The Space Beyond (The Space Between Heartbeats #1.5)

by Melissa Pearl

  Why hasn't he called?

  My stomach clenches. He's not going to write that reference. I can feel it. He's going to force me to act, and I really don't want to. Adam might be a coward, but he's only that way because of the ridiculous pressure his father constantly lumps on him. I'm still mad at Adam for not having the guts to own up to everything, but I hate the idea of being a tattletale.

  I limp around the corner, wincing at my stiff knee. I worked too hard at physical therapy yesterday. My therapist warned me to take it easy, but I pushed on, trying to distract myself from the simmering angst in my stomach.

  Damn sheriff. He was going to give me an ulcer.

  “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Lady Limp-a-lot.” I cringe at the sneering voice in front of me. Trent is leaning against the storefront where I’m supposed to meet Dale. He dropped me off and went to park the car.

  I swallow, wishing I’d refused his sweet gesture and walked the extra way. At least he’d be there to protect me from the Ass Squad (my heinous ex-friends). I don’t go out of my way to avoid them, but I don't make an effort to bump into them either. It always happens by mistake, and they always relish the chance to fling insults at me. I used to give it right back to them, but Dale has helped me chill my kicks and just ignore them.

  I press my lips together and try to minimize my limp as I approach Lauren and Amber. They are standing next to Trent, eyeing me like I’m some freak show. Their derisive snickers rile me so bad. I’m struggling to see straight as I keep my chin high and hobble straight past them.

  “What? You’re not going to stay and chat?” Lauren sniggers.

  “Just leave me alone,” I mutter, throwing a black glare at each of them.

  Trent takes this as an invitation and pushes off the wall, sauntering towards me like he’s James Dean or something. What a schmuck.

  He reaches me in two long strides, blocking my way and towering over me. I try to move past him, but he steps to the side, blocking my way again. Anger fires through me as bitter, hateful words rise up my throat. I don’t want to unleash them, but damn, it is so tempting.

  “Come on, baby, I just want to talk.” Trent drops his voice to that low, sexy timbre that used to undo me.

  I close my eyes and lean away from him. I hate it when he does this to me. He doesn’t mean a word and I’m not falling for it. If anything, it makes my skin crawl. I can’t believe I used to let this guy touch me.

  “Please, move.” I grit out between clenched teeth.

  “Where’s the fun in that?” He snickers.

  I let out a disgusted sigh and move to make a quick escape, but he steps forward and bumps my chest, causing me to stumble back. Pain fires up my thigh as I try to stop from landing on my ass, but I have no hope. I wince, bracing myself for a hard thud on the concrete.

  It doesn’t happen.

  Instead, two strong arms catch me; hauling me back to my feet beefore I hit the pavement. I press my back against his chest as his arms wind protectively around my waist. I breathe in his earthy scent, feeling instant relief.

  “You okay?” Dale’s voice is soft in my ear, but his muscles are trembling as he holds me steady. He is the champion of keeping it together even though I know some days he’d like to unleash hell on these assholes.

  Lauren and Amber are laughing at my gawky tumble while Trent stands there smirking at me. His dark gaze is telling me this is the price I have to pay for dumping him.

  Dale squeezes my hip before gliding his hand up my back. “Come on, let’s go.” His strong fingers rest on the nape of my neck as he guides me away.

  “Leaving so soon?” Trent steps forward, reaching for my hand as it swings past him, but Dale moves like lightening, quickly tucking me behind his back.

  His chest puffs out as he stares up at Trent. His voice is a low rumble. “You don’t touch her, ever.”

  Trent scoffs. “I used to touch her all the time.” I peek over Dale’s shoulder and glimpse the malicious gleam in Trent’s eye. “Every single inch of her.”

  My stomach roils and I clamp my teeth together. Humiliation and shame scorch my insides as he starts to laugh.

  “Not that I’d want her now with that dead leg of hers, although I’m sure she still tastes the same.”

  Dale’s muscles are taut and vibrating, but he doesn’t bite. His voice comes out steady and even. “It comforts me to know you’ll never have the privilege again. You’re not worthy of her.”

