Page 109 of One Last Encore

Her brows pulled together. "Why?"

"When you brought me here," he said quietly, his eyes never leaving hers. "It was the first time my life ever felt right. Like everything finally made sense. That all the mess, the pain, the stupid choices... they all led me to that moment. To you."

Her stomach twisted. "But it wasn’t right," she whispered.

Because it couldn’t have been. The proof was in what happened next–weeks later, everything had shattered. If it had been right, they wouldn’t have broken. Wouldn’t have left pieces of each other scattered across the years that followed.

She wrapped her arms around herself, as if she could protect her chest from the ache blooming there. The cold air needled against her skin, but it wasn’t what made her shiver.

Beck exhaled, slow and steady, his breath curling in the night air like smoke from a memory.

"It was," he said again, quiet but certain. "You’ve always been right for me."

The words didn’t just land, they buried themselves in her. She felt them settle beneath her ribs, heavy and warm, like something she’d been holding off for too long. Her breath caught, and she stared at him, her balance slipping. The ground hadn’t moved but it felt like it had.

He meant it. She could see it in the way he looked at her, like she was still something precious. Like no time had passed at all. That same gentle awe that once made her feel infinite.

"What if I don’t feel the same way?" she asked, barely above a whisper. Her voice trembled despite how hard she tried to sound casual, like it wasn’t the most important thing she’d said in five years.

His face didn’t change, not really, but something in him pulled back. A subtle stiffening of his shoulders, but when he spoke, his voice was soft and even.

"I’d understand," he said, though his eyes told a different story.

Then, after a beat, he added quietly, almost like he was speaking to himself, "I know it’s been a long time. Five years can change a lot. But nothing has changed for me."

Her breath hitched, her nails pressing into her skin.

Beck stepped closer. Not enough to touch, but close enough that she could feel his warmth, like standing too close to a flame she’d long tried to forget the heat of.

"You know how people say that if you love someone, you should let them go?" His voice was low now, barely above a murmur. "That if they’re happy, that should be enough?"

She nodded, slowly.

"I tried that, Ingrid," he said quietly. "I let you go. But I don’t think I’m built that way. I think I’m selfish when it comes to you."

A muscle in his jaw ticked. His eyes shimmered with something sharp and tender all at once.

"The thought of you loving someone else. Laughing with them the way you laugh with me. Having a baby with someone else. A baby with your eyes, your smile. And knowing I’d never get to know them, never be part of that life with you…" He swallowed hard, his voice cracking just enough to make herheart stumble. "That would…" He trailed off, then took a deep breath.

The air between them went still. Dense. Saturated with everything unsaid.

"Ingrid," he said, voice rough now, "I’ve spent every day of the last five years trying to prove I could live without you."

He looked down, then back at her, eyes glassy with everything he couldn’t hide anymore.

"And I can. I have. But I don’twantto anymore."

Silence wrapped around them, heavy and electric.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Her pulse pounded in her ears, loud and uneven.

His words hung in the air, pulling her toward him before she even realized she’d started to lean. His words had echoed everything she’d locked away, everything she’d told herself she was done needing.

She looked at him and saw it. The fear. The longing. The stubborn hope still clinging to the edges of his voice. And suddenly she wasn’t sure if she wanted to run or reach for him.

But deep down, she knew. She had never really let him go.

"I don't know what to say," she said, the words barely escaping.

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