“Is your leg hurting . . . or your elbow?” Mom twists around in the seat, her fingers digging into the fabric as she studies me.
I roll my eyes. “No, Mom. I’m fine, really.”
I turn away from their worried frowns. I should be happy that I’m heading home. I should be grateful that the doctor let me out a day early. Mom has been explaining how she’s set up a bed for me in the living room so I won’t have to go upstairs and I’ll have everything I need at my fingertips.
I don’t care.
Why had Dale not come by? I could have sworn I’d seen him when Adam arrived on Tuesday, but maybe I was wrong. Mom said he had been by while I was out of it. Why had he ignored me when I lay totally coherent for the last two days?
Maybe he’d changed his mind about me now that I was real and not just a voice in his head. I finger the hospital tag around my wrist, wanting to rip it off.
Dad pulls his car into our driveway. I stare at our beautiful home with its old-world exterior and modern insides. Cutting the engine, Dad swivels in his seat and looks at me with worried eyes.
“I’m fine, Dad. Just get me into the house,” I snap.
The driver’s door pops open and he scampers around to help me. It is a painful mission. I can’t use crutches and the wheelchair won’t go up our front steps, so Dad has to carry me into the house and to the couch. Placing me down, he gently pops a pillow under my leg and stands up, looking proud of himself.
“All good?”
I give a quick nod. Dad gently pats my uninjured leg and walks out of the room. Mom strolls in with the wheelchair and parks it at the edge of the couch so I can reach it easily, then takes a seat by my side. She can’t sit still; she fluffs the pillows behind my back, adjusts the wheelchair again, and looks at me expectantly.
“We’re going to hate that wheelchair, aren’t we?” I glare at the metal thing, the idea of my long journey weighing me down.
She looks over her shoulder at it and nods. “Probably.”
“This sucks.” I rub my forehead and turn away from her, resting my head back against the sofa.
Mom rubs my arm and murmurs, “You’re not mad about that chair though, are you?”
I can’t look at her as my nose starts to tingle and tears burn my eyes.
“Are you ready to talk about your friends visiting you the other day?”
“They’re not my friends,” I mumble, staring up at the slanted ceiling and studying the lines in the pale wood.
Gently taking my hand, Mom gives my fingers a squeeze, her thumb rubbing circles over my smooth skin. “You did the right thing, asking them to leave you alone.”
I finally look over at her and shrug. “Maybe . . . but now I have no one.”
“What about Dale?”
“What about him?” I sniff.
Mom’s lips twitch with a smile. “I thought maybe there was something going on between you two.”
“Yeah, well, me too, but now . . .” I shrug, aiming for casual. “It doesn’t matter anyway.”
The smile on Mom’s face grows a little bigger. “Honey, you’ve been living a life you hate for a few years now. It’s time to start fighting for the life you want.”
Her blue eyes sparkle as she holds my face in her hands.
“But I don’t know what I want, Mom.”
“Yes, you do.” Her grin is filled with amusement.
I hold my breath, reading her sweet expression, then finally let out a groan. “Fine! Hand me the phone.”
She rises from the couch and retrieves the phone, along with a small scrap of paper. She places it in my hand with a wink and slides the doors to the kitchen shut behind her.
I stare at the phone for a long minute trying to decide if I want to do this. Dale and I went through so much while he was searching for me. Maybe it was simply the high pressure that made me feel this way about him.
I close my eyes and think about that moment in the jail cell with his arms on either side of me. The look in his eyes spoke volumes. I couldn’t ignore it . . . but why hadn’t he come to see me?
With an irritated huff, I raise the paper. “Just do it already,” I mutter to myself.
I dial his number and start chewing on my lower lip.
The third ring is cut short by a voice that makes excited butterflies flitter through my system.
“Hello, Dale speaking.”
“Where have you been?” I snap. “Why didn’t you come see me the last couple of days?”
There’s a pregnant pause and then a soft, breathy chuckle.
“Hey, Nicky.” His voice is calm and easy. “How’s it going?”
“Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”
He pulls in a breath, holds it for about three seconds, and then lets it out in a rush. “I came to see you on Tuesday, but your friends beat me to it. I just thought you might need a little space to figure out what you want. I wasn’t sure where we stood.”
“Where we stood? We just went through all that crap together and you don’t know where we stand?” My mind reels in frustration.
Dale clears his throat. “Look, you already know how I feel about you. I don’t want to pressure you to reciprocate, so I thought I’d let you make the next move.”
I tip my head back. “You don’t know anything about girls, do you?”
“Give me a break. I just want you to decide what you want for you . . . not because of me, not because of your parents or your dumbass friends. What do you want?”
