Page 129 of One Last Encore

"I know," he whispered. "But sometimes it feels like it is."

Her heart ached for both Beck and Rodney. She could only begin to grasp what Beck was facing. The impossible balance between love and boundaries, between hope and the harsh reality of addiction. It must be exhausting, watching someone you love spiral, slowly unraveling no matter how hard you tryto pull them back. She had only gotten a small taste of that five years ago, and it had nearly broken her.

"That could’ve been me, Ingrid," Beck said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. There wasn’t any self-pity in it, just the kind of truth that stole the air right out of her lungs.

And he was right. It could have been him. He’d walked that edge, toes hanging over the line. If he hadn’t gone to rehab, if he hadn’t clawed his way back, who knows where he’d be. But he had fought. He was strong, probably the strongest person she had ever known.

"But it wasn’t," she said, her voice quiet, her eyes locked on his. "And it isn’t."

She stepped closer, almost without realizing it, drawn by something deeper than logic. Her hands lifted slowly, fingertips brushing the curve of his jaw. She cradled his face gently, her thumbs grazing the rough stubble lining his cheeks. She relished the scrape of it beneath her fingers, the heat of his skin.

Beck leaned into her touch, their foreheads meeting in the hush between them. Their breaths tangled in the quiet. He closed his eyes, his whole body settling like being this close to her helped him stay upright. Like she was the thing that made it all feel a little less impossible.

"You have so much to be proud of," she whispered, her voice trembling under the weight of everything she felt. "You fought for yourself. And you're still fighting. Every single day. I know you are."

Her body ached to close the distance, to press her lips to his and finally let go of the fear, the years lost between them.

But something inside her held back. The fear of losing him all over again. The fear of falling and finding nothing there to catch her.

Still, her heart moved her forward. Slowly, tentatively, she leaned in. Her lips brushed the warmth of his cheek, lingeringfor just a moment before she pulled away. The contact was soft, barely there, but enough to shock her system. She could smell his cologne, familiar and faint, like memory. It was the past and the present all at once. It was a defibrillator to her heart, sending a jolt straight through her.

She felt Beck’s breath hitch. A sharp, sudden inhale, like he was trying to keep everything inside from spilling out. His hands were clenched at his sides, as if he were fighting the urge to reach for her.

As she drew back, Ingrid studied his face. His eyes were glossy in the dim light, his jaw tight, the ache in his expression unmistakable.

"Thanks for listening, Ingrid," Beck said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. It cracked slightly at the end, like something inside him was splintering.

He stepped back slowly, reluctantly, as if leaving her cost him something. His gaze lingered on hers, full of words he didn’t say, maybe couldn’t. Or maybe he knew that if he said them, she might run again.But she wasn’t sure she would have, not this time. Because the urge to follow him, to close the distance, to pull him into her arms and hold him until the pain inside him softened and slipped away, was almost unbearable.

Still, she didn’t move.

Even as the door clicked softly shut behind him, even as the silence swelled in the hallway, pressing against her chest. She stayed rooted where she stood, heart still racing, hands trembling at her sides.

Eventually, she blinked. She forced herself forward, unlocking her own apartment door with fingers that didn’t feel like her own. She stepped inside and closed it behind her.

Her breath came in fits and starts, uneven and shallow, as if her body didn’t quite know what to do with itself anymore. She was caught in a brutal tug-of-war between two versions ofherself. One grounded in logic, in control, self-preserving. And the other… softer. Wide-eyed and bruised and still hopelessly in love with a boy who had once broken her heart. Usually, that colder, steel-spined version of herself won. She knew how to build walls, how to armor up and keep moving. She had learned how to survive.

But the need to be with him was overwhelming now. It wasn’t just emotional, it was physical. It vibrated through her bones, a silent scream that only her body could hear.

Loving Beck had once been everything. And losing him had nearly destroyed her.

She had given him all of herself. Her trust, her joy, her quietest thoughts and loudest dreams. She let him in, completely, gave him all the messy, beautiful parts of her. And with that, she gave him the power to hold her together or tear her apart.

She thought she’d buried it. Packed away the pain, sealed off the memories, and let time smother them beneath other lives, other people. But now it was awake, roaring back like a storm she hadn’t seen coming. It wasn’t quiet. It wasn’t polite. It was deafening. Unrelenting. And no part of her was ready.

It crashed over her, tearing through the dam she’d spent years building. There was no bracing for it, no hiding. Just the flood.

And beneath the fear, beneath the ache, one truth rose to the surface, clear and unyielding. She still loved him. She had never stopped.

It had been there all along, smoldering like low-burning embers. And now, with the slightest breath, it had ignited again–alive, wild, consuming. She could feel it thrumming in her veins like fire, a force both beautiful and terrifying.

Ready to burn her alive if she let it.

CHAPTER 34

INGRID. END OF DECEMBER, OPENING NIGHT. FIVE YEARS AGO

Ingrid’s eyes stayed locked on the stage as dancers moved like quick shadows, flitting back and forth. The wings were a frenzy: stagehands whispered instructions, set pieces slid into place, and dancers rushed past in a blur of sequins, sweat, and nerves.

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