Page 16 of Solitude

Don’t tell Matty but you’re my favorite Fletcher.

I already screenshot this and sent it to him. He’s pretty bummed. I think he’s crying.

Pffft. Go to bed.

I drop my phone to the bed and stare at the ceiling for half a second before I’m jackknifing out of bed and into a pair of sandals. I don’t fix the claw clip barely holding my falling hair, nor do I change out of my thin pajama set. I just grab my phone and make my way to the front door.

Making the short trek across the street and through the bars of the fence surrounding the little park in the dark should scare me. Nothing but the moonlight illuminates my path, and as soon as my feet crunch over the mulch and broken sticks, I feel a sense of serenity wash over me instead of fear.

I maneuver my way around the jungle gym and theseesaw to find the red, two-seater swing set at the back of the park, and I freeze when I see a figure already sitting in one of the swings. His head is bent close to his chest as he rocks back and forth, and his hulking frame looks comical on the tiny swing.

Swallowing hard, I make my way closer, making sure to crunch a few sticks and make noise so he hears me coming.

His head lifts slightly, and my breath catches.

“I was wondering if you still liked this place.”

Inhaling, I cross my arms. “This was my happy place long before you found it, Beck.”

He chuckles and digs the toe of his sneaker into the dirt and pushes off. Back and forth. Back and forth.

He looks different. Of course, he does. It’s been two years, but it’s still surprising. His shoulders are broader, his arms thicker, his legs wider. Everything about him has doubled in size compared to the last time I saw him.

I round the swing set and sit in the rubber seat beside him, and that’s when I notice his hair. He’s no longer rocking a buzz cut. His dark brown hair has grown out enough that it falls on his forehead, wavy and unruly and thick and soft in appearance. It’s such a different look, and it really makes him look the full two years older.

This whole time I’ve been imagining him as the same guy that left for college. The same lean, fuzzy headed goofball.

That’s not who came back.

“What?” He askssoftly, whizzing by me then back again.

I shake my head and start a slow momentum, going backwards as he goes forward. “You just look different. I think it’s the hair.”

He huffs out a laugh, drawing my attention back to him. He’s stopped, standing far back with the rubber seat resting on his butt as he ruffles the strands almost like he’s embarrassed by my observation. “Yeah, I need a trim soon.”

Beck’s eyes roam over my face and body, and I find myself trying to shrink under his gaze, taking my own turn to be embarrassed by his scrutiny.

“What?” I finally ask in the same soft tone he had used.

“You look different, too.”

My breath catches, and I can’t do anything other than stare at him, our eyes locked. His blue eyes look black in the night, and I wish I could see the exact shade they actually are for once.

I lick my lips, the question tumbling out of me without permission, “Good different? Or bad different?”

He tilts his head, and I see a dimple in his cheek as a smile ghosts over his face. “Good different, definitely.”

My cheeks heat. “Guess I’ve grown into myself in the last two years…”

Grown into myself?What the heck is wrong with me? Why would I say that?

“Guess so…” he agrees quietly, eyes flicking down to my chest then back to my eyes again. “How’ve you been?”

Beckett Hale just looked at my boobs.

Holy crapballs.

I chew on my bottom lip for a moment, trying to convince myself that I saw it all wrong.

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