Page 121 of One Last Encore

"You can see how much she fucked up Rodney and me," Beck said, his hands balling into fists. "Rodney lashes out. And me? I just feel like I’m constantly trying to outrun her mistakes. But they’re always there, nipping at my heels. Like I’m one bad day away from becoming everything I swore I’d never be."

"You’re not fucked up, Beck," she said, her words careful but firm. "You are who you are because you survived. Because you kept going when most people would’ve given up. That matters.Youmatter."

He looked at her, jaw tight, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"We all have demons," she continued, softer now. "But it’s not about pretending they aren’t there. It’s about what we do when they show up. It’s how we confront them that matters. And you... you face them every day. That’s strength, Beck."

He let out a shaky breath, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. "It doesn’t feel like strength most days."

"That’s because strength isn’t always loud," she said. "Sometimes it’s just waking up and choosing not to be ruled by your past. Sometimes it’s letting someone in, even when every part of you wants to shut the world out."

There was a long pause. Then, Beck reached out, his fingers finding hers. His throat bobbed, his expression wavering.

"I’m trying, Ingrid," he whispered. "I’m trying so damn hard. I want to stop being so reactive, to quit drinking, to be…better. But it feels like I’m fighting something I’ll never win. Like I’m trapped underwater, and I can see the light above, but no matter how hard I swim, I can’t break through."

She could hear the years of hurt stitched into every syllable. There were no easy answers, no magic words to undo what had been done.

Beck exhaled, his gaze dropping to the tattoo on his ribs. "That letter my grandma wrote… it kept me sane for a long time," he admitted. "After she passed, I felt lost. But that letter reminded me that, at least once, someone thought I was worth something. When I got it tattooed, it felt like keeping a piece of her with me. Like she was still here."

She leaned forward and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to the inked script, letting her lips rest against his skin.

"You are worth more than something, Beck," she murmured. "You are worth everything."

A visible shiver ran through Beck at her words, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. His eyes fluttered closed, as if he were trying to absorb the weight of her belief in him.

After a long pause, Beck’s voice broke through, hesitant. "I sometimes write my grandma letters, just to talk to her," he whispered. "It sounds crazy, I know, but it’s like… it’s the only way I can still feel connected to her. She was the one who really got me, you know? When she was gone, it felt like I lost my person.

"It’s not crazy at all," she said softly. "It makes perfect sense. Writing to her keeps her close to you. It’s your way of holding on to her love. There’s nothing strange about that."

He pulled her closer, his hand finding its way to her hair, fingers stroking gently.

Ingrid tilted her head back slightly, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It’s no weirder than me talking to my cat when I know she doesn’t understand a word I’m saying," she said, her voice light.

"Oh, I think she understands you just fine," he teased. "She just chooses to ignore you."

Ingrid laughed softly, her smile lingering even as her eyes grew heavy. She stifled a yawn, her body curling closer to the blanket draped over her.

"Okay, we need caffeine," Beck said with a sleepy groan, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m on it,” Ingrid replied, already standing. “Brace yourself for greatness.”

“That’s what concerns me,” he muttered.

She glanced back. “Your lack of faith has been logged for future passive-aggressive commentary.”

Ten minutes later, after a few clanks, a yelp, and maybe a quiet curse, she came back with two mugs in hand.

"Voilà," she said proudly. "Caffeine, as promised."

Beck took one sip and immediately choked. "What the hell is this? Motor oil?"

"It’s coffee," Ingrid said defensively, taking a sip of her own then gagging. "Okay… maybe notgoodcoffee."

"It tastes like you burned it, drowned it, and then tried to revive it with guilt."

"I used the machine!"

"Yeah? I think that machine’s filing a restraining order."

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