Page 148 of One Last Encore

Home. The word threaded its way straight through her ribs.

He wasn’t talking about Eden’s apartment. He meant himself. His heart. A place not built of walls or keys, but of memory, of breath, of flesh and bone.

And deep down, she knew he was right. Beck had always felt like home: steady, warm, familiar in a way that defied reason. How could someone she’d known for such a brief moment in the vastness of her life still hold her like this? Still have the map to all the soft and secret parts of her? And yet, he did. Even after all the time, the distance, the silence.

She had spent so long searching for this feeling. Chasing it in fleeting smiles, in cities where no one knew her name. Trying to recreate it in the curve of someone else’s hand or the sound of a laugh that almost matched his. Telling herself it had been a fluke. A moment of weakness. A dream mistaken for truth.

But standing here, with Beck’s voice still clinging to her skin and the ghost of his touch still humming along her nerves, the truth dropped into her like a stone. It had always been real. And now, she had to figure out what to do with that truth.

She needed space. She needed to breathe, to think, to stop herself from sprinting headlong into something that could either save her or shatter her completely.

With Freddie clutched to her chest, she forced herself to turn away. Her legs felt like lead, each step dragging as she made her way back to the apartment. Her heart thundered, her thoughts spiraling in every direction.

Time stretched, elastic and unforgiving. Every minute crawled by, her mind circling the same thought on an endless loop: Beck is just steps away. Beck wants her back. Beck never stopped loving her.

Then her thoughts jumped to Eden. Eden, who had been nudging her toward Beck from the beginning. Who had dropped breadcrumbs in their conversations, never quite confirming but never fully denying. Eden must have known. About his mother. About his sobriety.

A hot flicker of betrayal ignited in her chest, fast and bright. Eden was her best friend. Her sister in every way that counted. She should have told her. Shouldn’t she?

But even as the thought bloomed, it began to wither. Because deep down, Ingrid already knew. It wasn’t Eden’s story to tell.

And no matter how much she hated being the last to know, how much it stung to feel like everyone else had been holding the pieces but her. But she couldn’t blame Eden for keeping a promise that wasn’t hers to break.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Then she dialed Eden’s number.

The phone rang twice before Eden picked up, her voice warm and familiar. "Hey, love."

There was a faint crunch in the background, chips maybe, or granola, something so normal it felt cruel. Like the world hadn’t just split open beneath Ingrid’s feet.

Ingrid didn’t bother with a greeting. Her voice came low, cracked. "Did you know?"

A pause. "Know what?" Eden’s tone was still light, easy. She hadn’t caught up to the weight of it yet.

Ingrid swallowed hard, forcing the words out like glass in her throat. "About Beck. That his mom died. That it happened the night of the debut. That he’s… sober now."

The line went quiet. No more chewing. No background hum. Then Eden sighed, long and slow.

"Yes," she said softly. "I knew."

Ingrid closed her eyes. There it was. The truth. As gentle as Eden’s voice tried to make it, it still landed like a sucker punch.

"How long?" She whispered, her voice splintering.

"For a while," Eden admitted. "He didn’t want anyone to know. Not until he was ready."

"And you didn’t think I should know?" Ingrid’s words cracked open then, the pain finally spilling out. "You just let me walk around thinking he was the same person I left. Thinking he didn’t care. That he’d never grow up, never change."

"I wasn’t letting you do anything, Ingrid." Eden’s voice was steady, but there was ache in it too. "I was respecting what he needed. And maybe, on some level… what you needed too."

Ingrid’s grip on the phone tightened. She hated that. Hated that it made sense.

Ingrid’s breath hitched. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now. Everything’s upside down."

"I know," Eden said gently. "But you don’t have to make sense of it all at once."

"I thought I had him figured out," Ingrid said quietly. "Pinned down, boxed up, locked away in some forgotten drawer. But he’s…" Her voice trailed off, the words too big to fit.Beautiful. Real. Everything.

"He's?" Eden asked gently.

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