Heartbeats (Oak Harbor #1)

  HEARTBEATS

  (A Heartbreaker Prequel Story)

  by

  Melody Grace

  Copyright © 2016 by Melody Grace

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  All rights reserved.

  Author note:

  Heartbeats takes place five years before the events of Heartbreaker. They are written to be stand-alone stories, you can enjoy reading them in whichever order you like.

  OAK HARBOR SERIES:

  1. Heartbeats

  2. Heartbreaker

  3. Reckless Hearts (July 2016)

  4. This Heart of Mine (November 2016)

  Take a trip to Beachwood Bay: the small town where passion and romance are making waves…

  Each book is a stand-alone romance following a new couple, but you’ll enjoy reading the whole series and seeing familiar faces return.

  THE BEACHWOOD BAY SERIES:

  BOOK 1: UNTOUCHED (Emerson & Juliet’s story begins - novella)

  BOOK 2: UNBROKEN (Emerson & Juliet’s story)

  BOOK 3: UNTAMED HEARTS (Brit & Hunter’s story begins - novella)

  BOOK 4: UNAFRAID (Brit & Hunter’s story)

  BOOK 5: UNWRAPPED (Lacey & Daniel’s holiday novella)

  BOOK 6: UNCONDITIONAL (Garret & Carina)

  BEACHWOOD BAY: THE CALLAHANS

  BOOK 7: UNREQUITED (Dex & Alicia begin – novella)

  BOOK 8: UNINHIBITED (Dex & Alicia)

  BOOK 9: UNSTOPPABLE (Ryland & Tegan)

  BOOK 10: UNEXPECTEDLY YOURS (holiday story)

  BOOK 11: UNWRITTEN (Zoey & Blake)

  BOOK 12: UNMASKED (Ash & Noelle begin — novella)

  BOOK 13: UNFORGETTABLE (Ash & Noelle)

  *

  * * *

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  * * *

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Heartbreaker Chapter Preview

  Unbroken Chapter Preview

  One

  Eva

  When you think about the moments that change your life, what do you imagine?

  Growing up, I always thought about the big things: which college I’d go to, my future husband, leaving home and packing up to start fresh in a city far away. I thought I’d see those moments coming. They’d arrive with a fanfare, neon letters shimmering in a dark night’s sky: this is it, right here, the choice that changes everything.

  But it doesn’t happen like that, not really. You don’t know the girl you meet in line one morning will become your closest friend, or how the class you take to fill a spot in your schedule will spark a lifelong passion, or that the boy with the permanent smirk who gets under your skin will fill your life with laughter for sixty years to come. Sure, some people claim to fall in love at first sight—they lock eyes from across the room, and know deep in their soul that this is the person who they were meant to be with—but for the rest of us, it isn’t so simple. We hide our true selves so deep that it’s not until we start to gently peel back those layers of half-truths and scared pretense, and discover a heart so unexpected and true, that we know we can’t be without it.

  The moments that change our lives arrive just like any other: stunning in their ordinariness, a second ticking on by, blink and you miss them spinning past. But they shiver through our lives like an earthquake, radiating out from that single heartbeat, shaking our very foundations, and revealing cracks and deep crevices that, in time, will fill up our lives with a future we could never dream of.

  That earthquake hit my life one Wednesday afternoon, an early fall day crisp with possibilities that shimmered in a cloudless autumn sky. I felt its impact right away, but even I couldn’t imagine the shockwaves that would ripple onwards, through the years, guiding every choice I made, the person I would become. Back then, I was just sixteen, still locked tight in a cage of my own making, moving through the world at a whisper even as my voice inside was crying out to be heard. I didn’t know what it felt like to live out loud, to leap without looking, love without fear. To feel a passion so wild and out of control it scared and thrilled me in equal measure. To have my heart broken so thoroughly, I thought I’d never piece the shattered pieces of myself back together again.

  It was all still ahead of me, and it was all because of him:

  Finn McKay.

  My earthquake. My everything.

  Looking back now, I wonder, if I’d seen that moment for everything it was, would I have done it any differently? Or would I have been too scared to take that leap into the water, too full of the fears and indecision that still haunted me back then? Maybe it’s a blessing, how unprepared I was for the greatest love my life would ever know. One minute, I was tip-toeing carefully through a life I hadn’t yet begun to live. And the next?

  The next, everything would change.

  Two

  Finn

  When the world gets too much for me, there’s always one place I go: down through the woods on the outskirts of town, where the trees line the slow-winding creek, and there’s nothing but the sound of the water and the distant bird-call to break the silence of the bright September day. No yelling, no fights, no jacked-up music blasting from the neighbor down the block. I’m counting down until I can get the hell out of this town, but still, there are some things I guess I’ll miss.

