The Space Between Heartbeats (9 page)

WEDNESDAY, 10:17 PM

Dad remains in the car in front of our house with his head pressed against the steering wheel. The minutes tick by with painful slowness and it soon makes me antsy.

“Fine,” I huff. “I’ll go check on Mom, then.”

The house is cold as I move through it. I follow the white glow coming from the kitchen and find my mother sitting at the counter, picking at a microwave meal. She’s still dressed in her black skirt and blue blouse, but her feet are bare.

“Mom?”

I step in front of her. Her blue eyes are unfocused, staring at the flimsy plastic tray. Her fork is poised above her food. It’s like she knows she needs to eat, but she can’t quite bring herself to do it.

When I put my hand over hers, my mother blinks and finally comes to with a shiver. She looks at the clock and scoffs, throwing her fork into the sink. With practiced efficiency, she goes to the cupboard and grabs a large wineglass. She selects a bottle, uncaps it, and pours a full glass of dark crimson liquid. It’s gone after four big swigs.

“Easy, Mom.”

She pours another glass and slams the bottle on the counter. A sudden sob spurts out of her mouth as she dips her head. Her hair falls over her face and her shoulders shake.

“Don’t cry,” I whisper.

The sobs keep coming out of her, slow and pitiful. I reach for her, but my hand moves right through her shoulder. She shivers, sucking in a breath and snatching her wineglass off the counter. Walking out of the kitchen, she heads through the living area and up the stairs. When she reaches my room, she pauses in the doorway. She sniffs, then flicks on the light and steps inside.

My room is the polar opposite of Dale’s, filled with books lined up in height order so they look tidy at a glance. My clothes are neatly folded in drawers or hung precisely in my closet—shirts, pants, jackets grouped by item, then color. My understated bedspread is pulled tight to perfection, just the way I like it.

Mom starts riffling through things on my desk.

“Can you stop that, please?” I cringe as she ruins my system. I try to reach out and reshuffle what she’s mussed up, but my fingers go straight through everything.

Mom takes a seat on my bed, flicking on my lamp and placing her glass down on my bedside table. Her gaze lands on a blue hardcover book, the one I’ve never thought to hide because my parents never really come into my room. My diary.

Shit.

The amber light casts an eerie glow on her as she stares down at it, indecision flitting over her beautiful face. She reaches for it, then pulls back, shaking her head. She picks up her wine and takes a gulp, but her eyes stay on the diary.

“You don’t want to read it, Mom. Trust me.”

The wineglass clunks back onto my table and Mom snatches the book.

“No.” I lurch forward and try to grab the book from her, but my fingers pass straight through the pages. “Please,” I beg as she opens the cover. I slap at the book and this time it wobbles and falls to the floor. I gasp, a mixture of triumph and horror. Did I just do that? I stare at my fingers. Mom picks the diary up off the floor.

I slap at it again, but to no avail. The book is now firmly in my mother’s hands. I close my eyes and cringe. I write
everything
in that book.

I take a peek and see she’s starting at the beginning.

“Great, Mom. Wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”

This is bad. I turn away from her, pinching the bridge of my nose, and torture myself by listening to the flick of pages as she reads. Eventually, I can’t stand it anymore and spin around to see where she’s up to.

Her eyes shimmer with tears, but she still continues to read.

“Okay, that’s enough.” I lurch forward and try to grab the book from her again, but I don’t even ruffle the pages. She sniffs loudly and turns the next page. I move to lean over her shoulder and read what’s on the page.

I can’t believe I did it. I lost my virginity to Chris Cooper!

I cringe, utterly humiliated.

“I thought it would be magical,” my mother murmurs my words aloud, “but it wasn’t. It actually really hurt and he’s barely spoken to me since. Not that I care.”

My mother drops the book in her lap.

“Not that you care? Oh, honey.” She covers her mouth and blinks away tears until they leak down her cheek.

