The Space Beyond (The Space Between Heartbeats #1.5)

by Melissa Pearl

  The Space Beyond

  Sequel to The Space Between Heartbeats

  MELISSA PEARL

  Copyright 2013 Melissa Pearl

  SECOND EDITION

  Re-edited & Re-released in 2015

  http://www.melissapearlauthor.com

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, businesses, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, actual events or locales is purely coincidental.

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  Cover art (copyright) by Eden Crane.

  All rights reserved.

  Eden Crane Design

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  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your preferred retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  MELISSA PEARL’S VIP READERS

  To all the people who spend their lives putting the needs of others before their own. You make the world a better place.

  xx

  Thank you.

  Chapter One

  Dale's late. I hate that.

  I'm never late.

  I squint up at the bright blue sky then shade my eyes and look down the road for the millionth time.

  The plan was to meet outside my boyfriend’s place at four o'clock today. So, where the hell is he?

  I tap my foot on the ground in frustration. It hurts a little, but the doc told me I needed to keep exercising my bad leg. Due to my mondo knee injury, my left leg is now skinnier than my right. Awesome, right? It looks ridiculous, and I'm doing everything I can to get my legs looking even again before the summer rolls around. Like I'm going to wear shorts with odd-shaped legs. So I keep tapping...and checking my watch. Finally, after five minutes—which feels more like twenty—Dale's mustard-yellow beater rumbles towards me.

  I've thought of a few things I can say to him when he gets out of his car. Some of them are sarcastic. Some are just outright annoyed, and there's one sweet funny one, which I'm so not in the mood to say right now. I'm trying to think of which one to lead with when Dale gets out of the car and takes my breath away.

  I gape at him for a moment then blurt, "Where's your hair gone?"

  I gaze at the way his short, brown locks frame his handsome face. It makes him look older, stronger somehow, but still…the scar that runs from his right ear to his chin—the one I used to think was so ugly—is clear for everyone to see. He’s no longer hiding it, and I’m completely flummoxed. How am I supposed to hide my horror? My boyfriend cut his gorgeous curls off without even freaking telling me he was going to.

  Dale's lopsided smirk is adorable as usual, taking the steam from my snappy question.

  "You don't like it?" He closes the car door and saunters towards me, lightly resting his hands on my hips once he's close enough.

  I'm too annoyed to tell him that it actually looks quite good, so I keep my skeptical pout in place while I run my hands through his very short locks. It's not the same. I have to admit that in spite of his long curls not being the height of fashion, I really loved them. I used to wind them around my fingers when we were lying on his bed chatting. I won't be able to do that anymore, and it makes me sad.

  "Come on, Nicky." He nudges my cheek with his nose. "Is it really that bad?"

  I give the hairs at the nape of his neck a little tug, making him laugh and wince at the same time.

  “I just can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” I try to step out of his grasp, but he won’t let me. His hands move to my waist, holding me steady.

  He tilts his head to the side, and I see him embarking on one of those persuasive speeches in his soft voice that always wins me over.

  I hold up my finger to stop him. "Don't you dare tell me you wanted to surprise me, because you know I hate surprises. And don't say you did it for me because you thought I'd like it better. I loved your curls, and you know that."

  He lets go of me, clearing his throat in that sheepish way he does. Scratching the back of his head, he scuffs the path outside his house with the toe of his dark green Vans.

  "I didn't do it for you, Nicky.” He sighs. “You have absolutely nothing to do with the state of my hair."

  I shouldn't frown. The world doesn't revolve around me, although Dale often makes me feel like it does. He's way too good for me.

  Swallowing back the thought, I push aside my fears and paste on my steely glare face. "Why'd you do it then?"

  He shrugs, his cheeks tinging pink.

  "Dale, why?" I snap.

  "Because college is not too far off, and I want to be prepared for interviews. I'm getting applications ready, and I need to present myself as best I can."

  College.

  Damn, I hate that stupid word.

  My mouth goes dry like it always does when I think about the next school year. My brain spasms and I close my eyes. Barrington High without Dale is going to be all kinds of torture. He's basically my only friend. Trent was right; when I publicly dumped him in that hospital bed, I did commit social suicide. My ex-friends now treat me like the dried-up gum you find beneath cafeteria tables. Amber has no qualms about grimacing right in my face. Penny, aka @PennyKimKnows, has no problem sending out random tweets about me, involving hashtags like #limpalot, #deadleg and #thebitchlived. It was way harsh and had me in tears almost every day until Dale forced me to unfollow her and all my old friends.

  Returning to school after my rehab has been the hardest thing I've ever done, but Dale’s never left my side. He’s slowly walked me to each of my classes, held my hand and told me I’ll be okay. He's still doing that. He's been holding me up and making me strong. Next year, however...

  I swallow hard then scratch the side of my nose and look away from him.

  "Yeah, I guess you're right. You do look a little smarter." I have to concede. I want him to know I support him. He deserves the best. He's smart, a hard worker, and he'll do great at college. I'm just going to miss him. Not that I can say that out loud or anything.