  Trent’s eyes flash and his upper lip curls into a feral line.

  I wrap my fingers into the back of Dale’s T-shirt as he braces himself for impact. Trent makes a fist and starts cracking his knuckles. I roll my eyes. He’s such a showman. I know he can do some serious damage, but Dale could kick his ass if he wanted to.

  The thing is, my boyfriend can’t afford a fight right now, so before things escalate, I tug on Dale’s shirt. “Let’s just go. He’s not worth it.”

  Dale flinches towards my words and gives a stiff nod. I can tell part of him is hungry to show Trent what he’s made of. He may be shorter, but he has the tenacity of a bulldog. If anyone is going to walk away from a fight, it’ll be my man, not my ex.

  Trent is closing in fast, about to raise his fist and smash it into Dale’s face, when my boyfriend steps back and mutters, “Like I’d waste my time on you.” Turning towards me, he winks then threads his fingers through mine, tugging me down the street at a fast clip.

  “That’s it? You coward!” Trent hollers after us. Dale keeps walking as if he can’t hear him.

  I glance over my shoulder, worried that Trent’s about to give chase. His riled expression tells me he might, until something catches his eyes and he straightens. I follow his line of sight and flinch as I see Sheriff Hutton striding up the adjacent street in front of me.

  "Are you all right?" Dale looks down at me, his forehead crinkled with concern. “Maybe I should take you home.”

  I shake my head, giving him a tight smile while trying to keep an eye on where the sheriff is going.

  He squeezes my hand as we turn the corner and head up the street, silently trying to get an honest response out of me. Ever since my concussion, headaches have become a problem and Dale is hyper aware of my wellbeing. They usually come on after an encounter like we’ve just had, but I don’t want to go home today. I want to talk to the sheriff and find out what he’s been doing for the last three days.

  I scan the street ahead and cringe when I realize I’ve lost sight of him.

  “Nicky? Talk to me, babe.” Dale’s soft voice is so soothing and sweet.

  I chuckle and dip my chin, scrambling for a good answer. “I’m fine, really.” I look up at him. “My super hot hero.”

  Dale blushes and shakes his head, no doubt desperate to change the subject. He never takes compliments well. “How about some ice cream?"

  "Nah." I wrinkle my nose.

  Dale's frown is really mild, but I don't miss it. He must be wondering what my problem is. I usually love ice cream. Any kind, any flavor. I'm a sucker for the stuff, but I'm too antsy to eat this afternoon. I assume he thinks it's because of the Trent incident, but it's not. I want to tell him that, but I can't. If he knew what I was up to, he'd most definitely put a stop to it. That can't happen. I've made up my mind that Dale Finnigan will not have to tell his dad about the rejection. He is going to get into Columbia University, and they are going to have a family celebration, damn it.

  Dale's thumb rubs over the outside of my hand, and he pulls me to a stop in the middle of the street. A lady on the phone has to veer around us suddenly, but Dale's too intent on me to notice.

  "Babe." He tucks my long bangs behind my ear. "Don't listen to a word those jerks say. You're gorgeous. Your limp isn't even noticeable to me anymore, and it'll be totally gone eventually."

  I force a smile, which I know he sees through.

  His head tips to the side in that understanding way I adore. My heart crumbles to soft putty. He's so sweet...and good to me.
>
  My smile soon becomes genuine as I push up to my tiptoes and kiss him. He grins just before our lips touch so I'm kissing his smile, which just makes me smile. Soon, we're chuckling softly against each other, our breath mingling together. I gaze up at him, his deep eyes rich with tenderness.

  Maybe he does love me.

  I want to entertain that thought, but I'm too scared. If I'm wrong, it's like my worst nightmare, so I swallow, plant a firm kiss on his lips and step away from him.

  "You know what? I've changed my mind. Let's do ice cream." I start tugging him towards our favorite parlor at the end of the street. It's more expensive, but the selection is the bomb. I may not feel like relishing its true yumminess, but I'd force myself to do it for the sake of Dale. He's had a stressful week, and he deserves an afternoon off...not worrying about his girlfriend. Making me feel better makes him feel better, I'm sure of it. I'll laugh my little backside off if that's what it takes.