“I’m sorry, Mom.” I sit down beside her, shame flooding through me. The truth is, my friends told me he was hot and super cool and I’d be an idiot not to go for it. It was just easier to give in. It kind of happened before I could stop it. The past few years are littered with decisions like that one, choices I made because they were easy, not because they were right.

Mom swipes at her tears, inadvertently rubbing mascara around her face. She collects the book and flips to my final entry. Her already broken expression falls even further.

“Oh, Nicky.”

Dad appears in the doorway. “How you holding up?”

Mom shakes her head, her chin trembling. “This is our fault.”

“Hey, don’t say that.” Dad steps into the room and leans against the wall.

“I found her diary.” Mom lifts the thick book, flicking the pages with her thumb. “I don’t know this girl.”

“Do you really think you should be reading that?”

“Yes!” She opens it up again and slaps her hand on the page. “Yes, I should. I can’t believe we’ve let so much slide. Do you know she stole your credit card last week?”

Dad shoves his hands in his pockets and looks to the floor with a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I know. I meant to talk to her about it . . .”

“How could we let this happen?” Mom’s broken whisper rips into me.

Dad scans the room. “We were letting her grieve, Trudy.”

“For over two years?” Mom slams the book shut and tosses it to the floor. “We weren’t letting her grieve; we just didn’t know what to do with her.” She stands up and straightens her skirt. It’s futile, she still looks like a mess.

Dad rubs a hand over his mouth, looking straight through me. “We’ve done the best we can.”

“Have we?” She approaches my father.

Before he can reply, she walks out the door, her wine forgotten on my bedside table.

Dad turns to watch her leave. “Trudy.”

I hear her descending the stairs. Dad punches the wall behind him and swears.

“Follow her, Dad.” I walk toward him. “Please. She wants you to follow her.”

Almost as if he can hear me, he pushes off the wall. We head down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mom is waiting for water to boil for tea while rinsing a few dishes.

Dad slaps his hands against the island. “Jody’s death was hard on all of us. We’ve all been trying to find our way, Trudy.”

“On our own.” She pauses to look at him. “How was that ever going to work?” The kettle whistles and Mom pours boiling water into a mug. “Maybe we should just stop pretending.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, Mitchell. We’ve only stayed together for Nicole. And look at all the good that’s done.”

Yanking on the knot in his tie, Dad pulls it off and shakes his head. A muscle in his jaw works overtime until he manages to pull off an even-keeled voice. “Not me. I’d never leave you.”

Mom closes her eyes. “You left me the day Jody died.”

“I stayed.” Dad throws his tie on the counter. “You just stopped letting me in.”

Mom lifts the tea bag out of her cup and throws it in the sink. “I don’t know us anymore. I don’t even know my own daughter.” She turns and looks at Dad, her eyes awash with fresh tears. “Don’t you see? With her gone, we have nothing left.”

The hopelessness engulfing us is almost too much to bear, but I don’t have to endure it for long. A cool breeze whistles over me, making me shiver. My teeth start to chatter and a familiar, awful feeling runs through me.

“No,” I whisper.

My head starts pounding and bile swirls in my stomach. I cry out, clutching my temples in fear.

“Not again,” I whimper.

The room starts to spin and the walls rush toward me. I scream as inky blackness engulfs me.

WEDNESDAY, 11:16 PM

I open my eyes and realize with a gasp that I’m back in my body. The air around me is clear and cold and a few stars twinkle between the branches. I shiver as the wind whistles over my skin. It hurts to move, but I can’t stop my muscles from quivering in the night chill. Jacket. I need to put my jacket over me.

Trying not to move my head, I scan the area and see a shadowy lump resting against my upper thigh.
My bag.
I stretch toward it, but pain slices through my side—an intense fire that steals my breath.

“You can do this.” I will myself to fight through the stabbing pain, and thrust my right hand toward the bag. I make contact but can’t get a good grip on it. Squeezing my eyes shut, I mutter a curse, then try again. It hurts like hell, but this time I manage to wrap my fingers around the leather strap.

A triumphant smile flutters over my lips as I drag it toward me, but the bag jerks to a stop and refuses to come any closer, like it’s stuck on a branch. I raise my head to get a better look, but I can’t make out anything in the darkness.