  Instead, I push a smile over my face and step into his space. I run my fingers through his new ‘do’ and smile. His hands are back on my hips. Man, I love the feel of his hands on me. He makes me safe, secure. I feel like I can do anything with him by my side.

  His expression is going all soft and mushy as the breeze catches my hair and blows it across my face. He gently tucks it back behind my ear. Maybe he knows what I'm thinking. Can he smell my fear about him leaving me? He doesn't say anything, though, just pulls me towards him and lifts me up so our lips are in line.

  "You know, babe, I couldn't have cut my hair if it wasn't for you."

  "Oh, yeah?" I murmur, slightly confused as our lips brush together.

  He pulls back so he can look into my eyes. "I never would have had the courage to flash my scar around like this if I hadn't been dating the most gorgeous girl on the planet."

  I roll my eyes, but can't help blushing.

  He grins. "I don't need to hide when I'm around you." His voice is so soft and tender. I think my heart is actually melting.

  My lips pull into an insta
nt grin as I place my hand on his cheek and kiss him softly. His arms tighten around me, and I deepen the kiss. His tongue dances inside my mouth, warm and tasting like peppermint gum.

  Man, he is good at this. We haven't really talked about our ex-relationships much. We've mentioned them in passing, but never had that serious, let's get down to details type of talk. But I know he must have been with someone who taught him a thing or two about girls. I can tell by the confident way his hands move over my body and the magic his tongue creates whenever we're kissing. I'm certain he's got all the right moves tucked away inside him and man, do I wish he'd show me a few of them...or, like, all of them.

  My insides flush at the thought. Because of my accident, Dale and I have been forced to take things really slow and that suited me just fine, initially. I was so over being mauled by guys who didn't care about me. Being with someone who actually likes spending time with the real me is refreshing. We've connected on this really deep, emotional level. I trust him completely. But now that my limbs are basically behaving themselves, and now that we’ve been dating for six months...I want more.

  His tongue flicks mine before brushing over my lower lip. Spikes of pleasure run down my spine, and I'm just considering ripping his shirt off when he pulls back and gently lowers me to the ground. I give him a disgruntled sigh. He never plays fair. He always stops things before they really get started.

  I cross my arms with a half-hearted scowl.

  He looks a touch incredulous. "Nicky, we're on a public street. Outside my house."

  I lift my chin and sniff. "It wouldn't make a difference where we were."

  His expression melts like butter as he tucks his fingers into my hair and pulls me towards him. His lips are heavenly as they press against mine. They move from my mouth, across my cheek and come to rest against my earlobe.

  "You're worth more than a quickie while my parents are out of the house." I love and hate the way he says that. It makes me feel like I’m made of crystal, something precious that he wants to cherish, but then the other side of me wants to yell, “Why can't we just do it already?”

  Oh, that's right. I remember now. The thought is heavy and a little depressing, so I step back and gift him a smile that hides everything I'm feeling.

  Dale keeps his hand on my face, rubbing his thumb over my frowning lips. "So, I was thinking we should go to the gym, and then head to your place for a movie."

  Ugh. The gym. I know it's a good idea, and we should totally do that, but...

  As usual, Dale’s sweet grin makes me nod. At least I'll get to see him working out. That'll be worth it.

  "Do you want me to walk you home so you can get changed?" He laces his fingers through mine.

  "It's only around the corner. I'll be fine." I let go of his hand and start limping away.

  "You sure?" he calls after me.

  "Yeah, I'll see you in fifteen minutes." I wave my hand in the air and glance over my shoulder to give him another reassuring smile.

  He grins back, but I don’t miss the way he analyzes me as I limp away. His beautiful, brown eyes study my gait while his strong, muscular body is ready to spring into action if I fall.

  I think he will forever worry about me. Ever since rescuing me from death, he's been my personal bodyguard, and I love him for it. However, today, I just need fifteen minutes to gather myself.

  I limp away, knowing he's watching my every move. I don't look back. I don't want him to see the tears welling in my eyes. Dale Finnigan will not sleep with me because he's made a promise to himself that the next girl he sleeps with is the woman he's going to marry. If you ask me, it's kind of ridiculous. At the time he told me, I thought it was chivalrous and sweet, but now I just think it's a pain in the ass. I want him. I want him so bad, and not just because he has a hot bod, but because...well, I've never made love before. I've had sex with selfish guys who got what they wanted then zipped up their flies, but with Dale, I know it'd be different. It'd be slow, intimate...amazing.

  It'd be all those things because I'm in love with him.

  I haven't told another soul I feel that way about him. I've never loved anyone before, and never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I'd fall for someone like Dale, but I have and, like, super hard.

