Page 138 of One Last Encore

The subway stairs loomed ahead, and he took them two at a time, nearly tripping. He shoved past a couple tangled in conversation, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps.

And then he saw her.

Her silhouette stood just ahead, unmistakable even in the crowded station. The sleek lines of her coat, the elegant posture. He would have known her in any lifetime.

She was pushing her suitcase through the turnstile, the fluorescent light catching strands of her golden hair.

"Ingrid!"

His voice tore through the noise, but it wasn’t enough. The station was a riot of sound. Trains screeching, footsteps pounding, announcements blaring overhead. His voice got swallowed whole.

She didn’t turn. Beck lunged forward, reaching the turnstile, hand flying to his pocket. His stomach dropped. His MetroCard was empty. His bank account was a joke, already overdrawn.

He cursed under his breath. His mind raced, grasping for any option, any solution, but there was nothing. Just the relentless tick of seconds slipping away.

She was already on the other side. Already walking away. Then he moved. He didn’t think, just leapt.

Vaulting the turnstile, his foot clipped the edge. He hit the ground hard, knees jolting, palms scraping against the filthy tile. Beck staggered up, breath sawing in and out of his lungs, but he didn’t stop.

"Ingrid!"

This time, she heard him. She froze. Turned. And their eyes met. Beck forgot how to breathe. For one suspended moment, everything else disappeared. The roar of the subway, the rush of bodies, the fluorescent flicker of overhead lights. It all vanished. There was only her.

It felt like the weight of the world pressing down on him, his world. Because shewashis world. She always had been.

As Beck looked at her, a sense of doom settled in his chest. Even with all the emotions running wild inside him, Ingrid’s face gave nothing away. She was unreadable, a hollow, empty silence in the shape of the woman he loved.

His throat tightened, panic swelling like a flood inside his chest. This was it. This was the moment. And yet, as he stared at her, at the unreadable expression on her face, a horrible, gut-wrenching feeling settled deep in his bones. It felt like he’d already lost her, like there was no way to fix what had already fallen apart. But he had to try.

"Hey! You need to pay for a ticket!"

Beck barely registered it, his entire body locked on Ingrid. He took a step forward, desperate to close the distance, to reach her before she disappeared for good.

A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder. He turned, pulse roaring in his ears, to find a police officer staring him down.

"Come on," the officer said, his voice even, firm. "Pay for the ticket, or I’m gonna have to arrest you."

Beck fumbled for his wallet, his fingers trembling. When he flipped it open, the sight inside made his stomach churn.

There was only a single five-dollar bill. Crumpled. Smudged. Stained with the trace of lipstick. Ingrid’s lipstick.

She’d given it to him on the bridge that night. The night she told him she was falling in love with him. The night she kissed him like he was someone worth saving. And now, standing here on the edge of losing her for good, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t spend it. Not that bill. Not that memory.

His hands clenched around the wallet, and he swallowed hard, shoving it back into his pocket.

The officer raised a brow. "You're refusing to pay?"

Before Beck could answer, a crisp twenty-dollar bill slid into view. His breath caught.

She handed the money over without hesitation, her fingers steady as she handed away the money.

Beck froze. It was a cruel echo of everything they’d ever been, her stepping in to save him. Again. Always the one to clean up his messes while he barely scraped by, barely held himself together.

And now she was here, bailing him out of yet another mess he’d made. The shame settled deep in his bones, quiet and crushing, until all that remained was the weight of everything he had never been able to give her.

Beck exhaled shakily, his throat raw. His mind screamed at him to say something, anything, to fix what he had broken, to pull her back before she walked away for good.

But what was there left to say?

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