I scowl, tugging a little harder and wrenching the strap. The leaves rustle as if they’re laughing at me. “Come here, you stubborn piece of—”

The bag breaks free, bringing with it a pile of leaves and bracken. I scream and cover my face with my good arm. A spasm sears up my leg. I shift to try and ease it, which causes my body to slip to the side and before I can stop myself, I’m sliding down the embankment.

Pain explodes in me like fireworks.

I use my good hand to try and slow my descent. Spikes of agony shoot up my leg and arm, while my face is cut and bruised by the harsh forest floor. I dig my fingers into the ground, and dirt and needles lodge beneath my nails. My speed declines a little and I thump into a patch of fallen branches.

I spit debris from my mouth and realize I’m in a pile of dead pine needles, sharp ones that prick my skin. I brush the points away from my neck. My left elbow is throbbing and each inhale sends an anguished spike from my fingertips to my shoulder. A low moan passes through my lips and a sob climbs up my throat.

I try to ward off the tears and think.
My bag.

I managed to hold on to it during the fall and now it’s resting against my stomach. I heave it up to my chest, then have to stop and take a few breaths. My head is starting to spin. Shakily, I unzip my bag and pull out my jacket. Even this small task is exhausting. I clasp the jacket to my chest, laying my head back on the pine needles, despair filling the space between every heartbeat.

It takes four tries, but eventually I’m able to shake my jacket open and I manage to cover my shoulders and tuck it under my chin.

My teeth chatter, and despite the jacket, my body feels a little colder than it was before. I fear the fall has weakened my already battered body, and when I close my eyes against the darkness, I feel the pressure of tears forming behind my lids.

Just then I hear a skitter and the distinct sound of crunching gravel. I flinch and squint up the embankment, but the darkness hides everything from me. Is it an animal . . . or a person?

Another pile of stones ricochets down the embankment and I almost call out for help when alarm bells flash through my head. Why would someone come out here this late at night? There’s nothing out here but me . . . and the only person who could know is . . .

Lauren?

Fear tingles down my spine, my breathing shallow. I hold in my panicked breaths, forcing my body to lie as still as possible. I hear a muffled curse from above, then another sprinkling of stones. Grinding my teeth together, I try not to breathe. If it’s Lauren, there could only be one reason why she’s here: to make sure I’m dead and hide the evidence.

I go completely still, and I pray she doesn’t find me. As quietly as possible, I press my back against the branches and make my body as small as I can. It’s a clumsy task. The boot on my left leg is growing tighter by the second and my bad arm hangs limply at my side. Eventually, I’m nestled an inch farther into the needles. The shakes return and I have to fight to not rustle the underbrush around me. Stones continue to scatter above me and I think I hear footsteps cautiously descending the hill.

I hold my breath. Fear pulses through my system.

Another soft curse wafts through the air, followed by the sound of retreat. The person is moving back up the hill. I stay still, not breathing, until I hear the rev of an engine. The car pulls away and the air whooshes out of my lungs. A hopeless emptiness swamps me, scraping my insides until I feel hollow. The only thought that brings me any comfort is Dale—his warm eyes. His springy curls. Even his mysterious scar. I want to get back to him so badly, but I don’t know how.

“I’m so screwed,” I whisper, terror consuming me. “I want Dale.”

My chin trembles and I squeeze my eyes shut, begging to the night air. “Please, just take me back to Dale.”

An owl hoots. A branch sways overhead. And I stay huddled there, beneath the tree, trapped in my broken body and wondering how I’ll ever make it through the night—and if I’ll ever see Dale again.

THURSDAY, 7:03 AM

Morning does not come in a hurry. I lie in the darkness of the tall pine trees, flashing from panic to desperation. It’s hard to hold a coherent thought for long. My mind keeps drifting down a murky path of nothingness before abruptly clearing, only for the terror to creep back in.

