The Space Before

By Melissa Pearl

"Sometimes to find your way...you have to get completely lost."

Dale Finnigan is a teenage rebel; he lives for parties, girls and joy riding in stolen cars. In spite of his uptight parents' constant warnings and lectures, he continues to run wild. His crazy lifestyle is the only way he can live and feel free...until his reckless behavior takes him down a path where there is no going back.

In this prequel to The Space Between Heartbeats, find out who Dale Finnigan was before he became known as “Scarface”—the unassuming hero everyone underestimates.

Please note: This book is designed to be read after The Space Between Heartbeats.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melissa Pearl
• Release date: Oct 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781991034380

Melissa Pearl

Melissa Pearl is a romance author writing in a variety of genres from teen fiction to contemporary romance and romantic suspense. She also writes under the pen name Jordan Ford. She’s passionate about telling love stories with relatable characters who will take you on a journey. If you’re after an escape from reality, then you’re in the right place.Sign up for Melissa's mailing list and sample one of her books for free! http://www.melissapearlauthor.com/page/sign-up/www.melissapearlauthor.comEmail: [e-mail]

Book preview

1

Please note:

This book is designed to be read after The Space Between Heartbeats. If you haven’t read it yet, you can get the book here.

It’s the beeping horn that makes me get out of my chair and walk to the window. I lean against the wall, lift the net curtain and peek around the frame. My breath catches like it always does when I see her. She’s walking down the street, her petite hips swaying, her dark hair bouncing lightly against her back. Her straight nose is held high, but I don’t miss the way it wrinkles when the Subaru Impreza comes to a stop alongside her. I scowl at the shiny new vehicle as some tall guy with blond hair and a cheesy smile jumps out. What’s the bet that car belongs to his parents.

He saunters around the vehicle and stands in front of her. A slow, sultry smile spreads over her lips and she stops walking. His eyes gleam to match, and I instantly despise him. His large arm curls around her back and pulls her into him, while his other hand roams free, gliding over her butt and giving it a squeeze.

I grimace, wanting to snap each of his fingers one by one.

It’s tempting to turn away from the good-looking couple. Why torture myself watching them? But I can’t help it. There’s something about that girl.

From what I’ve heard, her name is Nicole. I think that’s right. My mom mentioned it once. Something about the lovely Tepper lady who sold us this house and how the woman’s daughter, Nicole, is a sophomore at the local high school. That makes her a year younger than me. I’ve never spoken to the girl, and most likely never will. I’ve been homeschooled ever since we arrived in Big Bear. My mom thought high school might all be too much after the accident. She’s probably right.

My eyes remain trained on the couple and their slightly grotesque make-out session. Aren’t they aware they’re on a public street? I’m tempted to call out Get a room! but press my lips together. For one, I’d never lower myself to say something so cliché and besides, I don’t want Nicole to know that if I ever do spot her on the street, I can’t help stopping to watch her pass by. So far, she hasn’t seen the freak who lives around the corner from her, and I’m in no hurry to change that.

I trace the scar that stretches from my right eye down to my chin. My mangled skin grosses me out. I have to remind myself on a daily basis that it’s better than the alternative.

Man, I was messed up back then.

I shudder at the memories.

Nicole and Blond Boy have finally pulled apart. He’s dragging her towards the car with a persuasive smile. I can feel her reluctance from here; I think she’s saying something about school. I watch her lips carefully and decide she’s saying she can’t skip school again. He shakes his head with a chuckle and nestles against her. I don’t know what he whispers into her ear, but I can tell she doesn’t want to do what he’s suggesting. He cups the back of her head and kisses her lips before running his tongue down her chin and coating her neck with his slobber.

Foul! I hate the way he’s mauling her. A girl that beautiful should be treated with respect. A little class and delicacy wouldn’t go amiss. The fact I know I can treat her better only makes it worse.

My insides churn as I study her subtle frown. But when Blondie pulls away, that stunning smile of hers is in place and the big guy knows he’s going to get exactly what he wants.

It makes me sick.

Not because I think she’s pathetic, although she probably is a little if she’s going to let some guy persuade her so easily. No, what really curdles my guts is that I know exactly what that girl is going through. I know what it’s like to be caught in a life you think you want, walking down a destructive path you don’t know how to get off. It makes me want to run out of the house, down my front steps and rescue her. I want to wrap my arms around her and tell her there’s a way out; she doesn’t have to give into this guy, to the many guys who seem to knock on her door constantly. She can be better than this.

Blondie doesn’t even bother to open the door for her. I pierce him with an evil glare as he walks around the car and hops in. Nicole goes to her door and pauses with her hand against the glass. She breathes in and swallows, looking lost and afraid for a fleeting moment. I can taste her unrest, smell her desperation. But then the look is gone. With a short sniff, she lifts her chin, shakes her head and plasters on that smile.

My heart is aching as I watch them drive away. I may not have met Nicole Tepper, but I know her. I know everything she’s feeling… because I’ve felt all the same things before.

2

14 months earlier in Los Angeles

The car horn sounds like a trumpet, making me laugh. Toby is anything but subtle. Jamming my feet into my navy Converse shoes, I tie the white laces in a hurry and rush for the door.

Where are you going?

My mother, one of the shortest people I know, tries to block my way. I gently nudge her aside as I zip up my gray hoodie.

I’m going out, I mumble.

No, you’re not. It’s Friday night. You have youth group. Your father is expecting to see you there.

Well, he’s going to be disappointed...again. How many times do I have to tell you guys I’m not interested? I don’t want to sound snarky, but I can’t help it. I hate youth group. I hate church. I hate that my dad is the minister and all he seems to do is harp on about it and force me to go to stuff that is boring as hell. It’s bad enough they force me to the Sunday morning snore-fest each week. I decided a few months ago that my parents could stop stealing my Friday nights, as well. I used to sneak out after youth group all the time, but it was getting tiring. The last few months of just skipping it have been much easier, although I could do without the arguments.

Dale, stop. My mother’s voice, usually so soft and sweet, has taken on a hard edge. It’s been doing that a lot lately.

I don’t bother holding in my sigh as I pause by the front door.

You know the rules.

Do I ever!

"You