Page 89 of One Last Encore

Ingrid rolled her eyes but gave a half-hearted gesture toward the couch. He flopped down on her couch without hesitation, and to her surprise, it wasn’t awkward at all. Even when she sat down next to him.

Freddie jumped up beside them, immediately curling against Beck’s leg. Beck scratched behind the cat’s ears without looking, eyes still on the screen like he belonged here. In her apartment. On her couch. Next to her.

It didn’t bother her nearly as much as it probably should have. His running commentary had her actually laughing, andshe was trying not to let the sound of his voice stir up something she wasn’t ready to face.

"How much do you think those extras get paid?" Beck mused, scratching Freddie’s ears. "Or do you think it’s just about the glory for them? I would do it for free. Just lie there, perfectly still on the floor, and let the camera get a severe close-up of my tragic demise."

"Of course you would," Ingrid deadpanned. "That’s a given. You’d love your pretty face being immortalized for the masses."

"Are you calling me self-centered? I am a drummer. I don’t need the spotlight."

"Mm-hmm," Ingrid hummed, unimpressed. "Says the man who just monologued about playing a corpse."

"I just know my strengths," Beck said with a smug grin. "And I would absolutely kill the slayed-victim role."

"Always quick with the puns," she muttered, shaking her head.

"That’s the supportive, neighborly attitude I’ve been looking for," he teased, nudging her.

She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm. Freddie had been peacefully loafing beside Beck, took this as a personal attack, and immediately leapt off the couch, shooting them both a look of pure betrayal before trotting off.

"Great, now you’ve scared my cat," Ingrid said.

"Correction.Youscared your cat. I am the victim in this scenario because now I have no cat to pet," Beck countered, reaching toward Freddie to soothe her.

As he moved, the thin gold chain around his neck slipped free from his shirt. The pendant caught the light, a quick flash of gold, just a second, but it was enough.

Her stomach flipped violently.

Because she knew that necklace.

Beck must have realized it too, because his hand shot up, tucking it back beneath his shirt. But it was too late. The damage was done. The image was burned into her mind, seared into her retinas, her heart hammering against her ribcage.

Without thinking, she leaned closer, reaching for the chain.

Beck’s hand wrapped firmly around hers before she could touch it. His grip was warm and steady. A shiver ran up her arm at the contact, but neither of them moved. Her pulse pounded, her voice coming out too fast, too unsteady.

"Let me see it."

For a moment, Beck didn’t move. His eyes locked onto hers, searching. The silence stretched before he slowly let go. His grip softened, his fingers brushing against her wrist as they slid away.

Ingrid’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for the chain again, gently tugging it free from his shirt. The metal was still warm from his skin. The pendant caught the light, a small, worn compass with the gold finish dulled by time.

Her breath hitched as she stared at it, memories rushing in like waves, knocking the air from her lungs. A busy street. Laughter between kisses. Words spoken like promises. Words that had meant everything.

At first, there was confusion, then it gave way to something softer. Something that felt like relief. Because this meant he still cared, in some small, stubborn way. That maybe she wasn’t completely crazy for carrying so much of him, even after all this time.

When her eyes met his, he didn’t look away. And in that stare, she saw everything–what they had been, what they might have been, what he still wished they were. And suddenly, she couldn’t remember how to breathe.

"How long?" she whispered, barely above a breath.

"Since you gave it to me," he said softly.

Ingrid’s breath caught. Five years. He’d kept it all this time.

Her fingers brushed the pendant, flipping it over to read the engraving on the back. She already knew the words, but reading them again hit like a memory with teeth–sharp and familiar, and still too close to the bone.

Never lost, right where you should be. All my soul – I

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