  Like today. My beat-up old guitar in my lap, bare feet in the grass, and a notebook propped beside me on the ground. I’ve had this song echoing in my head for days, the melody spinning, just out of reach, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I bailed on class and blew off my plans, needing to get away from all the noise, give that melody room to make itself heard. That’s how I wind up writing most of my music; hiding from the world out here long enough to get the words down on the page and out of my restless mind.

  I try a different chord, then another, but it’s not right yet. I’m still wound tight from the scene this morning, when I woke to find my dad hadn’t even stumbled as far as the couch to collapse—he’d just passed out right there on the floor, the front door still wide open for anyone to see. What a drunk he is. What a damn joke of a home I’m stuck living in. I did my best to carry him to bed, set a bottle of aspirin and some water on the nightstand like usual, remembering to pull the drapes too, so the sunlight wouldn’t burn his bloodshot eyes when he finally surfaced sometime this afternoon.

  I know the routine by heart. Hell, I must have gone through the motions a thousand times by now: same old story, just another damn day counting down to w
hen I can leave him alone to his pitiful self-destruction and be free from all of this for good.

  Even now, I can feel the anger tight in my chest, tensing up my shoulders and making the notes come harsh and staccato from my guitar strings. It’s all wrong for this melody, this is supposed to be something soothing.

  Something good.

  I take another breath, and let myself feel it: the silence out here, so clear I can finally push the echoes aside and focus on what’s right in front of me. This music, these words that have been haunting me all week. The only way I have to express what’s really on my mind.

  This time, it’s close, but the chords aren’t right just yet. I jot down the sequence in my notebook and try again. Over and over, a dozen times, until it slips into place, and finally, the notes drifting from my guitar match the ones I’ve been hearing in my mind.

  There.

  My tension releases away as I lose myself in the music, the rush of the water, and the crisp September breeze. Out here, away from everyone like this, I can almost forget the shadows waiting for me back at home, and the eight long months I’ve still got ahead of me before graduation, when I can finally turn my back on this town and start fresh—far away from the small-town gossip and sidelong glances, the empty whiskey bottles in the kitchen trash, and all my secret shame.

  Suddenly, a barking noise comes. I whip my head around, startled, in time to find a motley litter of dogs bounding towards me. They fall on me like a long-lost friend, jostling and wagging their tails, drooling as they nose around my guitar. “Hey, boys.” I let them sniff me, amused. “Where’d you come from?”

  Another flash of motion catches my eye. I look up and see someone hanging back by the trees. A girl, half out of sight. Watching me.

  She edges forward into the sun, raising her hand in an awkward wave. “Umm, hi,” she calls. She’s dressed in jeans and boots, with dark blonde hair falling over her eyes, but even from fifty paces I would know that face. I’d know her anywhere.

  Eva Carmichael.

  I freeze. I’ve seen her around town, we all have. She’s beautiful in a way that’s impossible to ignore. Not glossy and styled like some girls—the ones who try to turn every head just to score points. No, Eva’s different. She doesn’t even seem to realize the power she has in those mysterious, dark eyes, something vivid and real. Every time she walks into a room, I feel it—feel her watching us all with that unreadable look on her gorgeous face, those full, lush lips always pressed shut. She barely says a word, but somehow, her presence screams loud enough to drown out the noise.

  How long has she been standing there? I wonder. How much of my stupid fumbling has she heard?

  I start to get up. “No, don’t!” she says quickly. “I’m sorry I interrupted you. Go ahead, I’ll just . . . ” She gestures back the way she came. She looks mortified, but I feel just as thrown. My music is something I keep hidden from everyone, even my friends, and now this girl has seen it all: like my chest has been split wide open and all my messy, tangled insides are on display, my bad boy image shot for good.

  What does she think of me?

  I don’t have time to question it. The dogs are still eagerly barking and jostling at me with muddy paws. Eva quickly approaches.

  “Down! Boys, heel!” She tries to call them back, but they ignore her, too happy to have found a new friend. I try to relax.

  “It’s OK.” I put my guitar aside and pet them. “Who are these guys?”

  “Um, that’s Willoughby, and Darcy, and the crazy one there is Wickham.”

  Austen. I quirk an eyebrow. “I guess I don’t need to ask who your favorite writer is.”

  Eva flushes, her cheeks pink. “They’re not mine. I just volunteer at the shelter to help out.”

  I straighten up and look at her for real, just a few paces away from me now. Her hair is tangled by the wind, hanging down to shield her face like always, and even in jeans and a simple sweatshirt, I can see the lithe, tight curves of her body. Her energy hits me the same as always: guarded and electric all at once, like there’s something wild bound up, just waiting to be released.

  I wonder, what would it be like to feel that electricity unleashed? To taste the promise on her lips, sink my fingers into that silky hair, and feel her body writhe and sigh beneath mine . . .

