Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

A lot more than a kiss on the cheek.

Ben glanced back. Rachel had her casted leg up on the adjacent chair, casted arm resting on the table. The bruises on her face were fading, but the scar over her left eye was not. She wore a handkerchief on her head but he knew that her hair, while still a beautiful light gold, had barely begun to grow back. For that alone, he hated himself. She’d suffered so much because of him, and suddenly he couldn’t even stand to be in the same room with her. He didn’t deserve to be in the same room with her, and pushing through the doors, he left the kitchen.

Once in the living room, he scooped up the errant puppy, who was cheerfully chewing on a black sparkly sandal he figured to be Emily’s. He brought both the ruined sandal and Patches to Emily’s room. “This afternoon, your secret is out,” he warned. “Until then, you’ll go outside when I take you, and sleep when I tell you. No trouble, no messes, no accidents, you hear?”

Patches panted her agreement.

Emily had made a dog bed out of a box and an old blanket, but he knew Patches preferred Emily’s bed. Only problem, she wasn’t big enough to climb up by herself. She stood on the floor at the side of the mattress doing flips to try to get up, to no avail. When she saw Ben looking at her, she started in on the aren’t-I-adorable wriggle, her entire hind-end moving back and forth so fast she could hardly walk.

“Let’s hope Rachel finds you half as cute as you think you are.” Ben squatted down to stroke her head.

She fell to her back, exposing her belly, madly licking Ben’s hand and wrist, tail waggling back and forth at the speed of light. When he stood and moved to the door, she followed.

“Oh, no,” Ben said with a laugh. “I’m not getting between mom and daughter, I’d be crazy to. You’re Emily’s news, dog.”

Big puppy eyes blinked sadly.

“Hey, you’re just lucky Rachel isn’t on top of her game, because believe me, if she was, you’d be Dead Puppy Walking.”

Yeah, when Rachel was sharp, nothing got past her. Not a single thing. And if she’d made her mind up about something, forget it.

Abruptly he remembered his last day in South Village all those years ago. He’d been sent a plane ticket, had his assignment and his bag packed. More than anything, he wanted to leave South Village far behind, but still he’d hesitated.

He couldn’t leave without seeing Rachel one more time.

With pride weighing him down, he’d marched up to the Wellers’ house. It’d been so big he’d figured fifty people could live in there and never cross paths.

He could still turn around and walk away, and no one would ever know he’d come to beg her to want him, the way no one had ever wanted him.

Pathetic. He was pathetic, but before he could take off, Mrs. Wellers answered the door, a glass in one hand, her other gripping the doorway as if she needed a life-line. Far younger than his foster parents, it was odd to see how alcohol and careless living had aged her. She’d looked right through him, not recognizing him, even though by then Ben had been in Rachel’s life for six months.

“It’s Ben, Mrs. Wellers. I need to talk to Rachel.”

She’d hiccuped, then with a wide wave that sent her vodka or gin or whatever she was drinking sloshing over the edge of the glass, she shook her head. Tossing back her well-tended hair and downing the rest of her drink, she’d swallowed hard and said, “Rachel doesn’t want to talk to the likes of you.”

The likes of you. Par for the course for Ben Asher, aka no good son of a bitch. In school, out of school, every-damn-where he’d been a no one from nobody and no place.

He didn’t remember running out of there, but the bus ride to the airport had been interminably long. He hadn’t taken a good deep breath until he’d met up with his new peers on the other side of the world, where he’d been treated like an equal. Like a somebody.

God, he needed a damn walk, he thought, shrugging off the old and unwelcome memories. Needed air. He glanced at Patches, who had fallen asleep on her back, and carefully shut Emily’s bedroom door.

He could still hear Adam in the kitchen, talking to Rachel in that gentle voice that made the peace-loving Ben want to clobber him.

What the hell was wrong with him? Adam was a good man who obviously relished taking care of Rachel. Ben should be thrilled she had someone like that. It would make leaving all that much easier.

Yeah. He should be thrilled. And he would be when they located Asada.

Figuring Rachel was safe enough for the moment, Ben let himself out. He’d like to hop on a plane but a walk would have to do.

