Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

God, he’d screwed up good this time. He might have even said so to Rachel, but damn, he hurt. Beyond the screaming agony in his leg, he could hear her crying, feel her tears soaking through his T-shirt.

Oh, yeah, he’d definitely screwed up. “Rachel,” he said with regret, or tried to, but his vision faded to black.

ASADA GOT THE NEWS on his ham radio. He stared out into the dark night. That’s all he had left now, darkness. No less than he deserved for failing. He was truly all alone, as the last of his two loyal minions had been hauled off to a Southern California jail cell for attempted kidnapping.

Odd, how it felt, to fail. He’d never experienced it before Ben Asher. Desolation, certainly. Sadness. It shouldn’t have come to this, but it had, and now there was only one thing left to do.

With a calm he hadn’t felt in a good, long time, he pulled out his last five-gallon drum of gasoline. Weakened by his exile and circumstance, he had some trouble dragging the thing around the perimeter of the dark, dank cellar he’d been living in, but as the gasoline splashed on the ground, the container became lighter and lighter.

So did his heart.

When he’d completed his large circle, he tossed the container aside and pulled out a lighter. Stepping inside the circle, he bent and lit the gasoline.

And stood tall as he prepared to die.

THREE IN THE MORNING in a hospital, any hospital, was the most unpleasant place in the entire world. For Rachel, who’d spent far too many late nights in a hospital recently, the sensations were the worst. The smell of antiseptic and pain. The sight of white, white and more white. The sounds of hushed murmurs and cries.

The taste of fear and hopelessness.

Thank God the last didn’t apply to her tonight. She sat in a chair by Emily’s bed, holding her daughter’s lax hand. Emily was going to be fine, the tranquilizer that had been shot into her unwilling body had worn off by now. She slept easily and of her own will. Except for her various bumps and bruises from where she’d fought her captors-Rachel’s heart hitched at the thought of what her baby had gone through before they’d broken into the bathroom-she would be fine. She was even being released in the morning.

Ben, however, hadn’t gotten so lucky. He’d come out of surgery with a steel plate in his thigh to hold the shattered bone together, and had required a transfusion of blood to keep him alive.

He would not be released in the morning. Or any time soon.

She lifted her gaze off Emily’s still, pale face and looked at the chair on the other side of the bed, a wheelchair.

The nurses had told him no. The doctors had told him no. Ben had simply gritted his teeth, gotten out of bed and demanded crutches. Worried about his well-being, they’d given in, but after he’d nearly killed himself, they’d taken away the crutches and replaced them with the wheelchair.

The man was a stubborn, idiotic fool.

He was also the most amazing, passionate, heroic, quick-thinking fool she’d ever met. He wore a hospital gown and an IV and nothing else. Slouched in the chair, head twisted at what had to be an uncomfortable angle, his good long leg stretched out next to his wrapped one, he looked…what was it he’d said to her his first day? He looked alive. Even with the tousled hair, the five o’clock shadow along his jaw, the dark circles of pain and exhaustion beneath his eyes…eyes that suddenly were opened and on Emily.

“She’s okay,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Fierce and protective, he relaxed only when he saw she still slept. “No thanks to me.”

“Ben-”

A slight shake of his head stopped her. His jaw was tight with the pain, but she knew better than to move to his side and offer sympathy. An hour ago she’d tried, and an hour before that as well. Both times he’d refused her touch.

In his head, had he already gone? No, she knew him better than that. In his head he’d put all the blame for what had happened firmly on his own shoulders.

She watched as his eyes grew heavy on his daughter, as slowly the exhaustion and lingering anesthesia from surgery claimed him again. The depth of grief and guilt he felt stunned her. The depth of emotion she felt in return stunned as well. My God, she’d really fallen for him again. Or maybe the word was still.

There was no lingering doubt now. After all these years, she still loved him.

Having to go to him, she rounded the bed, kneeled at his side, all the love she’d just realized she had for him swamping her, needing to spill out.

As if he could read her mind, he lifted his hand and put a finger over her mouth. A grimace crossed his face. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

She gripped his fingers in hers. “Why not?”

His face twisted in a mask of torment. “Did you somehow miss the part where I nearly got Emily killed today?”

Tears filled her eyes for what seemed the thousandth time that night. “No. That wasn’t you, that was Asada. Ben…don’t take this on yourself.”

“I have to.” He stared at her, his own eyes suspiciously wet. “It was my fault, Rach…all of it. Every single moment of your pain from the moment you were hit by that car, to when I had to darken your doorstep again, to now…” He looked at the very still Emily. “Watching our daughter lie in that hospital bed.”

She cupped his face and waited until his eyes shifted off Emily to hers. His pupils were dilated, his skin hot and dry to the touch. The words she wanted, needed, to tell him backed up in her throat at the heat of him. “My God. You’re burning up.” Surging up, she went behind his wheelchair.

“What are you doing?”

“What I should have done a long time ago,” she said, mirroring his long-ago words to her. “I’m taking you to bed.”

FOUR PINS, a steel plate and one more surgery later, Ben was released from the hospital. He blinked into the bright sunlight, nearly tripping over the crutches he’d been so determined not to need but would for a long time.

At least he was alive, more than he could say for his nemesis, who’d actually chosen death by his own hand. And this time Asada’s body had been positively identified by a United States FBI agent.

There’d be no more reign of terror.

After all this time of being on edge, Ben still couldn’t believe it was truly over. His mind was having a hard time wrapping itself around that fact.

“Here.” Rachel opened the passenger door of her car and smiled at him. “Bending to get in is the hard part, I’ll just hold on to you-”

At the feel of her hands sliding around his waist he sucked in a breath and looked at her. He’d been surprised when she’d shown up as he was signing the release papers, though in retrospect, he shouldn’t have been. She’d come every day, bringing Emily… Those memories made him swallow hard. His baby, his precious baby with the bruise still over her jaw where she’d been hit.

On her first visit, Emily had taken one look at his leg and burst into tears. He’d been terrified that she’d suffered some long-lasting emotional trauma, that she’d never be the same lighthearted kid, but she’d lifted her tear-streaked face and had said, “You can’t camp with your leg like that.”

He’d laughed. His first.

Rachel had confirmed that their daughter had indeed bounced back. A miracle. Their miracle, she’d said softly.

But Ben’s miracle had her arms around him and was trying to get him into her car. A place he couldn’t go because he knew where she’d drive him.

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!”