The Street Where She Lives (16 page)

Over the next hour she became his apprentice assistant. She started out silent, resentment pouring off her in palpable waves, but he kept asking her to hand him something, or her opinion on which shot to get, so she had no choice but to get involved.

“What do you think about them, Em? Should we grab the pic?” He pointed to a couple sitting side by side, nose to nose, lips to lips. Had he ever been that love-struck?

Oh, yeah, he had.

“They were homecoming queen and king,” she said. “He helped me reach a book in the library once.”

“So, let's give them a shot at fame and fortune.” He took the picture to Emily's smile.

God, he loved her smile. Wished she'd always smile.

Startled at the click of the camera, the couple looked up. He waved. When they waved back, Emily groaned. “Dad—”

“Look,” he said. A group of basketball players in jerseys sat on the brick planter, huddled over what looked like a play book. He moved closer, tugging Emily with him. She still held Patches, who let out one “hello” bark.

“I'm taking people shots for the yearbook today,” Ben told them, and lifted his camera. “Picture?”

They tossed their arms around each other and yelled “Cheese,” hamming while he snapped a handful of shots.

“Uh, excuse me?”

He and Emily both turned and faced a tall, gangly kid who nodded toward a group sitting on the grass. “Chess Club. Can you get us, too?”

Ben looked at Emily. “What do you think?”

She bit her lip and looked over at the group, where the boy who'd tried talking to her earlier sat. He looked up at her. Smiled.

Emily went beet red. “Your call.”

“Nope. It's an assistant call.”

The gangly kid looked at Emily with new respect. “Emily? Please?”

She hadn't taken her eyes off the boy. “Okay,” she whispered.

“So…” Ben leaned in. “What's his name?”

“Who?”

He laughed. “You know who.”

“Oh. He's Van.”

“Should we get him in the picture?”

“I don't care.”

“
Em.
Should we get him in a picture?”

“Yeah.” Then she giggled.
Giggled.
His heart lit at the sound.

By the end of the next hour, Ben had used up eight rolls of film, the kids were in hog heaven, and Emily had been transformed into Lady Popular and looking at Ben with hero worship. He loved that she'd come out of her shell a bit, which had been his goal. He loved that he'd brought joy to a few kids with nothing more than his camera.

But the hero thing… He was no hero and never would be. He brooded over that on the drive back. “Em…” He turned down their street and by some miracle got a spot out front of the house. He stared up at the red brick and felt the noose tighten around his neck. “Your mom is getting better every day.”

“Yeah.”

“Soon she'll be without the cane entirely.”

“Her hair is still short.”

“That's not exactly a handicap, Em.”

She turned to him, a surprising resentment in every line of her body. “You want to go.”

Beneath the resentment was hurt; he'd be an idiot not to see it. Damn it. How was it he could be nearly thirty-one years old and still be such an idiot? “I don't live here, sweetness. You know that.”

“I hate her!”

Ben blinked. The intricate workings of a twelve-year-old mind had completely escaped him. “What? You hate who?”

“Mom! She's making you want to leave! I hate her!” She grabbed Patches and slammed out of the car, running up the walk.

God, how had he managed to screw
this
up? Ben ran after her and the puppy. “Em, wait.” Of course she didn't, and by the time he caught up with her, she'd run up the circular staircase, and was heading straight for Rachel's studio. “Hold on a sec,” he said, catching her shoulders. “Hold on. We need to talk about this.”

“Why?” She set down Patches and took off her leash. “You're not doing anything wrong,
she
is.”

“No—”

“It's true, Dad.” She straightened. “You came here, you've done everything you needed to do, and all she's done is shove you away at every turn and make you want to go—”

The studio door opened to a pale Rachel. She looked at Emily. “I'm guessing you have something to say to me.”

“Yeah.” A sullen expression replaced Emily's earnest one. “Dad wants to go away and it's all your fault.
You make it obvious he doesn't really live here, that he has to go the minute you're better.”

