The Space Between Heartbeats (6 page)

WEDNESDAY, 1:33 PM

“Well, that could have gone better,” I say as we make our way back to Dale’s car. My light tone belies my growing desperation. The map of Big Bear looms large in my mind, the sprawling green of the forests interrupted only by the cut of blue that is Big Bear Lake. I could be anywhere.

“I’ve never been the biggest fan of the sheriff,” Dale says, “but who doesn’t take a missing sixteen-year-old girl seriously?”

“I guess he feels like alerting the LAPD will be enough.”

“But it’s not.” Dale throws his hands in the air, frustrated.

“How do you know him?” I ask, eager to find out what the sheriff has on Dale, but not quite willing to ask outright and potentially piss off my champion.

“Adam,” Dale answers. “We hang out a bit. Though I’m not particularly welcome in his house. I’ve been there a few times, but the vibes are . . . icy at best.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

Dale glances my way, his expression curious.

With a little sigh, I shake my head and explain. “Adam and I used to be friends when we were younger. A bunch of us used to hang out together and occasionally we’d end up at the Huttons. His mom’s real sweet, but I’d always hightail it before Sheriff Hutton got home.”

Dale grins. “I get why.”

“Poor Adam,” I murmur. “It’s cool that you guys are friends, though.”

Dale shrugs. “We go to the same church. He’s a nice guy. If his dad would just let up, we’d probably hang out more, but the guy’s a freaking drill sergeant. Adam works damn hard.”

The sun glints off the hood of the car, and Dale wipes his brow. It must be hot, but I feel nothing more than a whisper of a breeze across my body that I’m not sure is real or imagined.

Dale turns the key and the ignition fires up with a loud roar.

“What are you thinking? Back to school?” I ask, wondering if the sheriff will call the school about Dale skipping, or if he has more important things to do with his time. Like not look for me.

“No. I say we drive around Matt’s house and see if anything sparks your memory. Sound good?”

“Yeah,” I say gratefully. “Definitely.”

Dale cuts a left out of the parking lot, and we drive away from the sheriff’s department in silence. The tires hum over the asphalt as we zoom down the main stretch, past diners, alpine-style homes, and a little pond that everyone ice skates on come winter. Tall pine trees stretch across either side of the street and the mountain range looms in the distance.

We pass the entrance to Matt’s house and head farther into the forest. Here, the trees stamp out the sun, letting through only a lattice work of light. I used to think the forest was magical, the way it muted the sounds of everyday life and could make even the hottest day bearable. But now all I can think is that I’m staring at my graveyard.

“Anything look familiar?” Dale slows the car and rolls down the windows.

I lean out slightly, taking in the gravel on the road’s shoulder and the tiny weeds that poke through the pebbles. The air smells of pine and through the maze of trunks I think I see a family of deer grazing. I take it all in, hoping to see something I recognize, then shake my head.

“It all looks the same.” I sigh.

“Just keep looking,” Dale says patiently. “Even something small might jog your memory.”

“There’s nothing,” I say, tugging on the Granite tags in frustration. They clink lightly together, and an odd sensation tugs at the far corners of my mind. A foggy image forms: gravel at my ankles. Bubbling anger. A desire to rip the tags off and hurl them over the guardrail, into the trees.

“Wait, stop.” I sit up, staring at the guardrail.

Dale pumps the brakes and swerves to the edge of the road. He spins around to face me, his arm resting along the back of his seat. “Do you remember something?”

“I think so.” I close my eyes and press my hands to my temples, willing the memory to come into focus. “It was dark. I was on the side of the road and I was walking quickly. I was annoyed.”

“Why?”

I open my eyes and gaze out the window, staring at the curve in the road. “I can’t remember. I just have this image of me pacing and feeling mad.”

“Okay.” Dale nods, tapping his finger on the ripped seat cover. “So you had a fight with someone—probably the person you left with or were going to leave with—and you got mad and started walking home?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Dale gazes somberly into the forest. “That embankment looks pretty steep down there.” He points out the back window. “Let’s go check it out.”

He looks hopeful as he jumps out the door and holds it open for me.

“I’m out.” I tug my skirt down and walk after Dale.