  He'll never know it. And I can’t tell him. He'd never say it back to me, and I know this for several reasons. One — he won't sleep with me, which obviously means he has not once entertained the idea of us getting married. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm only seventeen, but I can't help it. I've doodled ‘Nicole Finnigan’ on so many pieces of paper now it's embarrassing. Two — he's applying to colleges, which means he's more than happy to leave me. Three — I'm not good enough for him. He may disagree with this if I ever brought it up, but what does he know? I rely so heavily on him it's not even funny. The fact I'm aware of it must mean it's pretty bad. He puts up with all my shit... like, every single day, and still kisses me good-bye. He hardly ever loses his cool with my stupid moves, unless I really push his buttons, which I intentionally do sometimes. Those post-fight make-up sessions have gotten me so close, but Dale’s will is always stronger.

  I inwardly groan. It’s never going to happen for us. I just need to let it go and face the fact that come August, I’m going to be waving good-bye to the best thing that has ever happened to me.

  Chapter Two

  The college replies start coming in way sooner than I expected. I was thinking a few months, but here we are only five weeks down the track, and I can see it. A stark, white envelope is sitting on Dale's kitchen counter, flipping me off. I want to snarl at it, but instead press my lips together and try to pretend I haven't seen it.

  Dale's mom, Mary, is twittering around the kitchen, eyeing it with a secret smile. My heart sinks to the bottom of my skinny jeans. I swear it squeezes out past my shoes. I can see it on the floor, gasping for air as Dale spots his mother's gaze and his eyes round with nervous pleasure.

  I notice the emblem on the top left corner of the envelope before he flips it over and rips into it. Columbia? Freaking Columbia University? That's in New York. That's, like, the other side of the world. He never told me he was applying there.

  He never told me, because every time he tries to raise the subject of college, I cut him off and start harping on about something else. I'm such an idiot.

  Columbia.

  I can't breathe.

  I hate you, Columbia University.

  Please, don't get in. Please. Please. I look away from Dale’s trembling hands as he reads the letter. I feel sick and breathe in sharply to ward off the dizzy spell.

  "Did you get in?" his mother asks.

  Dale's face is pale and tight. My brows bunch together as I watch him. His head shake is minuscule, but sounds so loud in the quiet room.

  Woohoo!

  I mean...

  Dale tosses the letter out of his hand. Mary and I watch it flutter to the floor as Dale slumps into a kitchen chair.

  Dude. He's gutted. I mean, seriously gutted.

  That stings. Does he really want to get away from me that badly?

  I cross my arms as Mary scoops up the letter and quickly scans it. Her face morphs with empathy.

  "Dale, honey, I'm so sorry."

  He flicks his hand, trying to look nonchalant. My elation at his rejection from the East Coast school is fully stunted by the sadness cresting over his face. I creep towards him and pull out the chair nearby. Reaching down for his hand, I squeeze his fingers. With a forced smile, he squeezes back, once again putting my needs before his. He doesn’t want to smile right now—he probably wants to go up to his room and shut out the world for the rest of the day—but instead he's squeezing my hand, knowing I'll feel rejected if he doesn't do it.

  I hate myself sometimes.

  I pull my hand free and rub his thigh. "Did they give you any reason?"

  He shakes his head before snatching back the letter and re-reading it. "It'll be my police record. I guarantee it."

  "Honey
, you don't know that." Mary places her hand on his shoulder.

  "Yeah, I do, Mom." He looks up at her. I can't see his expression, but the pain cresting over Mary's face gives me a good enough idea. "That damn thing is going to haunt me forever." He thumps the table. "I want to turn back time!"

  "You know you can't." Mary's calm voice tells me they've had this conversation many times before.

  "I hate it," he mumbles darkly, but then his voice goes all quiet and wobbly. "Just, can we not...please don't tell Dad."

  Mary's pained expression mirrors mine. "Honey, you know we have to."

  "Yeah, but not today," he chokes out the words. "Promise me you won't say anything until I'm ready."

  His mom looks all worried as she gazes at him.

  "Promise me, Mom."

  "Okay, okay." She raises her hands like two white flags. "I won't say a word."

  With that, Dale pushes up from the table and stalks out of the room.

  Should I follow him?

  I look to Mrs. Finnigan.

  "Just give him a few minutes." She smiles sweetly. Her lips are tight, her hazel eyes only just glowing with warmth. I still can't figure out if she likes me or not. It took her a while to meet the girl Dale was dating. I was hardly up for social calls when we first got together. I think Mary was really concerned when she heard it was me. My prior reputation does precede me, I suppose. I've changed a lot since the accident, though, and she seems to understand this, but she's still wary of me.

  I guess I get it. From what Dale has told me, he was a bad boy a couple of years back. Maybe his parents think I'll pull him down that path again. I don't really care about proving myself to them. Sucking up is really not my style. However, I really want an answer to the question burning a hole through my brain, so I put on the sweetest demeanor I can muster.

  "So, um." I tuck my hair behind my ear. "Why doesn't Dale want to tell Mr. Finnigan?"

  "Oh." Mary sighs, folding the dishtowel in her hand and hanging it neatly over the handle of the old oven door. "Well, Dale's father always wanted to go to Columbia. His father wouldn't allow him to...he insisted he go to seminary instead."