“There are circumstances you don't understand—”

“I understand! You're selfish and mean and I hate you!”

Rachel drew back. “Well. That's new.”

“I mean it!” But Emily's eyes were wide and filled with tears. “I hate you.”

“Em—” Ben's heart pinched at the look on Rachel's face, but she held up a hand halting his words.

“Let her finish.”

“That's all. That's all I have to say.” Emily crossed her arms over her chest. She added a shaky little hitch of breath. Ben guessed she was one beat away from meltdown.

“Okay, one thing at a time.” Rachel drew a shaky breath. “You know your dad doesn't live here, you also know he has to go back at some point. If he wants to go now, there's nothing holding him here.”

“But there is,” Emily cried. “Me.
I'm
holding him here!”

Ben's throat went tight. “You know I love you, Em, but it's true. I don't live here. I have to go.”

“But why? I'm here. What else could you want?”

Ben took her hand and tugged her closer, then cupped her soft, sweet, hurting face. “Yes, you're here, which makes this house one of my very favorite places. But I'll see you. I'll call you.”

“That's not how a real family works.”

“Not all families live together, you know that. And you're old enough to understand why.”

“Because Mom doesn't love you.”

Yeah. Rachel didn't love him. Hadn't that always been the problem? “As your mother said, there are cir
cumstances you don't understand, and no, we're not going to explain them to you. But one thing I can and will tell you, Emily Anne, is that the way you talked to your mother just now is unacceptable—”

“Ben—”

Now he held up his hand to halt Rachel's words. “It's okay to be mad at someone you love,” he said quietly to a now sobbing Emily. “But it's not okay to be cruel.”

Emily buried her chest in Ben's chest and unable to do anything else, he wrapped his arms around her. Putting his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “I love you. Your mom loves you. You have it pretty good right there, Em, trust me. I'm sorry we can't give you the rest.”

She squeezed him so hard she nearly stole the life right out of him, and he closed his eyes as he listened to her cry, his daughter, his blood, his only family, the best part of his heart.

Then she pulled back, sniffed, and shoved her hands into her pockets. Looking at her toes, she said to Rachel, “I'm sorry I said I hate you. I don't, not really.” Then she took off running toward her bedroom.

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.

Patches whined.

Ben let out a shaky breath. “Whew. Twelve is fun, huh?”

Rachel stared down the hallway for a long moment. “If you've truly got one foot out the door already,” she said quietly. “Then get the rest of the way out.”

“Rachel—”

“No more buts, Ben, this is killing us. Killing all of us. I understand the
possible
threat of Asada—”

“He's more than a possible threat.”

“We both know that threat lessens every day that
passes. Yes, there's Emily, and obviously she wants you to stay, but we both know that isn't going to happen.”

“We're…bonding,” he said, feeling oddly desperate.

“So finish bonding.”

“I don't know how to tell her I'm going.” He felt bare, stripped down to the soul.

“She already knows.”

“She's hurting.”
I'm hurting.
“She's only twelve.”

“She more mature than you give her credit for. Tell her. Tell her soon.”

“Rach—”

“Dragging it out, Ben? How unlike you.”

Yeah. He probably deserved that. “I need a little more time.”

“Fine. A little more time. Take it. Then go, just go.” And with as much grace as ever, she walked away.

A headache started right between Ben's eyes.

The puppy watched her go and let out a pathetic little whimper.

He scooped her up and got himself licked across the mouth for his effort.

Just go, Ben.

How many times had he heard that now? Damn it, he never stayed where he wasn't wanted.

Never.

Patches whined again, more softly now. “Yeah,” he whispered, holding her close. “I know the feeling.”

O
NE NIGHT
shortly after Emily's blowup they played Scrabble, just the three of them. Rachel sat on the couch in the living room, with Emily and Ben on the floor around the coffee table. Patches lay asleep on Ben's feet.

