Not once…

When Mel had left, Rachel looked around the room she’d once loved and wondered…what held her back? What always held her back? Fear? Or an inability to share herself? Both, maybe.

Not liking what that said about her, she shrugged it off for now. They were things more important than love at the moment. Far more.

To get rid of the terrible tension within her, she needed a run. Not going to happen, but her physical therapist told her she could start walking. She went out into the backyard. It was big for South Village standards, and until the accident, she and Emily had spent a lot of time out here. Since she’d been unable to get down on her knees and rip out weeds, the place had become overgrown, but a few casts weren’t going to stop her anymore, nothing was. Pulling weeds had always been a particularly soothing therapy, and she could use some therapy now.

She walked to the back corner of the property, where she had a small fenced-in vegetable garden. She maneuvered the stone path slowly. It was a bit slippery, but she’d just decided to let nothing stop her.

Except her own stupidity. When the cane slipped out from beneath her, so did her casted leg and, without warning, she hit the ground hard enough to rattle her teeth.

For a moment she sat there in the dirt taking stock. She’d lost a sandal and her straw hat. Her sunglasses were on her chin. Her butt hurt, but that was to be expected as she’d landed on it. Her casted leg and arm seemed to have been properly protected, but she’d scraped up her knee and elbow. Amusing, really. She’d been hit by a car and hadn’t felt a thing for days. She took a tumble in her garden and wanted to cry.

Laughing at herself at that, she went to get up…and found she couldn’t. Her casted leg was at such an angle on the slight uphill grade that she couldn’t get it beneath her to push to a stand, not without support, and her cane had fallen out of her reach.

If that didn’t fry her already stinging butt. She refused to yell for help to Em, who was upstairs listening to CDs. Nor would she yell for Ben who, the last time she’d seen him, had gone into his makeshift dark room, aka her downstairs bathroom. With a lot of huffing and puffing, and quite a bit of inventive swearing, she rolled and grabbed her cane. Then, and this took a while, she managed to get her leg in a position where she could roll to her own good knee, which was now quite a bit bloody.

While she kneeled there in the dirt trying to figure out how to stand up on her own, she listened to the birds sing, the bees buzzing around, and realized life went on. No matter that she couldn’t draw, that her daughter had become an alien, that her ex-lover was in the house giving her looks that took her breath…life went on.

And so would she. Suddenly, she felt lighter and less angry than she’d felt since the accident. Gritting her teeth, she used her last bit of energy to stand up. She’d done it, all on her own, and was a wobbly, shaky but grinning mess when Ben appeared.

With the sun behind him, all she could see was his dark outline towering over her, and he did tower. His hands were on his lean hips, his hair wild.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“Well, I fell, and-”

“Are you all right?”

“Besides bruised pride and a sore butt? Yes.”

“You just can’t accept your own limitations, can you?” He reached for her. “No, not you. You have to go out and prove they don’t exist, because heaven for-goddamn-bid you allow yourself to lean on someone once in a while.”

“Gee, I guess you’re not going to kiss my boo-boos all better.”

He didn’t bother to respond to that as he checked her over. His face was utterly impassive, but she had a hard time feeling the same. His fingers checked her ribs-each and every one. His knuckles brushed the underside of her breasts and apparently her libido was in full working order because her nipples hardened. She looked at his face to see if he’d notice. “I said I’m fine.”

He might as well have been a stone wall for all he responded as he brushed dirt from her clothes. Then his eyes met hers. At the inferno of heat she saw there, she swallowed hard. Had she thought he hadn’t noticed her?

He’d noticed. And he was barely holding back. “Guess I owe you a thank-you-”

This ended in a gasp as he bent and lifted her in his arms.

“Ben, don’t be ridiculous, I can walk, it just took me a while to get- Ben.”

Ignoring her, he headed toward the house.

“Okay, listen. I-”

“You’re bleeding.”

She looked down at the abrasions that were minor in comparison to her other problems and had to laugh. “Just scrapes.” They were almost at the house now. “Ben, for God’s sake, I’m fine.”

He didn’t stop until he’d carried her into her bathroom and set her butt on the counter. Rifling through her cabinets, he wet a washcloth and proceeded to clean the dirt out of her cut knee.