  Dale is launching into a funny story about his English teacher when I spot the sheriff in the hardware store. My breath hitches, and I accidentally squeeze Dale's hand.

  His voice cuts off. He looks concerned, and I have to fully force a chuckle out.

  "Sorry," I titter. "I swear I want to hear the rest of this story, but I just remembered Mom asked me to grab some light bulbs for her."

  "Okay," Dale says slowly, as if he doesn't quite believe me.

  "Why don't you go get us an outside table? It's too nice a day to eat inside."

  He glances at the slightly overcast sky and frowns.

  "Just go. I'll be there in a sec." Bright and breezy, Nicky. Stay cool.

  "Are you sure you don't want me to come with?" He points at the hardware store.

  "No, I'm good. You go." I push his shoulder so he's facing the right direction. "I'll see you soon."

  I can feel his eyes on me, so I spin at the shop door and give him a wave. I throw in a funny face for good measure, which makes him chuckle. Shaking his head, he puts his hands in the pockets of his worn jeans and saunters down the street. Once he's out of sight, I slip down the first aisle where I last saw the sheriff.

  The shop is a cluttered mess. Every shelf is crammed full of hardware gear—over-flowing boxes of loose nails and different-sized nuts and bolts, paintbrushes hanging on the back wall next to a display of hammers. I step over an unpacked box of paint thinner and round the next corner to find the sheriff squinting at the price sign beneath a stack of paint tins.

  I stop next to him. I come up to just below his shoulder, which is super annoying because I would love to eyeball him right now.

  I make do with a very sharp tone. “Where’s the reference letter?"

  His steely gaze shifts from the tin of paint he's reading to my fuming face. "I haven't gotten around to it yet."

  I want to pry that smirk off his lips with my silver-painted nails. I clench my fingers into a fist and cross my arms. Fear is making mulch of my insides. I try to not let it show, but can't help muttering, "You're never going to get around to it, are you?"

  His unflinching stare tells me what I already know.

  A breath snorts through my nostrils. "You don't think my threat is serious?" I jab him in the arm with my index finger.

  He rubs his arm and, with a sharp frown, towers over me. His voice is a terse whisper. "I think you're a little bug that needs squashing, Miss Tepper, and I'm going to be the boot to do it. You will not jeopardize my son’s chance at a decent future." His evil glare and harsh words make my insides quiver.

  “Write the damn reference letter and I won’t have to,” I whisper back.

  "I won’t be threatened by a five-foot rich kid with an attitude problem. If you ever cross me, I'm going to finish you and your criminal boyfriend. Don’t take that risk."

  He points at my face before turning with his tin of paint and heading for the counter.

  I'm tempted to pick a can off the shelf and hurl it at him, but I resist the urge. Instead, tears build on my lashes before I can stop them. I'm so angry right now I'm struggling to see straight.

  That asshole.

  He can't get away with this. I won't let him.

  I swipe at my tears and pat my face dry, waiting for the sheriff to leave before I exit the store.

  Shit. Light bulbs. I scurry to the right aisle and grab two, not even caring if they're the right ones. As I make my way to the counter, my brain starts ticking over.

  Looks like I'm going to have to make my idle threat a real one. Mayor Stratham is my best bet. I kind of know him because I used to hang out with his son, Drue, plus Mom helped them find the perfect house recently. Now that I don’t hang out with the Ass Squad anymore, he might be more open to listening to me. I even heard him tell my mom that she was lucky she could trust her daughter. He constantly has to keep an eye on Drue, worried my ex-friends will lead him astray.

  I'm going to need more than just my word, though. Half the stuff I saw was in my ghost form, so that's hardly going to fly...unless I have someone to verify the story. There's only one someone I can think of, and I bet my entire wardrobe he's not going to help me.

  I steel myself before leaving the store. I don't want anyone to see how upset I am. I just have to focus on my next plan of attack. Part of me wants to quit now and start persuading Dale to check out colleges in California, but I can't. I've made up my mind and I won't back down.