Emily, tongue between her teeth, holding back a smile, carefully laid down the letters
D-A-D,
then beamed at Ben.

With a grin, he added the
D-Y,
making the word
daddy.

Rachel looked down at her letters, the ones that seemed to dance around and mock her with their uselessness. “How come I always lose at this game?” she asked as she put
E-S
to Ben's
Y,
making the word
yes.
. “Woo-hoo, look at me get the points.”

“It's all in your attitude,” Ben said.

Emily nodded in agreement and used the
S
in
yes
to spell
bestest.

“That's not a word,” Rachel protested.

“See, negative attitude.” Emily tsked and added up her points.

Ben laughed. “Sweetness, are you cheating?”

“She always cheats.” Rachel glared at her daughter. “It's why she always wins.”

“Fine.” Emily took away the
E-S-T
and left
best.
“Happy?”

“I will be if I win,” Rachel teased.

Ben sprawled on the floor and smiled up at her. Beside him, Emily was positively glowing, happier than Rachel had seen her in a while.

The moment was so good, so bittersweet, she wanted to freeze-frame it. A perfect snapshot in time, with everyone's hearts light and happy.

Ben cocked his head, then sat up and put a hand on Rachel's arm, looking into her eyes. “You okay?”

“I am,” she said, and it'd never been more true. “I really am.”

He smiled again, and went back to the game.

But left his hand on her arm.

 

A
T THE END
of the week, Ben was still there and Rachel didn't know whether she was sorry or relieved. They'd had coffee together every morning. Lunch, too, at the house if she didn't have a therapist or doctor appointment, or at a café if she did. They had dinner together as well, with Emily, the three of them somehow finding things to talk about.

Or argue about.

But things were never dull. She'd gotten rather used to his presence, shockingly enough, to listening to him talk, laugh, watching his tall, lean form play basketball as if he were sheer poetry in motion, hearing him mutter to himself in his darkroom, seeing him with Emily. Every part of having him live in the house was both a comfort and a nightmare.

When he left, her life would go back to “normal,” to what she'd built for herself and Emily, and it was a great life. She had her daughter, her house, her career…well, maybe not her career, but even so, she had no real regrets.

And yet, when it came to personal relationships…
she'd be alone. She was alone now, no doubt. But with Ben's presence she could almost imagine how it would be if he ever settled down and stayed in one place.

The weekend arrived, and per her usual Saturday morning routine, she sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea and the newspaper. Her leg ached today, so she had it elevated with cool packs. She sat there telling herself it was okay with her that Ben had managed to get her lazy daughter out of the house at dawn for a hike.

She told herself she enjoyed the peace and quiet of the empty house, but the truth was…she would have enjoyed the hike more.

Even if she didn't have the strength for it.

But neither of them had asked. She held her cup of tea and looked around her, as always in quiet moments like this, experienced some lingering uneasiness about Asada. She hated that she still felt the urge to peek over her shoulder, and chastised herself for her paranoia.

The FBI had reassured them over and over that with every passing day their chances increased that Asada wasn't ever going to make a move. Which meant Ben was in all likelihood free of any obligation.

A good thing, Rachel decided. A very good thing.

Suddenly the door opened and Melanie bounced into the kitchen with unaccustomed energy for a Saturday morning. Shocked, Rachel stared at her. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Mel tossed her keys on the table and plopped herself down. She was made up and dressed to kill with a leather skirt, halter top and do-me heels. “Thought I'd visit.”

Rachel eyed the difference between the two of them—she in her loose, gauzy, shapeless sundress, hair undoubtedly wild, feet bare, no makeup—and had to laugh
at the two extremes. “Last I checked, it was a Saturday. A day you traditionally reserve for sleeping past noon, getting a manicure and catching a movie.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I'm all movied out.”

“Uh-huh.” Rachel narrowed her eyes. “What are you really up to, Mel?”