“Ouch!”

Still silent, he hit the spots with first-aid spray.

Gritting her teeth, she glared at him. “Double ouch.”

He didn’t speak as he covered the abrasions with bandages, but his fingers lingered on her skin, her first real sign of any softening in him. She stared up at his granite features and remembered what Melanie had said about Ben resenting being here. His anger would certainly reflect that, she supposed…but in spite of his intense silence, she didn’t feel his resentment. No, what she felt was far more devastating. She felt his fear, his palatable fear. And guilt. The last broke her heart. “Ben…thank you.”

His thumb stroked over her jaw, removing a smudge of dirt there, and something in his eyes softened. “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

“You’ve mentioned.” And suddenly, she felt his searing hunger as well, an unfed passion.

From deep within her came an answering hunger, an answering passion. Even knowing this was temporary, that he’d be gone soon enough, she felt it. It consumed her, even as it terrified her. “If I’m the most stubborn person ever, where does that leave you?”

In a move that seemed to surprise him as much as it did her, he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. “It leaves me frustrated as hell, babe.” He scooped her up again and carried her to her bed, where he stood back and shoved his hands in his pockets as if he didn’t quite trust them. “Now, be good and stay there. Stay right there while I walk away.”

“Ben-”

“I’m walking away, Rachel,” he said hoarsely. “No matter what I see in your eyes. I have to.” And without another word, he turned and did exactly that.


FOR A WEEK, Ben felt like he was on pins and needles. It was too busy in the city, too crowded. He was angry at his own inability to keep his emotions in check, but he couldn’t admit that to anyone, especially the woman who hadn’t chosen to have him here in the first place.

Being with Rachel was breaking his resolve to keep an emotional distance. Watching her struggle to put meaning to her life, seeing her be a mom to his daughter, it was bringing it all back, why he’d fallen for her in the first place. She’d always made him want to be a better man, and that hadn’t changed.

God, he needed to go. The desperation to do just that was nearly as strong as when he’d been a young boy trapped in this same town.

Eventually, he promised himself. Eventually it would end. The authorities had assured him just today that they honestly believed Asada had gone underground and didn’t plan to resurface. If that was true, Ben could go, and soon. Knowing that, he spent time with Emily, taking her to breakfast every morning before personally dropping her off at school, before making her promise to get directly on the bus afterward, where he’d be waiting for her at home. This always made her roll her eyes, but he could tell it pleased her. It pleased him too, oddly enough, doing what he’d imagined were mundane things with his own flesh and blood. But he truly enjoyed her company and, while Emily appeared to feel the same, she still carried her laptop everywhere, still referred to her online buddy Alicia as her only real friend.

When he wasn’t writing, he took pictures, mostly to entertain himself. He continued to play basketball every day at lunch, keeping one eye on the house where he knew Rachel sat in her studio, chasing her own demons.

Today he came back inside, sweaty and exhausted, his mind still overcharged. He knew Rachel had gone to a late breakfast with Adam, who would then take her to the doctor’s appointment Ben had wanted to take her to. He made a face as he went up to the stairs. Immature of him, but there it was. Pulling off his shirt, he strode toward his bedroom, passing Rachel’s…and stopping so short he nearly plowed into the wall.

She sat on her bed in nothing but two towels, one around her head, the other around her body. Her damp body.

Galvanized by the sight, he didn’t move. “I thought you were with Adam.” Horror struck him. “He’s not in your shower?”

She let out a short laugh. “No. He went to his office to get my files. I’ve…been in my studio.”

“Working?”

“Still not making much progress in that area.”

Run, his head told him. Run like hell and never look back.

Instead his feet, directed by the part of his body in charge-and it wasn’t his brain-took him to the foot of her bed, where he looked her over hungrily, broodingly, wondering where exactly she and the good Adam stood, and wishing he didn’t care. Then all of those thoughts flew out of his head as… “Your leg and arm casts are off.”

She lifted the named body parts with a little smile. They were thin and white and shaking from exertion, but she looked so proud he felt his heart swell inside his chest.

“What do you think?” she asked.