“You know if you fell over the railing, there might be markings or ripped material on the metal.” He spins and points up the road. “You head that way and I’ll try down here, let’s see if we spot anything.”

I grab the dog tags beneath my shirt, and as I march up the road, another memory that won’t quite crystallize tugs at my brain. I scan the guardrail. The curved metal looks a little beat-up with minor dents and scratches, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve walked at least a hundred yards when I turn around and shout, “I don’t see anything. The railing looks fine.”

“Same down here.” Dale’s voice echoes back and he starts walking up the hill. “You were on the left-hand side, right?”

I close my eyes and try to regather the memory, picturing myself clomping down the road with my arms crossed. “No, I think I was on the right.”

He shakes his head. “Not that I ever want you to be in this situation again, but on a road like this, you walk against the traffic. You know, so you can actually see cars coming?”

“What cars?” I spread my arms wide. “We’re in the quietest place on earth right now. Come on, let’s drive a little farther.”

We spend the next hour jumping in and out of the car. We cover a fifteen-mile span, and spot nothing.

“This isn’t working,” I mumble, leaning my head against my fingers as we ride back into town. “What a waste of time.”

Dale glances at the sporty watch on his wrist, the sinewy muscles in his forearm rippling as he moves.

“We can cross off that stretch of road now,” he says. “It wasn’t a waste of time.”

I look out the window. “So what now?”

“Okay, well, I think we should talk about the elephant in the room here,” Dale says hesitantly.

“You calling me fat, Finnigan?”

“What?” His eyes grow round.

I fight a grin, my eyebrow arching. “I’m a ghost, not an elephant.”

Dale rolls his eyes. “I meant Trent. The most likely scenario is that you left the party with your boyfriend. And in situations like these, where women get hurt . . .” He trails off, but I don’t need him to finish the sentence. I know where he’s going. And a faint prick at the back of my mind makes me wonder if Dale is right, especially after what I saw in the stairwell this morning.

The idea of telling Dale about Trent and Laruen makes me feel vulnerable. Like admitting that my boyfriend’s a cheater encapsulates every bad decision I’ve ever made, a glaring sign that says, “Former idiot girl, current ghost, deserving of bad karma.”

I sigh, and tell him what I saw, my voice quivering over the words as I try to ignore how much the humiliating truth burns me. But instead of turning to me with judgment in his eyes, Dales just tightens his lips and mutters, “Jerk.” Sympathy is etched into his features. “I’m sorry, Nicky. Everyone always seems to think being invisible would be an awesome superpower, but I guess this is the downside of seeing and hearing things you’re not meant to.”

“I’m glad I know,” I say fiercely, surprised at the truth behind the words. “And the second I wake up from this nightmare, I’m dumping him.”

“No argument on that.” He puts his foot on the gas and we head back out of the forest.

“Where are you going now?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Dale says. “Trent and I have PE together last period.”

* * *

Dale opens the door to the guys’ locker room, giving me a strained smile as I brush past him. We head down a row of gray, metal lockers. The layout is identical to the girls’ changing rooms, except messier.

Dale stops by his locker, letting his bag slide off his shoulder and thud to the floor.

“Can you walk through doors?” he whispers to me as he spins the dial on his lock.

I blanch at the question. “I haven’t tried to do it intentionally yet, but I think so. I fell through the door of my mom’s car. It’s a really off-putting sensation, though.”

Dale flicks his locker open. “I just think you should take—” His voice cuts off as a few guys round the corner, dump their bags, and start opening their own lockers.

The guy next to me unzips his jeans and takes them off. I turn away with a grimace and find myself staring at a half-naked Dale.

I bite my lower lip, my eyes drinking in the powerful muscles of his shoulders and the way they shift and curve as he pulls out his PE shirt. My eyes track across his back and over to the solid curve of his biceps. You’d never guess that there was this much muscle under his baggy, shapeless clothes.

He spins around and I notice a scar running across his right shoulder, this one is thinner and more precise than the one on his cheek. I don’t know what possesses me to do it, but I can’t stop myself. I reach out and run my finger along the puckered skin, then down his bicep, wishing with every fiber of my being that I could actually feel the taut muscle.

Dale jerks, jumping away from me with a soft gasp.

The guy behind him frowns. “You okay, man?”

