Page 115 of One Last Encore

His hands trembled as he reached for her, fingers curling into the fabric of her open jacket, desperate to hold onto her, to prove that he wasn’t the mess he feared he was.

"I will get better," he swore, voice raw, unsteady. But even as the words left his lips, he wondered if he believed them. If she did.

The knuckles of his right hand throbbed from the punch he’d thrown, a dull, pulsing pain. He welcomed it. Let it sink into his bones, let it mingle with the deeper ache twisting inside him.

Ingrid searched his face, and for a terrifying second, Beck thought she might step back, let go, walk away. But instead, she did the opposite.

She reached for him.

Her hands were cold as they cupped his face, her touch impossibly soft. It was as if she could sense the shift in him. That toxic, oily blackness threatening to consume him, seeping into his veins like an infection. Slowly, she guided him downward until their lips met, hesitant at first, then burning.

The kiss turned into a lifeline. Messy, desperate, all heat and silent begging.

Her warmth seared through him, burning away the cold bitterness that had seeped into his veins. And God, he let it. He let her melt into him, let her hands thread into his hair, let her mouth pull him under.

Even as the metallic tang of blood lingered between them, even as the bruises on his knuckles screamed in protest, he kissed her like he was starving, like she was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Her tongue teased the curve of his bottom lip. A silent dare, a need that mirrored his own. Beck met her demand without a second’s hesitation, hauling her against him, his fingers digging into her waist like letting go wasn’t even an option.

"Come back with me," she whispered against his lips, her breath warm and urgent, her voice trembling.

Beck hesitated.

They should talk. They should cool down, untangle the mess between them before they crashed harder than they already had. Every logical part of him screamed to take a step back.

But the thought of being apart from her, of standing in the cold without her warmth, of facing the wreckage he’d made alone, was unbearable.

So instead, he nodded.

CHAPTER 31

INGRID. MID DECEMBER, FIVE YEARS AGO

The taxi ride to her apartment was quiet, the muffled whirr of tires against snowy pavement was the only sound filling the space between them. Ingrid watched the snowflakes drift past the window, spiraling lazily in the glow of streetlights.

She stole a glance at Beck. His jaw was set, the dim light casting sharp shadows over the lines of his face. There was a storm behind his eyes, one she’d seen before. That mix of guilt, restraint, and something deeper, something darker.

He was a contradiction, wild and reckless, but with so much heart. Tough on the outside, but there was a softness to him that got to her every time. She was mad at him, yeah, but under all that anger was fear. She’d seen this before, the drinking, the impulsiveness, the way his emotions just took over. And even though it scared her, all she wanted was to help. To be the one who kept him grounded.

But she also knew the truth. She couldn’t save him. Change couldn’t be something she carried for him. He had to want it, had to fight for it himself.

As the taxi neared her apartment, Ingrid made a silent promise. She would give him one more chance, one more opportunity to prove that he was ready to change.

If tonight wasn’t a wake-up call for him, she didn’t know what would be. If he could prove he was willing to try, to really change, she would fight for him, fight for them. But if he couldn’t… she wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

The car slowed to a stop, and she reached into her purse with slightly trembling hands, pulling out a twenty-dollar bill.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice softer than she intended.

The cold was a slap to the senses the second she stepped onto the sidewalk, the air sharp and biting. She inhaled deeply as she walked toward her building, keys clutched tightly in her hand. Behind her, Beck followed in silence, his footsteps muted against the snow-dusted pavement.

Inside, the warmth wrapped around her, but it couldn’t compare to the slow-burning fire deep in her chest. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she reached her door, the key sliding into the lock with a quiet click. She paused, fingers frozen on the handle. Beck loomed behind her, silent, waiting.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, the familiar hush of her apartment closing in around her. His scent followed, curling around her like heat chasing the cold. He was close. Not touching. But she could feel him everywhere.

The door clicked shut behind them.

And despite every reason she had to push him away, she wanted him to touch her. Desperately. So badly it ached.

---