“I don’t—” I’m about to say know, but stop myself. For the first time in years, I do know what I want and I hate that he’s making me say it. “I want you to call me and see how I’m doing. I don’t want to lie alone in a hospital bed waiting for you to mop up my tears. I want you to be here to welcome me home!” My voice drops as I keep going, the idea of having a future with him giving me butterflies. “I want to see your beautiful face laughing at me when I’m being an idiot. I want you to watch movies with me and hang out and listen to Granite with me. I want you to hold my hand and I want you to kiss me good-bye at the end of each day.” I inhale quickly, suddenly registering everything I’ve just said. Embarrassment flares through me and sparks my indignant anger. “And I don’t want to have to tell you to do any of this stuff! I can’t believe I’m humiliating myself like this. Just forget it.”
He chortles and my mouth drops open. I would have done anything for an old-fashioned phone—to hear that satisfying rattle and clang as I slam it on the cradle. Instead, pushing the End button really hard will have to suffice.
Collapsing back into the couch with too much force, I wince as pain radiates down my arm. I blink at tears and swear. Swiping them away angrily, I gaze out the huge glass windows and notice for the first time that the tree is gone.
I gaze at the blank space, noticing a soft patch of grass behind it. The sun is lighting the area, making it look like the perfect picnic spot, and I can’t help but wonder if Jody’s just been waiting to highlight it for me.
I wipe the last of the tears from my cheeks and lift my leg off the pillow. Aiming for the wheelchair, I start scooting toward the edge of the couch. I grip one of the black handles and drag it toward me; the large wheels knock into the furniture.
The doorbell rings and I freeze. My knuckles go white as I strain to hear voices.
“Oh, hi, Dale. Come on in.” Mom sounds giddy with excitement. “She’s just in the living room.”
My shoulders tense and I gasp as pain shoots down my arm. My back goes stiff as I hear the footsteps coming through the kitchen.
I swivel around to glare at the door, resting my good arm on the back of the sofa. I want to make sure my pissed-off face is the first thing Dale sees.
The doors slide apart slowly and his adorable mop of hair appears. My stomach does a little hiccup and my heart starts thr
umming. When his warm brown gaze hits me, it’s an effort not to melt into the couch.
“Hey.” He gives me that smirk I adore and I have to clench my jaw to stop myself from smiling.
“What do you want?” Flustered by my insane reaction, I try to pull myself up, but the brakes aren’t on the chair and it starts to roll away from me. I stumble on my good leg and start heading for a mortifying finish on the floor.
Dale’s there in a second, gently catching me against him. His strong arm around my waist holds me tightly to his side.
“I want to catch you when you fall.” He grins down at me.
I roll my eyes. “That’s the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
His smile is delicious as he scoops me into his arms. Nudging the chair out of the way, he picks me up and lays me on the couch, nestling me against the soft pillows, carefully arranging my leg. Taking a seat beside me, he brushes my bangs away from my face with the tips of his fingers. His brown eyes are like rich cocoa as I drink him in.
My throat is so thick with emotion I can barely breathe. I want to protect myself, to spit out something snarky and mean, but then he starts talking and my defensive walls are ripped apart.
He lifts the Granite dog tags from where they rest on my chest and runs his finger over the letters. He smirks. “You know what I want?” he asks.
I swallow.
“I want to hear you call me beautiful again.” A bright blush blooms on his cheeks as he snickers, then dips his head. But after a quick beat, he looks up at me with all the sincerity in the world and whispers, “I also want to drive you to rehab.” His lips form a soft smile. “I want to be there with you and tell you not to quit when it really hurts and you want to give up.”
My insides turn to mush as his words sink in. I blink away the tears as he leans toward me.
“And I want to kiss you every day, but not just because I’m saying good-bye.”
My lips stretch wide with a smile as his nose touches mine. We lock eyes for a moment, and then his gaze lights up even more. Tingles rocket along my skin as he places his hand on my neck. And between one heartbeat and the next, he gently leans toward me and touches his lips to mine.
I’ve never felt anything like it.
It’s soft, sweet, and holds more promise than any other kiss I’ve ever received.
I place my hand on his cheek, running my fingers over his warm skin, and relish the warmth of his touch.
And all I can think is, “I’ve finally found my way home.”
“I once was lost, but now am found.
Was blind, but now I see.”
Amazing Grace, John Newton, 1779
COMING IN OCTOBER 2015
The Space Before (Dale’s prequel novella)
The Space Beyond (Dale & Nicole’s sequel novella)
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Writing a book is always such a massive undertaking and requires the help and support of so many people. The Space Between Heartbeats means so much to me. It’s been one of those books I’ve cherished and lived with for a long time before sitting down to write it and then I had the absolute pleasure of working with Alloy Entertainment to make it into something even better.
Thank you so much to Eliza Swift and Lanie Davis for your amazing input. Your support throughout this process has been brilliant and I have learned so much.
Thank you to my agent, Rachel Marks, for helping me get this awesome deal. You’re a sweetheart and I love working with you.
I want to give a special mention to Scott and Ruth, who helped me with all the medical stuff I needed to make this story realistic. You are a wealth of knowledge and I so appreciate your time and expertise.
And I can’t write a book at all without the support of my family, my friends, and my very loyal fans. I love you all for different reasons. You make my life whole, rich, and complete.