“Me?” Mel dumped three tablespoons of sugar into her tea, then after a moment's hesitation, went back for a fourth. “Just wanted to see how you're doing, that's all.”

“You just saw me last weekend, plus you called three times this week.” Rachel cupped her fingers around her tea, still needing to be warm all the time in order not to stiffen up. Her life had forever changed, there was no doubt of that, but she refused to let others change their lives because of what had happened to her. Leaning in, she put a hand over her sister's. “Mel, you don't have to give up your life for this. For me. I'm doing fine.”

Her sister shrugged. “Maybe I don't believe you.”

“Why?” Rachel had to smile as she lifted her arms. “Don't I look fabulous?”

“No.” Mel didn't smile to soften the blunt word. “You look miserable. Like you're hurting, and I don't mean physically.”

“That's ridiculous.” Rachel stared down into her tea and lied. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yeah, that's because we're discussing you. If we were tearing apart
my
life, which we've done often enough, then you'd know exactly what I was talking about.”

“Mel—”

“Look, I know I'm a screwup, but I don't expect it of you.”

“And just what am I supposedly screwing up?”

“Seen Adam much lately?”

“A little.”

“Because of his busy schedule?”

“Uh…no.”

“Because you've been ignoring him?”

Rachel looked at her fingers. Specifically her fingernails. Which were ragged and hadn't seen a nail file or polish in months.

“You know, before the accident, I'd have sworn you were this close to sleeping with him.” Mel held up fingers only an inch apart. “Maybe even considering marrying him.”

“The accident changed everything.”

“The accident did…or Ben?”

Rachel's gaze jerked up to Mel's before she could stop herself. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Is it ridiculous that you never sleep with anyone? Is it ridiculous that if you did, you'd fake an orgasm rather than tell them they're totally inept with the female anatomy…or that you can't seem to relinquish that last little bit of control?”

“Mel—”

“Admit it, sis. You don't know how to let someone be that close to you.”

“Like
you
know!”

“Hey, I know how to climax.” A smug smile crossed her well-glossed mouth. “Often.” She flashed a look to the man who'd just let himself in and was now leaning back with lazy ease against the doorjamb, unabashedly eavesdropping on what Rachel figured to be her most embarrassing moment. She wanted to crawl in a hole and die— Right after she killed Melanie. “Where's Emily?” she asked, striving for cool, calm and collected.

“Bathing Patches, who seems to have a thing for
jumping in puddles.” With a wry smile, Ben lifted his leg to examine the bottom of his jeans, which were mud splattered. Then he leveled Rachel with one of those classic Ben looks that made her pulse scramble and her skin feel too tight. “Don't let me interrupt.”

“To not interrupt you'd have to be on the other side of the closed door,” Rachel muttered.

Melanie grinned. “Talking sex makes her grumpy.”

“Not me,” Ben offered.

And Mel, still grinning, nodded. “Me, either. So Ben…we're taking a survey…do you ever fake your orgasms?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Me, either.” Melanie cocked her head. “It just seems like if someone was going to fake it…then they'd fake it the other way. You know, like they
didn't
get one.”

Given Ben's wide grin, he agreed.

“That way, you'd get another,” Mel reasoned. “Maybe even two, depending on how fast you can come.”

“I'm with you.” Ben looked at Rachel and the temperature shot up in the room to boiling point. “Orgasms are good.”

Melanie laughed.
Laughed.
“Yeah. Well, if Ms. Prude here would get off her duff and call Adam over here, maybe she'd figure it out.”

Ben's smile faded at that.

Not noticing, or maybe not caring, Mel jumped down off the counter and headed for the door.

“Where are you going?” Rachel demanded of her sister.

“Off to watch my niece bathe a puppy. Don't do anything I wouldn't, sis.” A sly smile crept over her fea
tures. “Oh wait…I don't have to tell you that, you won't do
anything.
”

“Come back here—” She let out a breath when Mel let the door shut behind her. “Traitor.”