“Cramp,” Dale mumbles, rubbing his shoulder and shooting a dark glare my way.

I step back from his silent reprimand and cross my arms, glad he can’t see how much his torso has me flustered.

“I’m sorry.” I shrug. “You’re really cut and I always thought you were this weedy, skinny—”

He gives me a terse scowl. “You don’t have to keep talking.”

“What?” A different guy turns to see what Dale said.

“Nothing.” Dale shoots him a closed mouth grin.

“I was just trying to give you a compliment, but whatever.” I lift my chin and try to look away from him, but can’t.

Dale’s face disappears beneath his T-shirt. I catch a final glimpse of his firm abs before they disappear.

Various lockers slam shut as the guys around us disperse and saunter toward the exit to the sports field. The door to the locker room booms open and my mouth goes dry as a familiar figure walks toward us.

“Trent’s coming.” Emotions war within me—a deep hurt at his betrayal with Lauren and a furious disbelief that he might have actually hurt me versus the fact I still find his cheating ass attractive. I hate myself for it.

Tears smart in the corner of my eyes and I glare at him as he opens his locker and rummages around. Trent yanks his shirt off, giving me a full view of his long, muscular torso. I can’t believe I ran my fingers up that back, dug my nails into those muscles. Images of our summer together make me nauseated. For all I know, he’s been cheating on me the whole time, going to Lauren every time he leaves me.

Dale gazes in my direction. He doesn’t say anything, just looks my way like he can see me and knows what I’m feeling. He clears his throat, and Trent turns around and peers down at Dale. A cocky smirk spreads across his perfectly chiseled face.

“What the hell do you want, Scarface?”

Dale stands as tall as his five foot ten inches will allow. “Did you take Nicole home last night?”

Trent laughs and turns back to his locker. “Why do you care?”

“I’m just wondering where she is,” Dale says calmly.

Trent pulls on his shirt and then digs his fingers into his black hair, tousling it to make sure it sits perfectly. I used to think that was cute. Now his incessant preening seems arrogant. “How the hell should I know where she is?”

“Because you’re her boyfriend!”

A tendon in Trent’s neck twitches, his nostrils flaring as he rests his foot on the bench seat and leans toward Dale. “She cuts all the time, okay. Her parents don’t care. She’s probably at home.”

Dale continues with his calm interrogation. “She never came home last night.”

“You don’t know that.” Trent’s dark eyebrows dip together.

Dale searches his face, his eyes narrowing. “Neither do you.”

Trent gives a half frown as he thinks it over. “Look, my guess? She’s finally found the guts to run away.” Trent shoves his bag into his locker.

My insides twist, and I curse myself for talking such a big game, and for posting that stupid Instagram pic.

“Have you texted her? Or heard from her at all?” Dale lifts his chin.

“Why don’t you mind your own business?” Trent slams his locker, the sharp metal sound making me flinch.

Dale’s tone is icy. “You’re her boyfriend. How can you know so little?”

“What are you, a cop or something?” Trent steps forward, curling his hands into fists. But his expression falters for one brief second. I know Trent well enough to know that look: guilt.

Dale sees it, too. “What did you do to her?” His voice is taut with barely controlled fury.

“Nothing.” Trent clenches his jaw and takes another step forward. They stare at each other, standing off. His eyes glint and his nostrils flare slightly in a “don’t mess with me” look that I’ve seen before. It usually precedes a fight at a party.

Fear skitters through me and I reach for Dale’s arm in warning. He flinches when I run my fingers straight through him, but doesn’t budge.

Then the door to the field bursts open and Coach Gellar storms in. “You two! Get your butts outside. Now,” he shouts, clapping his hands together.

For a second it looks as if Trent might punch Dale, but then his shoulders loosen and he walks past him, giving Dale a little shove.

“Finnigan, get a move on!” Coach Gellar aims his glower at Dale. In turn, Dale glances in my direction with a questioning look.

“Just go. I’ll be fine,” I tell him. “I’ll meet you after school by your locker.”

Dale nods imperceptibly, then heads out the door after Coach Gellar. He shoots one last look in my direction before the door slams shut behind him. And that’s when I realize that unless I want to spend the next hour alone in the boy’s locker room, surrounded by dirty towels and a dripping shower, I’m going to have to walk through the wall.