Page 13 of One Last Encore

The crowd erupted as both bands made their way up. The shifting spotlight darted between them, illuminating Eden’s wide, eager grin and the barely contained train wreck that was The Defectors. Their lead singer had the manic energy of a man one microphone stand away from being escorted out by security, while the amplifier saboteur stood there with his arms crossed.

Ingrid clasped her hands together, resisting the urge to hex The Defectors with mild food poisoning. Nothing too dramatic, just enough to cause some inconvenient gastrointestinal distress.

"The winner is..." The pause was so thick, you could slice it, toast it, and serve it with jam at brunch.

"Eden!"

The venue exploded with cheers.

Ingrid shot out of her seat, whooping like she’d just won the lottery. Onstage, Eden absolutely lost her mind, bouncing wildly and yanking her bandmates into an ecstatic group hug that almost took them all to the ground.

Ingrid couldn't resist sneaking a look at the drummer. Hoping to see his soul leave his body from sheer, crushing defeat. To her utter horror, he was smiling. Actually smiling. And clapping. Meanwhile, The Defectors’ lead singer was staring daggers at Eden, looking one more inconvenience away from drop-kicking a bass amp.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow.That band didn’t need a trophy. They needed couples therapy. Maybe some essential oils. A calming tea.

Shoving through the rowdy crowd, she made it to the side of the stage just as Eden barreled down the steps. Ingrid barely had time to react before she was tackled into a bone-crushing hug.

"I knew you had it! You are so badass, it’s insane!" Ingrid beamed.

"I think I pulled my hamstring, but it was worth it! Pizza on me!" Eden declared, still vibrating with adrenaline.

Ingrid laughed, pulling back, only to freeze as he strolled past. His eyes met hers directly. That damn smirk curled at the edge of his lips.

Without thinking, Ingrid jabbed two fingers toward her eyes, then pointed hard at him, delivering the classic "I’m watching you" warning.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t break eye contact. Instead, he winked.Again. A completely arrogant, borderline illegal wink.Heat rushed through Ingrid as he turned and walked away, completely unbothered.

Eden, watching the exchange, glanced between Ingrid and Beck with growing concern.

"Uh… what was that?"

"That," Ingrid said, still scowling, "was the guy who sabotaged your amp."

Eden blinked. "Beck? No way. I know him. He’s been around the scene forever. He’s actually a nice guy."

Ingrid scoffed. "Beck. Of course, he has a cool musician name. Not even, like, a normal one. Not a Toby. Or a Brian. No.Beck." She threw up her hands. "And sure, maybe he seems nice, but so do those documentary serial killers before they get caught."

Eden gave her a look. "Ingrid."

"His cable-cutting says otherwise," she shot back.

Eden frowned, glancing toward Beck’s retreating figure.

"You’re being paranoid. Just leave it. I really don’t think he did anything," Eden said.

Ingrid huffed, crossing her arms.

Eden might have let it go. But Ingrid? Not a chance.

The cut cable was undeniable evidence, even if someone had mysteriously replaced the equipment. And if she ever crossed paths with Beck again, one thing was certain. She’d be watching him.Closely.

CHAPTER 5

BECK. LATE AUGUST, FIVE YEARS AGO

Day three back at Juilliard, and the hangover wasn’t just hanging. It was staging a full-blown coup.

Beck’s skull throbbed with the relentless rhythm of a war drum, each thud a reminder that the sixth glass of whiskey had been a mistake. But no, he’d thrown it back like he had something to prove. And maybe he did. Maybe proving you could still function while your organs filed noise complaints was its own kind of badge.

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