The bitter cold engulfs me and all I can do is wait for sunshine to lighten the sky. When I think I can’t take it anymore, I start wishing for Dale again. I don’t know how long my mind screams his name, but I eventually open my eyes and find him lying next to me.

I jolt upright. I’m in Dale’s bedroom, on Dale’s bed, the pea green comforter spread out underneath me. Jester is lying at Dale’s feet; his nose pops into the air and he lets out a low bark. Then his tongue flops out of his mouth as if he’s smiling. He burrows his way up the bed, trying to squish his head beneath my hand.

I gently touch his fur—almost fooling myself into thinking I can actually feel it. Jester does that shaky-shiver thing dogs do when they’re stretching, then lays his head in my ghostly lap.

I glance over at Dale, who’s tucked peacefully underneath the covers. He stirs with a soft groan. His eyes ease open and he slowly sits up, rubbing his face, then mussing his curls. He yawns, then looks over at me and gasps.

Lurching away from me, Dale puts his hand out to steady himself but finds nothing but air, and he flops to the floor with a clumsy thud.

I roll over to the edge of the bed and give him a bemused smile. “Everything okay?”

His brown eyes are wide with shock. “I can see you,” he whispers.

My lips part as a silent squeak rushes out. “You can see me?” I rush to smooth down my hair.

He nods slowly, dumbfounded. “You’re a little faint, but you’re definitely there.”

“How do I look?” I worry that there are twigs in my hair and cuts across my face, then I hate myself for being so vain, even in a moment like this.

Dale clears his throat and his eyes dart toward the window. “You know, like you.”

I sit back on the bed as he gets up from the floor. My eyes skim his naked torso, the indents of his abs, the hardness of his chest. We make eye contact and I blush, embarrassed he’s just caught me checking him out. We both look away.

Dale rubs the back of his neck. “So, um, why can I see you? What does it mean?”

I pull my knees against my chest, wrapping my arms around them. “I fell. I was trying to cover myself with my jacket and I slipped farther down the hill. It was painful and I—” I pause, the cold truth of it all making it hard to see straight. “What if the closer I get to death, the more you can see me?”

Dale’s face washes with fear and he perches on the edge of the bed beside me. “I’m going to find you, okay? I promise.” He reaches for my arm, but his hand goes straight through it. We jerk away from each other and shudder.

“Okay,” I whisper.

Jester rolls on the bed, scratching his nose with his paw.

Dale clicks his fingers and points to the door. “Go on, Jes, go see Mom.” The black dog tumbles off the bed, his tail wagging the whole time. It slaps against the doorframe as he wiggles through the narrow gap and disappears.

Grabbing a plain brown band off his nightstand, Dale pulls his hair back into a ponytail. The curls bunch together at the base of his neck. There’s no hiding his scar now, but with that ponytail you can see the strong cut of his jawline. His abs ripple as he pulls a fresh T-shirt over his sculpted body, and then he tucks a stray curl behind his ear. “I know you’re freaked out that I can see you now, but are you okay? You seem really quiet.”

“Yeah, it was just a really long night.” My voice quivers, catching on the last word. I dig my chin into my knees.

Dale slips his jeans on and walks over to me. “Nicky, what happened? You look scared.”

I suck in a breath, tears clogging my throat. “After I fell, I heard footsteps.”

Dale sits down beside me—hope lighting his expression. “Did you call out for help?”

I shake my head. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

The tears flow, trickling down my nose and dripping onto the edge of my mouth. “Because my Dad went and saw the sheriff and he was talking about someone trying to hurt me intentionally and it freaked me out. What if we’re right and Lauren did do something to me?”

Dale’s lips purse. “It’s definitely a possibility.”

I wipe my eyes. “If I was completely wasted, then I probably couldn’t have fought back.”

“You did say you remember walking down the road quickly. Maybe you fought and jumped out of her car and she followed you.”

I shudder. “What if she came back last night to finish me off?”

“Maybe she was trying to save you,” Dale counters.

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes. “With me out of the way she can be with Trent. I mean, they’re already together. I was her last obstacle.”

“She can have him,” Dale mutters darkly. He looks at me. “You deserve better.”

