Page 157 of One Last Encore

Yours,

Beck

Letter dated August 29th, 4 months ago from the present

There are moments in life that stretch and slow, like time itself is pausing, asking you to feel everything, to remember everything. This was one of those moments.

Ingrid stood center stage, wrapped in the applause of her final bow. Her chest rose and fell in quick, uneven bursts, the performance still humming through her limbs, vibrating in her bones.

That last lift had soared, flawless and fierce, like flight lit from within. She had done it. Starred in the show she had dreamed of since she was a little girl sitting in the cheap seats, eyes wide, clutching the program like it was something sacred.

The curtain dropped. The world slipped away. But the euphoria didn’t. It stayed. It thrummed through her like a second heartbeat, louder, lighter, more alive than anything she had felt in years.

She hadn’t realized how badly she needed this. To prove to herself that she could do it.

When she turned the handle of her dressing room door, heart pounding in her throat. She didn’t have to look far. Her eyes found him instantly. Beck was standing there like he’d always been. Like he’d been waiting for this moment just as long as she had. His entire face lit up the second he saw her, the kind of pure, unfiltered joy that made her heart twist inside her chest. He swept her into his arms, lifting her clean off the ground. He held her so tightly she could barely breathe.

She laughed, breathless against his neck, her arms wrapping around him, the scent of him, soap and winter air and something distinctly Beck, flooding her.

"I’m guessing the standing ovation wasn’t enough for you?" she teased, laughing softly as he pulled her into his arms, his face pressing into the curve of her shoulder.

"You have no idea," he murmured against her skin. "You were breathtaking. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life."

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, something tender and shining in his gaze.

"And now I finally get to hold you after a performance. This might actually be the best night of my life."

Something warm and bright bloomed in her chest. Since that night on the stairs there had been no looking back. No second-guessing. No overthinking. No fear.

She hadn’t just fallen back into him. She’d crashed, pulled by a gravity too strong to resist. Christmas. New Year’s. Every moment between.

Mornings spent tangled in bedsheets, sunlight painting lazy patterns across bare skin.

Afternoons lost to laughter, half-eaten pastries, his coffee and her hot chocolate shared in quiet corner cafés. Nights stitched together by whispered confessions, bruising kisses, and the quiet hum of jazz from speakers older than either of them. Midnight strolls through snowy streets, fingers laced tightly together.

They were relearning each other, the new scars, the old dreams, the ways they’d been broken and stitched back together. It wasn’t rushed or reckless. It was inevitable. As effortless as breathing.

"You did it," Beck whispered against her hair, his voice thick with pride. "I knew you would."

His breath warmed her skin, his arms locked around her like he had no intention of ever letting go. Before she could reply, a human wrecking ball slammed into her side, forcibly prying her from Beck’s grasp.

"Okay, lovebirds, break it up!" Sylvia crowed. Jessica was right behind her, grinning. "You can have your sappy moment later. I need my girl right now."

Ingrid turned to them, her heart swelling as Sylvia pulled her into a fierce hug.

"You were magic," Sylvia whispered fiercely in her ear. "Absolute fucking magic."

"I think I cried more than Eden," she said, laughing through what definitely sounded like a sniffle. "And you know that's saying something."

Sadie burst through the crowd, practically vibrating with energy.

"You were insane out there!" Sadie shrieked, grabbing Ingrid by the shoulders and giving her a shake, like she was trying to reboot her. "That lift at the end? I almost threw my drink. Actually, I did throw my drink. But that’s not important."

"Sadie," Ronan deadpanned, appearing behind her. "That drink you threw was mine."

"Acceptable loss," she said breezily, flapping a hand at him, before turning back to Ingrid. "I’m obsessed with you. Sign my forehead."

Before Ingrid could process that request, Eden swooped in and hugged her so tightly that Ingrid briefly left her body and saw her ancestors.

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