Page 160 of One Last Encore

"There's only one person missing," Ingrid said, brushing her fingers lightly against his arm. "Rodney."

On Christmas morning, Rodney had shown up at Beck’s apartment. A duffel bag slung over his shoulder, his hair a wreck, and a look in his eyes that was all exhaustion and something brittle and raw underneath. He’d accepted Beck’s offer to try rehab. So the day after Christmas, he’d checked into a facility.

They didn’t know if he’d stick it out; Rodney’s track record wasn’t exactly a shining beacon of consistency. But he was still there, more than halfway through the program, showing up. He had a long road ahead, a lot of trust to rebuild, and even more to answer for. But for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t running. And that counted for something.

Ingrid’s mind flicked to Beck’s bedside table, five small sobriety coins neatly lined up like tiny trophies. His sixth coin was only a few days away. A fierce, proud ache bloomed inside her. She knew exactly what it had cost him to get here. And what it still cost him, every day.

"Soon," Beck murmured, voice almost lost under the noise of the room. "He’ll get there."

Then he looked at her, and something in his eyes shifted, turning softer and gentler.

"How does it feel?" he asked, voice low.

She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She knew. How does it feel to stand on the stage you once thought would crush you? To face Swan Lake and win? To be here, breathing, laughing, loving, with all the people who mattered most?

"It feels like coming back to life," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, but full to the brim, thick with all the things she hadn’t even let herself hope for.

Beck’s smile deepened, something luminous blooming behind his eyes. At that moment, he looked more like himself than she had ever seen him. Maybe more himself than he ever had been.

"Couldn’t have said it better myself," he murmured, his grin stretched wider, pulling at her heart. Then, almost casually, he added, "I was offered a full-time position at Juilliard."

A beat. A universe cracking open.

"I want to move to New York permanently."

Ingrid’s stomach flipped so hard she swayed on her feet. The room dissolved into a distant hum, irrelevant compared to the earthquake he had just triggered inside her.

"What?" she managed, blinking up at him like she might’ve misheard. Her heart felt like it was trying to run and fly at the same time.

"I’ve been touring for so many years," he said, the words almost shy. "It’s been incredible. But…" He let the breath out slowly. "I don’t want to live out of a suitcase anymore. Teaching... it makes me feel like I’m actually building something. Like I’m not just passing through life, gig to gig. And…"

He looked at her then.

"I want to be here. With you."

Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard it hurt. She swallowed, struggling to find her voice through the tidal wave of feeling rising in her chest.

"What about the band?" she asked, even though a part of her already knew, could feel the change radiating off of him.

Beck smiled faintly, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head "They’ll still play. I’ll join them sometimes. But the road? The constant leaving, the never putting down roots?" Beck’s voice gentled, dropping into something low and certain.

"It’s not my life anymore. It doesn’t feel like home." He hesitated, then added, softly, with a kind of finality, "You do. You always have."

Her pulse shattered into a wild, broken rhythm. Because this wasn’t some grand gesture wrapped in fireworks or false promises. It wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t temporary. He had a job lined up. It was simple. Solid. A choice. A life he was building with her at the center of it.

And God, she hadn’t even realized how deep that old, aching fear had run. This quiet, gnawing terror that no matter how much they loved each other, no matter how fiercely they fought for it, it would never be enough to hold them in the same place, at the same time, for good.

But here he was, not running, just choosing her.

Her lips parted, breath catching in her throat, but the words tangled somewhere between her heart and her mouth, caught on the sharp edge of emotion.

So instead, she simply whispered, trembling, "You really want this?"

"More than anything," Beck said.

Her breath shuddered out of her in a broken exhale, the world fuzzy around the edges. Her hands, without thinking,fisted into the front of his shirt, clutching the fabric. And then she moved before she could think.

Their lips met, tentative at first, a breathless brush of mouths. A question, an answer, a beginning. But then it deepened, sweetness tipping into hunger, longing bleeding into relief.

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