I search his face, struck by the look in his eyes.

I break eye contact, picking at my blue nail polish. “You don’t know what I deserve.”

“Look at me.” His voice is soft and my eyes dart back to his.

His deep gaze holds me steady. “I don’t know who was up on that hill last night, but if that happens again, you have to
promise
me that you’ll scream your lungs out. Okay?”

“Yeah.” I nod, managing a half smile.

“All right.” Slapping his knees, Dale rises from the bed, a sparkling glint in his eye. “It’s time to find Lauren.”

* * *

Within half an hour, we’re back at school.

“So where do you think she’ll be?” Dale asks as we step out of his car.

I squint at the bright sun, grateful for another warm day. I need every bit of help I can get if I’m going to make it. “She’s in Mr. Parkinson’s homeroom.”

“I know where that is.” Dale jogs up the stairs of the main building and holds the door open for me and two other girls. One of them blushes and thanks Dale while the other’s eyes lock onto his scar. She shrinks away from him, walking away as fast as she can.

“Bitch.” I flip her the bird, then turn back to Dale, studying his scar. I’ve somehow come to like it. It suits him.

Dale laughs, sliding his hands into his pockets. “I can see you now, remember. You’re going to have to be a little less obvious when you check me out.”

I blush. “Don’t make it weird.”

We make our way through the school and wait outside Lauren’s homeroom in silence. We’re there early, but eventually she appears down the hall, wearing pink skinny jeans and clomping along in platform heels. Her blonde hair is pulled into a tight ponytail, and as soon as she spots Dale, her face dips into a hostile scowl.

I glare back at her, screaming all manner of foul words in my head. Dale steps in her path. She tries to dodge past him, but he stretches out his arm.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he asks.

Her lips pull into an even deeper frown. “In case you haven’t noticed, the bell’s about to ring. You should be getting to class.”

Dale raises his hands like two white flags. “I really need to talk to you about Nicole.”

Lauren rolls her eyes, tipping her head back with an exasperated groan. “When are people going to get over this already? Go check her homeroom. She’s probably there, loving all the attention her drama has brought.”

“Oh, you did not just say that.” I seethe.

Dale ignores her scathing tone. “Did you take her home from the party?”

Lauren frowns, jerking away from the question. Her eyes dart up the hall, as if she’s looking for an escape. “No.”

“Liar,” I mutter over Dale’s shoulder. “Ask her about the scratch on her neck.”

Dale bites the edge of his lip before asking, “How’d you get those scratches on your neck?” He points at the two red marks.

Lauren’s eyes narrow as she gently fingers the injury. “My cat got a little too frisky yesterday morning. What are you trying to imply?”

“Nothing,” Dale says, seeing that this is going nowhere.

I stare at Lauren, unable to stomach her affronted glowering.

“I’m dying, you know. Is this really what you want?” I choke out the words. I always knew she was a bitch, but I at least thought she had a conscience.

“I heard you guys left the party together,” Dale says in a calm, even tone, trying to get things back on track. “Someone said they saw you two heading out of the party at the same time.”

Lauren looks up at him with an icy blue glare. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I offered to take her home. Nicole was drunk and started whining
that she wanted to go, but Amber had already left. It was a total buzzkill.”

“So why didn’t you take her?”

She shrugs, annoyance flitting across her face. “Trent swooped in and said he’d take care of it.” The bitter way she snaps out the words makes me believe her.

My breath evaporates. Trent?

“He could have just dumped me.” My voice is full of shock at the possibility that Trent did this to me.

“So they left together?” Dale asks.

“Yeah. And I went back to the party. So, if you want to talk to someone about how Nicole got home, go ask her boyfriend.” Lauren’s mouth twists sourly as she spits out the word
boyfriend
. Oh, yeah, she was pissed that he did that, which tells me she’s not lying.

I spin away from her, nausea whirling through me, and start walking up the corridor.

Dale catches up to me, but I can’t look at him.

“So, ah . . .” He rubs his bottom lip. “You left with Trent, huh?”

