Page 4 of Solitude

Instead, I went home to an empty house, ate cookie dough out of the tube, and watched old romantic comediesuntil I passed out. I woke up the next morning with smeared chocolate spread all over my sheets where I’d dropped the bowl when I fell asleep. I thought I’d crapped my pants some time during the night, which only added to my intense, swirling thoughts.

I don’t know why I felt so left out that night.

Beckett Hale and I aren’t friends, obviously.

He smiles bashfully at me, and I’m pulled back to the present.

His dark hair is buzzed close to his scalp, like it has been for years now. He runs a hand over the fuzzy ends, and I’ve noticed that he has a habit of doing it when he’s nervous. But this time when he does it, he launches into a fast-paced momentum, making me flinch, then jumps out of the seat.

He lands on his feet and throws his hands in the air like a gymnast before turning back to face me, still grinning.

In the moonlight, I can’t see the two dark freckles that are on his cheek underneath his right eye, or the scar that runs through his eyebrow from a hockey accident that rocked the town a couple of years ago. I can only see the outline of his tall, lean frame, and for some reason, that’s when it fully hits me that Beckett Hale is swinging with me in the park at ten o’clock at night.

“I never asked,” Beckett pants, catching his breath, “if you know my name.”

“DoIknow your name?” I parrot back at him.

Beckett chuckles. “That is what I asked, yeah.”

I chew my lip and stand up. “Beckett. Of course I know your name…” I try to grin, but I feel like it comes out like more of a grimace. “We’ve been neighbors for years, you know?”

And he laughs.

It floats between us and soothes a part of my wounded pride unbeknownst to him. My parents may have forgotten about me, but the universe gave me a gift in the form of Beckett Hale to make up for it.

“Beck,” he says finally with a cheeky grin, and I inhale softly when I see his dimples. “Just Beck.”

A nickname.

He doesn’t go by Beckett. I knew that, but it didn’t feel like something I would ever be allowed to call him. He’s always held celebrity status to me. I wouldn’t go up to Bradley Cooper on the street and call him Brad.

“Just Beck,” I repeat with a nod. It feels strange on my tongue. “Nice to meet you, Beck.”

He takes a few steps until he’s standing in front of me and extends his hand out towards my body, and I stare down at it like he’s just offered me an alien baby. Beckett Hale wants to hold my hand.

Okay.

Maybe he’s nottechnicallyasking to hold my hand. It doesn’t matter.

My hand, small and soft, slides into his slowly, and he wraps long, calloused fingers tightly around my own. Not to be dramatic, but it’s like a few of my loose pieces finally slot together.

“Winnie?” He says my name, soft and inquisitive, like he’s making sure it sounds okay. When my eyes meet his blue orbs, he says, “Nice to meet you, too, Winnie.”

I begin to believe a new friendship forms then and there, taking shape in front of my eyes with the eerie creak of the rusted swings behind us and the sea breeze all around.

“Maybe I’ll see you around this summer?”

I blink. “Oh. Yeah, maybe.”

“You’re allowed to have friends even if your parents are dicks.”

“I have friends.” I scrape my teeth along my lip and cringe. “I have a friend. Sienna. I don’t know if you know her.”

Beck nods, “Sienna Russell? Shiny, red hair?”

“Yup. That’s the one.”

“I think she hooked up with Gus at a party once.”