Free The Space Between Heartbeats by Melissa Pearl Page A

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