  I try to pull it together. You’ve got a reputation in this town for a reason. Some girl shouldn’t have you off-balance like this.

  “It’s Eva, right?” I ask casually.

  She nods. “I wasn’t spying on you,” she says quickly. “I just heard the music, and . . . well, I wanted to listen more.”

  Damn. So she did hear.

  “It’s nothing,” I cover with a careless shrug. “Just messing around, that’s all.”

  “But you’re really good!”

  I pause, checking her expression in case she’s just saying what I want to hear, but Eva looks sincere. “You think so?” I ask, feeling weirdly exposed.

  She nods enthusiastically. “I mean it, I really liked that song you were working on. I didn’t know you could play. When did you learn?”

  Her questions pour out, surprising me. I don’t think I’ve heard her say more than a couple of words before. “I taught myself, really,” I say slowly, still on my guard. “It’s like a puzzle, trying to figure out the right melodies. I’ll hear something in my head, but it’s never easy actually getting it out in real life,” I add.

  “I know what you mean.” Eva lights up with a brilliant smile. “I’ll read a play, and know exactly how I would perform it—I can see all the pauses, the right tone of voice—but when it comes time to say the words out loud . . . ” She stops herself, her smile fading. “Anyway, I should get going. Sorry again for interrupting.”

  She whistles for the dogs, but they’re splashing happily in the creek and ignore her. I owe those damn mutts. Eva arrived out of nowhere, but now that she’s here, all I want is for her to stay a little longer, to figure out what’s hiding behind those mysterious dark eyes.

  “I guess they’ll be a while,” I say, sitting back down. I nod to the ground beside me in an invitation. “Why don’t you stay?”

  Eva hesitates, and I can see her mind ticking over. Then she drops her bag and elegantly folds herself down in the grass.

  There’s silence.

  I sneak a look at her, sitting there so poised and still. It’s hard to believe this is the closest we’ve ever come to each other, in a small town like this, but girls like Eva don’t run with my kind of crowd. I’ll bet she’s never ventured over to my side of town, out past the neat, well-tended homes with their freshly painted porch trims and lawns that get mowed every Saturday morning. No, the Oak Harbor I live in might as well be a parallel universe for everything it’s got in common with her safe, perfect little life, but for once, I’m not bitter when I think about the space between our lives. I kind of like the thought of her going home at night to somewhere safe and happy; that right now, she’s probably got parents at home making dinner, or wondering where she’s at, instead of getting an early start on tomorrow’s hangover.

  Some people deserve life like that. And the rest of us? We’re stuck with whatever we can get.

  Eva reaches out to touch my guitar, curiously tracing the pockmarked wood. It’s my most precious possession, and I usually keep it locked away from prying fingers, but Eva touches it softly, reverently.

  “I got it a couple of years ago,” I explain. “I won it in a game of pool off some guy up in Beachwood Bay. I know it’s not fancy,” I add, still defensive. “But all the great musicians say the older ones give the music a whole different sound.”

  “Why haven’t I heard you play before?” Eva asks me. “They’re always doing things at school, open-mic nights and fundraisers and stuff.”

  I shake my head. “Performing like that isn’t my thing. This is private. Besides, in case you hadn’t noticed, I don’t really go in for the school spirit stuff.”

  “You don’t?” Ev
a counters with an arch smile. “I thought you tried out for cheerleading last year.”

  I laugh at that, surprised. “Sure, can you imagine?”

  “I don’t know.” She smirks. “Our school colors would go great with leather.”

  I laugh again, a real belly laugh I feel in my whole body, warm as the smile Eva’s got dancing in her eyes.

  God, how long has it been since I laughed like this?

  I settle back, leaning on my elbows and watching her again. Usually, I can read people easily. Women, in particular. Call it a gift, or a get-out-of-jail-free card—I know I do. I’ve managed to sail through classes by rights I should have failed, talk my way out of a dozen trips to the sheriff’s department, and charm plenty of girls into the backseat of my car just by turning on a smile and a joke, acting as if I couldn’t care less until they were begging for more. But Eva? She’s unreadable, even to me.

  And that just makes me want her all the more.

  “So, what’s your story?” I ask.

  “My story?” Eva echoes, turning. “Nothing, I guess.”

  “C’mon.” I give her a sidelong look. “I’ve seen you around. You’re always so quiet, just watching everyone.”

  Eva looks tense. She shrugs again. “I guess I’m just shy.”

  “Really?” I recognize a slip of yellow paper spilling from her bag. They’ve been plastered around school all week, sign-ups for the winter drama production. “Not too shy to try out for your moment in the spotlight, though?”

  Eva looks tense. “That’s just . . . nothing. I’m not doing it.”