He walked past the market, past the art gallery. Kitty-corner from Rachel’s house was a small park, lush and green, where he found an intense game of three-on-two basketball in the middle court. The men looked to be in their thirties, and given the amount of swearing, illegal moves and outrageous fouls, they were quite serious about the game. The three players were shirted, the two players against them had stripped to the waist. One was tall, dark and had the meanest jump shot Ben had ever seen. The other was average height, and had a carrottop to go with his temper, but he moved like lightning.

Something about them drew Ben closer, then closer still, and he pulled his ever present camera off his shoulder. He’d just gotten a great shot of a layup when he was stopped by the redhead.

Chest heaving, sweat running down his face, the guy jerked his head toward the court. “We’re short a player.”

Ben pulled his face away from the lens. “Yeah?”

“You any good?”

Ben had been born naturally athletic, but couldn’t say if the gift had been inherited, since he knew nothing about his genes. He’d played ball in high school, but since then had only played in makeshift courts in any given Developing Nation, with people he’d had to teach. “I’m okay.”

“Then ditch the camera, we need you.”

Ben ditched the camera and his shirt. And played the most cathartically vicious basketball game ever. By the time it was over, they’d won by the skin of their teeth and one basket.

The other team took off. Limped off. Ben had learned the redhead was Steve, his partner Tony. Slouched against a brick wall, nursing various injuries and sucking down water, Ben also learned his teammates were a lawyer and a cop.

“We beat the shit out of each other three days a week, if you’re interested,” Steve said, swiping at a bloody lip.

Ben had released quite a bit of tension in the past hour. He had hated this town and all the people in it. No one had ever looked at him in this town.

But these guys were looking at him now. “I’m not here for long…” He hoped he wasn’t here for long.

“We’ll take what we can get.” Tony smiled grimly. “Because damn, you’re a tough son of a bitch.”

Ben glanced at the refurbished firehouse he hadn’t let out of his sight during the game. “Yeah.” Some of the weight he’d just played off was coming back. He was a tough son of a bitch. But tough enough to take on Asada?

God, he hoped so.

AFTER ADAM LEFT, Rachel took the elevator up to her studio, where she crashed in the window seat. It frustrated her to be so weary, but at least she hadn’t had to use the wheelchair today. Baby steps, her physical therapist reminded her constantly.

Her gaze wandered to the park on the corner and found the basketball game. She couldn’t take her eyes off Ben, not during the game, and not now as he crossed the street, heading back. Even when she knew she should move away from the window rather than risk him catching sight of her there, she stayed.

From the crosswalk, he paused, sending a wary glance toward her front door. His broad shoulders sagged slightly, as if he held the weight of the world. He looked beat, drained. Human.

Then he looked up and caught her. She’d been ogling him, his messy hair and damp body.

Especially his damp body. Eyes right on her, he slowly lifted a hand, waggled his fingers at her.

She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, he was gone.

She was reminding herself that was a good thing when he appeared in the doorway of her studio.

“You okay?”

Concern. Always concern, no matter how furious, how anything he was, concern took precedence.

Well, she was damn tired of concern. Tired of being weak and vulnerable, when what she really wanted was to toss him right back out of her life on his fat, sexy head.

Then his eyes fell to what she had in her lap…the sleeping puppy. She’d found the dog in Emily’s room the other day, and had been waiting for someone to confess ever since.

He winced. “Found her, huh?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“Emily said-”

“Emily said what, Ben? That I wouldn’t mind the both of you lying, hiding her behind my back?”

With a grimace, he scrubbed his face. “Look, she gave me the big green eyes, okay? She said you wanted a puppy. She said you’d like her.”

“If I’d really wanted a puppy, why would Emily hide her from me? For days?”

He winced again. “Okay, I’m shitty at this whole dad thing. We both know it.”

That stopped her, along with the misery on his face, and she swallowed whatever angry retort she’d had ready. “You think you’re a bad dad?”

“I know it. For God’s sake, I live on the other side of the world.”

“Yes, but you call. You e-mail. You see her.”

“Once every couple months doesn’t cut it. I have no experience with good parenting, but that’s no excuse. You didn’t either, and look at you. You’re a great mom.”

It was one of the few times he’d brought up her childhood and she hadn’t gone defensive on him, but she didn’t feel defensive, she felt…protective. And surprisingly enough, she felt it for him. “We are who we are, Ben. And I’d say we’ve both done the best we could under the circumstances. As for Emily…I think you’re amazing with her.”