Last, but not least, I’d like to thank my creator who gave me an imagination that loves to dream. Thank you for the pictures and the words in my head, and the characters you place in my heart. I love you.
About Melissa Pearl
Melissa Pearl is a kiwi at heart but currently lives in Suzhou, China, with her husband and two sons. She trained as an elementary school teacher, but has always had a passion for writing and finally completed her first manuscript in 2003. She has been writing ever since, and the more she learns, the more she loves it.
She writes young adult and new adult fiction in a variety of romance genres—paranormal, fantasy, suspense, and contemporary. Her goal as a writer is to give readers the pleasure of escaping their everyday lives for a while and losing themselves in a journey . . . one that will make them laugh, cry, and swoon.
Follow @MelissaPearlG on Twitter and visit her at http://melissapearlauthor.com.
Looking for another great read? Turn the page for an excerpt of
EVERY UGLY WORD
by Aimee L. Salter
Seventeen-year-old Ashley Watson can’t walk through the halls of her high school without bullies taunting or shoving her. She can’t go a day without fighting with her mother. And no matter what she does, she can’t seem to make her best friend, Matt, fall in love with her. But she does have something no one else does: a literal glimpse into the future. When Ashley looks into the mirror, she can see her older self.
But her older self is keeping a dark secret. Something terrible is about to happen to Ashley. Something that will change her life forever. Something even her older self is powerless to stop.
As the psychiatrist enters the room, he offers me a patronizing smile. I return it in kind.
He indicates for me to take a seat, then sinks into a worn leather chair, looking just like a doctor should: graying hair, well-trimmed beard, and wire-rimmed glasses I suspect he doesn’t actually need.
We face each other over a glossy, mahogany coffee table. While he flips through my file, I scan the room. Shelves of creased paperbacks line the walls. The single window is framed by subtle drapes. There are doilies under the table lamps and two doors on opposing walls. This office resembles a living room—if I ignore the bars over the shatterproof windows. Kind of kills the good-time vibe.
Doc clears his throat. I take a deep breath and turn back to him.
“How are you, Ashley?” His voice is too loud for the muted tones of the room—all earthy browns and soft corners. The quietly ticking clock in the corner tells me it’s 9:34 a.m. That gives me about five hours to prove I’m normal and get out of this place once and for all. Five hours until her life goes to hell, if I don’t make it home in time. I focus on him, try to smile. It’s already been a rough morning, but I can’t tell him that, not yet.
“I’m okay.” I shrug, then freeze. My stitches are only memory now, but searing pain lights up along the hard, pink lines spider-webbing across most of my upper body. I breathe and wait for the jagged bolts to fade. My surgeon says I’m healing. But he forgot to mention that to the layers of mangled nerve endings beneath my fractured skin.
“Pain?” Doc’s eyes snap to mine. The benign disinterest was an act. He is measuring me.
“It’s fine. I just moved wrong,” I say breezily.
My physical scars aren’t the reason I’m here. He can’t fix those. But he can help me by letting me out. As head of this facility, no one leaves without his approval.
I mentally shake myself. He will let me out today. He must. If I can get home in time, I can fix . . . everything.
Doc’s lips press together under his perfectly trimmed mustache. After a second he smiles again.
“I see you brought your bag.”
The duffel bag my mother packed before dumping me here six months ago sits on the floor like a well-trained dog, as ready to go as I am.
“Yes.”
“So you’re confident about today?”
“I’m confident that I’m not crazy.”
Doc’s smile twists up on one side. “You know we don’t use that word in here, Ashley.”
There are a lot of words they don’t use in here. See you later, for example.
I take another breath. Cold. Calm. Sane. “Sorry.”
He returns my stare, face blank. “I’m glad you feel confident. However, I do have concerns.”
“Concerns?”
He smiles in a way I’m sure is meant to be reassuring. But when he sits that way, with the over-bright anticipation in his gaze, it kind of makes him look like a pedophile.
“Ashley . . . you’ve changed therapists three times during your stay. Do you know what I think when I hear that?”
I think the question is rhetorical, but he waits, expectant.
“Um . . . no?”
He hasn’t looked away. “I think as soon as anyone gets close to the truth, you flee.”
I can’t break my gaze without confirming his suspicions. So I swallow and wait.
His calm is maddening.
When he speaks next, it’s in the cool tone of a professional shrink. “I’ve read your file, spoken to your nurses, and been briefed by your therapists. Now I want to talk to you. About this.”
He makes his way to a closet in the corner, then pulls out a massive full-length mirror. It stands taller than I am, with a wrought-iron frame that is hinged in the middle, allowing it to pivot. He rolls it in front of the shelves in the corner of the room, far enough behind me that I can’t see into it without turning my head.
A kindness? Or a challenge?
Doc returns to his chair and I force myself to follow him, to keep my eyes away from the glinting surface.
“I have a hunch if we examine whatever it is you see in the mirror, we’ll find the truth about the rest, Ashley,” he says. “I’d like you to stand before it and tell me what you see.”
Panic lights up my veins. “What? Now?”
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