Read Online The Street Where She Lives by Jill Shalvis - Free Book Online

differences had turned out to be a bridge impossible to cross.
    Yet, you’d crossed it, came the unwelcome thought. For six months you crossed it and thrived on it.
    Ben pushed her into the elevator. They waited in agitated silence for the doors to slide shut, and once they did, Rachel wished they hadn’t.
    The space was small and lined with mirrors, which meant she could see herself, reduced and weak and defenseless in the damn chair. Worse, she could see him standing tall and strong behind her. “This is ridiculous.”
    â€œMy being here?” Ben locked his eyes on hers in the reflection of the mirrors. “Get used to it.”
    That got a rough laugh from her, and a sharp pain shot through her ribs for the effort. It robbed her of breath, of all thought, and she squeezed her eyes shut, tensing up with a small cry.
    Big hands settled on her thighs, surprisingly gentle for their size, as was his low, urgent voice. “Relax. Let it go. Breathe, Rachel.”
    No, she wasn’t going to breathe, that would hurt worse. She was never going to breathe or move again. “Go…away.”
    â€œBreathe,” he repeated, running his fingers lightly over her thighs. “Come on, slow and easy. In and out.”
    She did and, shockingly enough, it helped. So did his voice, talking to her softly, over and over, reminding her to relax, breathe. Slowly, she opened her eyes to see him kneeling in front of her. “That…was your fault.”
    â€œUndoubtedly. Everything is my fault. Keep breathing now. Slow and easy.”
    â€œI know how to breathe.”
    He surged to his feet as the elevator door opened and turned away from her. “What I’m surprised at,” he noted casually, pushing her off the elevator, “is that you still know how to laugh.”
    She sucked in a gulp of air and tried to pretend that comment didn’t hurt worse than her ribs. Oh, yes, sheknew how to laugh— he’d taught her. Had he forgotten? Forgotten everything they’d once meant to each other?
    She was silent as he wheeled her down the hallway lined with collages of photos from the years past, starting with Emily’s birth. One shot of Emmie—small and red, wrinkled and furious, howling as she told the world how she felt about being born. Another of Rachel holding her bundle of joy, smiling with wet eyes at the now quiet baby, who stared right back at her. The two of them. Even then, it had been just the two of them against the world.
    Later photos of Emily learning to walk, sitting on Rachel’s lap while Rachel drew a Gracie comic strip on her easel, another of Emily putting candles in a homemade cake for her mother’s birthday.
    There was a shot of Melanie on one of her visits from Santa Barbara, puckering up for Emily’s four-foot teddy bear. A picture of the firehouse when they’d first purchased it, before renovations. And then subsequent pictures of Rachel and Emily and Melanie, covered in paint as they worked on the place. There was a picture of her neighbor Garrett with Emily riding on his shoulders. A picture of Gwen, Rachel’s agent, her arms around both Rachel and Emily, who held Rachel’s first impressive royalty check.
    Behind her, Ben said nothing, and she wondered if he was even looking at the pictures, looking and feeling odd for not being in a single one. Did he feel left out?
    Strange, but she didn’t want him to. Despite everything, she didn’t want that. She had Emily, her greatest gift, her greatest joy, because of him. She owed him for that, which was why, whenever he’d asked, she’d sent Emily to him via Melanie.
    Bottom line was, she had this house and Emily. Thiswas her world—stable, safe and secure. It meant everything.
    In comparison, Ben had a duffel bag and a few cameras to his name. That was it as far as she knew. He liked it that way, or he had.
    That they’d made it together for even six months so