Page 128 of One Last Encore

"You’ve always tried to fix things," she said softly. "Even when it wasn’t your job. Even when it broke you."

Beck's gaze met hers, something flickering behind his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition. A beat passed.

The elevator chimed, announcing their floor. The doors slid open, but Ingrid didn’t move right away.

She turned back to him, her voice quieter now. "It matters, Beck. Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now... it does."

For a long second, he didn’t respond. But then, slowly, he nodded. Small, almost imperceptible. And without a word, he followed her into the hallway.

"I’m really sorry about your mom. I didn’t know she passed away," Ingrid said softly.

"Thanks. It was really sudden. We weren’t super close, but I always hoped we could fix things. I never got the chance," Beck admitted as they walked to their respective doors. "It’s one of my many regrets."

She needed to feel him so she closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

"I’m sure she knew that you loved her," Ingrid whispered, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, the warmth of his chest through the fabric of his sweater.

Beck’s breath hitched slightly. "My last phone call with her, I told her I loved her," he said, his voice hushed. His hands moved gently over her back. "I actually told her about you during that call."

His breath was warm against the crown of her head, stirring her hair.

"Really?" Ingrid asked, pulling back slightly to look at him.

"Yeah," Beck said softly, his gaze earnest, unwavering. "I told her I was going to marry you one day."

Goosebumps shot up her arms.I’m sorry, you what now?Was he having a stroke? Wasshehaving a stroke? Her brain sprinted in circles. When had he said that? Before everything imploded? After?

She opened her mouth to ask, but Beck beat her to it, his voice catching just a little.

"She also told me she wasn’t feeling well, and I never called to check in on her. Then, a few weeks later, she died," Beck confessed.

Ingrid searched his face, her own heart aching at the rawness in his eyes.

"You couldn’t have known," she said gently. "You were trying to protect your peace. That doesn’t make you a bad son."

"It just makes me feel like a selfish one," he murmured. "Like I missed my last chance to be decent to her. To show up."

"You did show up," Ingrid said, firmer now. "You picked up her call. You said you loved her. You told her something hopeful. It means more than you realize."

"Maybe," he said quietly. "But I still lie awake some nights thinking about what I didn’t do. I kept replaying the conversation in my head, thinking maybe if I had called, things could have been different. Maybe I could’ve done something to help."

"Grief is cruel like that," she replied, brushing a hand lightly against his arm. "It keeps a tally of everything we missed. But love... love counts for more than absence."

Beck nodded slowly. "I forgave myself. Eventually. I used to tell myself I didn’t deserve forgiveness. That the damage Icaused meant I had to carry it forever. But therapy… it helped me understand that guilt isn’t the same as penance. And that holding onto it wasn’t making me a better person. It was just making me stuck."

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It’s still a process. Some days, I believe I’ve moved past it. Other days… not so much. But I’m trying to make peace with the past instead of living in it."

"And Rodney…" Beck continued, his voice growing quieter. "Things with him have only gotten worse since then. He won’t let me help him, no matter how hard I try. He doesn’t want help, not really. But I can’t just... give up on him."

He looked down at his hands, fingers tightening briefly before relaxing again. "He’s angry. At everything. At me. At our mom. At the world. And I get it. I really do. But it’s like he’s drowning and keeps shoving away the life vest because it’s not the color he wants."

"I’ve offered rides to rehab, paid for appointments he never went to, even stood outside his door for hours hoping he’d talk to me. But he always finds a way to push back. To push me away."

He looked up at her again, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something far older than his years.

"I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to let go of him, but holding on feels like hemorrhaging out slowly."

Ingrid reached for his hand without thinking, her fingers threading gently through his. "You're doing everything you can. But it’s not all on you to save him, Beck."

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