The Street Where She Lives. Jill Shalvis

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      Her ever present laptop was tucked beneath her arm.

      In spite of her exhaustion from a brutal physical therapy session, Rachel’s heart swelled at the sight of her greatest joy. In having a child, Rachel had learned to share herself, to receive love as well as give it. It was because of Emily that she felt whole.

      Whole being relative at the moment.

      Given the shift of the shadows on the walls from the gently dancing pines outside, hours had passed since Dr. Thompson had removed some of the bandages. She was now a new person. Granted, a new person with little to no hair, fresh new air casts on one arm and leg, and a healing broken pelvis. A new person who still hurt…but she felt marginally better nevertheless.

      Or at least lighter. The bandages on her multitude of abrasions—which had covered part of her face, her torso and good arm—were gone. Because she could, she bent her right arm, watching with relief when the still-scabbed limb did what it should. And if she ignored the wild trembling that indicated it was weak as a baby’s—something her physical therapist promised to fix “in no time”—things were good. “Emily…look at me go.”

      Emily looked suitably impressed. “Nice. Before you know it, you’ll be drawing again.”

      At the moment, she couldn’t even lift a pencil, much less think with the wit required for Gracie,—a character who was brave, brassy and bold, everything Rachel wasn’t—but she’d get there.

      God, please, let me get there.

      To hide the fear from the girl who saw everything, she forced a smile. “Did you come with Aunt Mel?”

      “Yeah.” Emily plopped into the bedside chair, her pixie-blond hair once again swinging into her expressive eyes. She set down her laptop. “She’s busy flirting with your doctor again, but as my supposedly mature aunt, she didn’t want me to know, so she sent me in here.”

      Melanie had a long history with men. Very long.

      “She thinks I don’t know about the birds and the bees.” A quick cheeky grin flashed, reminding Rachel that before the accident, she and Emily had been on shaky ground due to Emily’s certainty she knew everything, which naturally meant Rachel knew nothing.

      “I bet I know more than she does,” Emily added.

      A sexually aware preteen—every parent’s nightmare. “Emily—”

      “Oh, Mom, I’m just kidding.”

      Uh-huh. But no way was she going to start a grudge match today. “You really doing okay?” She wished she could reach up and touch Emily’s face, her hair. She missed their closeness, missed everything. “Tell me the truth.”

      “Well, I’m better than you. The nurse told me they took out all your stitches. And most of the bandages, too.” Leaning in, Emily scrutinized every inch of her face until Rachel wanted to squirm. She could only imagine how she must look. The bruises had to be fading along with the swelling, but they were probably still putrid yellow and puke green. And her hair, her glorious hair… “They haven’t brought me a mirror, so…” She managed a weak laugh, but Emily leaned even closer, still serious, still inspecting.

      Rachel turned away and fought the burning behind her eyes. “I probably look fit for Halloween, even though that’s months off yet.”

      “Oh, Mom.” At the soft, choked-up voice, Rachel turned back, shocked to find love on Emily’s face. Love.

      “Don’t you know?” she whispered. “You look beautiful.” Her eyes were shining like two brilliant stars. “So beautiful, Mom.”

      Rachel managed a smile past the huge lump in her throat. “Which means you’re beautiful, too.”

      “Yeah.” But it was Emily’s turn to look away now. “But I know who I really look like….”

      When she trailed off with no clear intent to finish, Rachel sighed. Not a coward, she reminded herself. Never a coward. “Like your dad.”

      They stared at each other awkwardly while Rachel’s heart sank. No, she wasn’t a coward, and hadn’t been in a long time, but bringing up the subject of Ben Asher with Emily was usually trouble.

      He was the one person Rachel and Emily never agreed on.

      How could they? Her daughter saw him as a hero, larger than life. A man who put others’ needs before his own. A man who brought justice to people who couldn’t get it for themselves.

      He was that, Rachel admitted to herself, and more. So much more.

      SHE’D CHANGED SCHOOLS again, halfway through senior year this time. On her first day, a boy sauntered into her English Lit class late. With a slow, lazy smile and even lazier gait, he strode down the center aisle with a devil-may-care attitude that had wild whispers falling in his path.

      “Did you know he’s from The Tracks?” one cheerleader hissed to another, just behind Rachel. “Lives in a foster home with eight other kids.”

      “He’s still hot,” came a hushed reply.

      “Hot, yeah. But dirt poor.”

      “Such a waste.”

      Rachel couldn’t help but notice no one else in the classroom gave him the time of day. Given his laid-back air and languid stroll, he could care less. He wore Levi’s with a hole over one knee, a dark T-shirt with a frayed hem and ripped sleeve and had an ancient Canon camera slung over his shoulder. His hair was wavy and long, past his collar at the back, the front tumbling over his forehead. He tossed it back with a lift of his head.

      His gaze focused in on Rachel.

      She wasn’t used to that. She was invisible. It’s what happened when you were always the new kid, and she was good at it. But he saw her, with eyes that were sparkling and full of trouble. He took the one empty seat in the classroom.

      Right next to her.

      “Hey,” he said with a slow, devastating smile.

      She looked behind her to see who he was talking to, and he laughed.

      She felt like she’d been hit with an electrical current.

      “Got an extra pencil?” he asked.

      A little overwhelmed by his sheer presence, by the fact he was even looking at her, she handed him her pencil. Boys didn’t look at her often, mostly because she never made eye contact and never bothered making friends. Why should she when she’d only be moving again soon enough?

      “Got some paper?”

      She’d given him a few sheets, and an eraser, too. And by the end of that first hour he’d convinced her to share her notes, and help him study for the next test. She’d tried to explain she wasn’t the girl to get to know if he wanted to be popular, but he laughed.

      “Popular?” He scratched his jaw and shrugged his bony shoulders. “Not my thing.” His eyes roamed her face, seeming to see more than anyone else ever saw. “But you…you, I’d like to get to СКАЧАТЬ