  My resolve is only strengthened as I get to the end of the street and see my gorgeous man sitting at an outside table, smiling at me. A huge bowl of ice cream is in front of him with two spoons sticking out of it. I grin back, shoving tomorrow's problems into the back recesses of my brain.

  I don't care what it costs me. Dale is worth every tear and every second of effort. I'm not giving up. I don't care what the sheriff said. I'm not going to let him win this one.

  Chapter Seven

  It takes me an age to find Adam the next day. I don't want to skip class again, so I have to wait until my one and only free period, which falls just before lunch. I want to get this over with so I can sit with Dale in the cafeteria and focus on something other than Sheriff Hutton and his stubborn ass.

  There's twenty minutes until the bell rings when I finally pull open the downstairs computer room door. Mr. Attley, the head of I.T., keeps all his computer junk down here, and a few of his favorite students are allowed to come down and potter. It's where Dale and I found Adam the time he took us to my dying body.

  The room creeps me out a little.

  I walk past the shelves of tangled wires and discarded keyboards, reliving the moment when Dale threw Adam to the ground and demanded to know where I was. My ghostly-self watched on in surprise.

  Falling for Dale happened in small bursts. Like carefully walking down a staircase until you have the courage to say, "What the hell," and fly down the bannister. That moment. The moment when my five-foot-ten-inch Dale took down the towering Adam Hutton was one of the first steps I descended. No one had ever gone so far for me before. Maybe that's another reason why I'm so compelled to do this. Dale doesn't think I owe him anything for what he did. He always says he's the lucky one because he scored me out of it. But I do owe him. He saved my life…in more ways than one. And now it's my turn to make his life better.

  I find Adam at the end of the room, tinkering with a motherboard, much like he was the last time. He must find it therapeutic or something. I figure he comes to hide down here when things are bad. I bet he's been spending a ton of time down here since my accident.

  Adam confuses me. He's built like Captain America, and he’s the basketball team's most valued player as well as being one of the smartest kids in school. He basically has the world at his fingertips. He could be whatever he wanted to be, but he has no confidence. My accident has only made it worse. He's practically become a recluse, much to the girls’ disappointment. No one can figure out why. No one except me and Dale.

  The tight set of Adam's broad shoulders and the way his head is hunched over t
ell me more than any words will ever convey. It doesn't matter how brilliant this guy is; he's too scared to amount to anything.

  "Hey, Adam." Although my voice is ultra-soft, he still jumps.

  His eyes are so bright blue when he turns around they remind me of a cloudless sky. But cloudless skies never look this troubled.

  I approach him quietly. Having spent most of the night tossing and turning, wondering how I should play this, I feel confident with my decision to go for a sweet, mother-like voice. I've also decided to come at this from a whole new angle.

  "I didn't mean to startle you." I smile, hoping it looks genuine enough.

  Adam's eyes dart to the door.

  "It's just me."

  His nod is shaky and erratic.

  Dude, grow a backbone. It's only me...little Nicky Tepper.

  The guy could trample me in a second if he wanted to.

  I lick my bottom lip, silently going over my carefully prepared phrasing.

  "I know you don't want me down here. And I know you don't like talking to me. I'm pretty sure I know why…"

  I glance to him for confirmation, but he gives me nothing. He looks like a nervous kid, his body frozen by my very presence.

  "Adam. I told you I wouldn't press charges…and I really, really don't want to, but your Dad—"

  "What'd he do?" Adam's voice is sharp and he looks worried, swiveling his body around so he can face me properly.

  "Well, he..." I pick up the Granite dog tags swinging from my long necklace and rub them together. "I kind of asked him to write Dale a reference...and he's refusing."

  Adam’s eyes crinkle at the corners, and he gazes at me while his mind ticks over. Very slowly, a crooked smile forms on his face.

  "You blackmailed my dad, didn’t you?"

  "No!" I step back and look to the floor.

  "Yeah, you did. You told him if he doesn't help you, you'll press charges against me.”

  I swallow, my gaze still locked on the floor. I can't decide if he's mad or not. Why am I doing this? Is he going to pull a gun on me again? The guy's a six-foot-three-inch tank. It would take no effort from him to knock me out and drag me from the building. No one would even notice down in this deserted part of the school.