I cradle my head in my hands, feeling like I’ve been kicked in the gut. “Sounds like it . . . which means he lied to you.”

Dale’s dark eyes take on a stormy quality. “Let’s go. I want to check out Trent’s car.” His quiet words command compliance and I chase after him as he heads for the stairs.

We weave through the parking lot until we reach Trent’s Jeep. Dale studies the door for a second, running his fingers along the edge of the window. Then he drops his bag, unzips it, and pulls out a long, flat piece of metal with a little hook on the end.

I point at the gadget with a bemused smirk. “Why do you have that?”

Without saying a word, he inserts it down the edge of the window, jiggles it, and pops the lock like a pro. “In case I ever lock my keys in the car.” He winks at me and opens the door, leaning inside to search the interior. A moment later, he holds up an iPhone, a triumphant look on his face. “Unless Trent has a thing for metallic gold phone cases, looks like you
were
in here after all.”

“But . . .” My voice dies away as the case glints in the sunlight, the shiny metal taking me back to Trent’s car and a memory from Tuesday night.

“Trent, stop it.” I push his insistent fingers off my legs and away from my skirt. I try to keep my voice light, but it’s harder with each passing minute.

“Come on,” he murmurs into my neck.

I’m lying on the reclined passenger’s seat of his Jeep, pinned beneath him. We’re parked in a small patch of darkness, his olive green car blending in and hiding us from the world.

I run my fingers through his hair, resisting the urge to yank his locks. An odd fear coils inside me as his hands roam my body more freely than usual. His greed is unnerving.

His forceful tongue tastes like cigarettes and beer. As I lay beneath him in the car, I feel smothered. I want out.

“Trent, seriously, stop it.” I push his hands out from beneath my shirt.

Trent gives me a wicked grin and runs his hand up my thigh. I try to catch his wrist, but he twists his hand out of my grip.

“I mean it!” I squeeze my legs together and shove at his chest. He lurches away from me and swears.

“What the hell is your problem tonight?”

I tug my skirt back down and squirm away from him as he climbs back into the driver’s seat.

His long fingers grip the steering wheel and he gazes into the darkness. “It’s not like we haven’t done this before. Just last weekend we were—”

“Yeah, I know, but can’t you ever just take me home and kiss me good-night?” I adjust my shirt, the dog tags clinking against my skin.

Trent lets out a frustrated sigh and tips his head back. “I don’t get you. One minute you’re begging for it and now you’re playing cold fish.”

I glare and turn away from him, looking out the window at the so-called view. All I can make out are looming trees.
Romantic
, he’d whispered into my ear as we’d pulled over to the hidden spot.

Trent’s fingers skim my hair, brushing it away from my neck. His lips follow, undeterred. I roll my eyes and unlatch the door, jumping into the cool night air.

“I said stop. I don’t want to, just deal with it.”

The dim car light illuminates his sharp features. “Get in the car.”

I cross my arms. “No.”

“Nicole. Get. In. The. Car,” he repeats, his blue eyes flash with a warning.

I raise my chin, my dark gaze meeting his head on. “No.”

“Fine.” He slams the steering wheel. “You stubborn bitch.” Trent grabs my bag off the floor and chucks it at me.

It hits my chest and flops into the dirt. I let out an indignant gasp and snatch it off the ground.

“What the hell, Trent!”

“You don’t want to be with me, that’s your loss. You’re not the only girl who wants me.”

Reaching across the car, he slams the passenger door shut before I can even react. The engine revs to life, the loud noise shaking me out of my shocked stupor.

“Wait! Trent!” I grapple for the door handle, but before I can grab it, the back tires spit out dirt and screech away from me.

“Nicole?” Dale prompts, pulling me back to the present. “What is it?”

“I remember being in here,” I say slowly, recalling the pressure of Trent’s fingers on my skin, the tightening of my throat as I realized just how out of control he felt.

“You do?” Dale’s eyes spark. “What happened?”

I press my lips together. “We parked the car. I just remember we were parked.”