re yelling?”

“I’m yelling because…well, because it feels good.” Rachel drew back and smiled. “I’m not going to hold back everything anymore, Em. I’m not going to pretend my feelings and emotions don’t exist.”

“Uh-oh.” A wary expression crossed her face. “Does that mean you’re going to want to yell at me a lot?”