Ben sauntered his way toward her. “Interesting topic of conversation.” He walked around the back of her, trailing a finger over her shoulder and bringing a set of goose bumps to the surface of her skin. “Orgasms.”

Did that require a response? Suddenly, she could hardly breathe, much less think of a brilliant way out of this particular topic. “H-how was your hike?”

“Fun.” Then he leaned in over her shoulder, putting his mouth right beneath her ear, against the sensitive skin there. “Is it true, Rach?”

“Is wh-what true?”

His breath was soft and warm against her skin, his jaw rough with a day's old growth. The contrast liquefied her bones. “Do you fake your orgasms with your lovers?”

“I—” His fingers trailed upward, over the back of her neck and she fought to keep her eyes open.

“Rachel?”

She closed her mouth. “I don't want to discuss this with you.”

“I bet you don't.” Shifting around so that they were face-to-face, he ran a finger over her cheek. “So let's cut to the chase.”

“Ben—”

His hand slid around the back of her neck to cup her head, holding her gaze steady with his. “Did you fake with me?”

Trying to pull away did no good, he was strong and, though his hold was gentle, he couldn't be budged. “We were seventeen!” she said, exasperated on all counts.
“We had no particular skills in that area and you know it.”

He brought their faces even closer together. “I did the best I could back then, but yeah, we were young. Young and inexperienced. I'm sorry if I wasn't any good for you.”

Remembering what they'd shared brought a flush to her cheeks. Truth was, inexperienced or not, it stood unrivaled to this very day as the hottest, most erotic, most touching experience of her life.

And he was apologizing for it.

“But I promise you,” he said softly, still holding her gaze prisoner. “If you sleep with me now, I'd prove there's no need to fake anything.”

She stared at his mouth, wide and firm, and yet she had reason to know it felt soft and tasted like pure heaven.

“Rach…?”

She actually leaned toward that low, sexy voice making promises she thought she just might be interested in. Then she thought of the actual physical action required to do what he was suggesting.

He'd get naked. No problem there.

Then she'd have to get naked—big problem there. He was perfection, and she… “No.”

Ben let out a soft, rude noise and dared her with both his eyes and his voice. “Chicken,” he taunted softly.

“Just being realistic.”

Another man would have conceded defeat and walked away. Another man would have hidden his thoughts.

Ben stood there, right there, only inches away, and let her see everything he felt. Annoyance. Heat. Frustration.

Heat.
“You're really not going let me prove it?”

“No.” She looked away. “I'm not interested.”

“Ten minutes,” he promised silkily. “I could rock your world in ten minutes.”

“Go away, Ben.”

No big surprise, he did.

 

B
EN SHOVED OUT
the front door, slowing down only to lock it behind him. Asada was long gone, everyone kept telling him that, but he couldn't break the old habit of watching his back.

And Emily's.

And Rachel's. Damn her.

She'd kicked him out. Nothing new. Stepping out the front gate, he joined the early Saturday morning shoppers, of which there were many, and lost himself in the streets. They were as different from the mean, hustling, dangerous streets he'd gotten used to as they could get. These were clean and tantalized with mouthwatering scents from the cafés. They were busy, but also easygoing and safe. No need for this terrible tension and aggression, and no outlet for those feelings, either.

Stalking along, blindly window-shopping, he was torn between wishing he was on the other side of the world, and wishing Rachel would have let him fulfill his promise. It would kill them both, of course, being together like that again. Or at least it would kill
him,
but—

“Ben!”

Oh, and now he was hearing things. Rachel's soft voice above the crowd. As if she'd be chasing him down, as if she could—

“Ben, wait!”

Whipping around, he stopped short in shock. Rachel, in her loose, gauzy sundress and sandals, using her cane as she chased him down at an alarming speed. She was
going to stumble and take a fall, was his first heart-stopping thought.