Page 40 of One Last Encore

"Yeah?" he shot back. "And what do you do, Rod? Huh? Let her cry to you about how sorry she is? Send her money when she’s just gonna blow it on commissary snacks?" His voice was rising now, years of frustration clawing to the surface. "Because that’s really fucking helpful."

Rodney’s expression darkened. "Fuck you," he hissed, his voice low and lethal.

Then, without warning, he shoved Beck hard in the shoulder.

Beck barely stumbled, but before he could react, Rodney was already pushing past him, storming out of the bathroom.

"Rodney–" Beck started, but the front door slammed behind him, rattling in its frame.

Silence settled over the apartment, thick and suffocating.

Beck exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the sink. His reflection in the mirror looked just as exhausted as he felt. He had no idea how to fix this.

"That went well," Reef’s voice floated in from the living room, cutting through the silence.

Beck let out a heavy breath and trudged back toward the couch. Reef was still sprawled out, while Finn sat forward, elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair.

"Swimmingly," Beck muttered dryly as he flopped down beside Reef. Letting his head fall back against the cushion, he stared up at the cracked ceiling, frustration tightening in his chest.

"You can't help someone who won’t help themselves, man," Reef said, his voice softer this time. He reached over and patted Beck’s head, the gesture both irritating and oddly comforting.

Beck swatted it away with a glare, but it did nothing to loosen the knot in his chest. Reef was right, and Finn’s silence only solidified that truth. But knowing didn’t make it any easier to accept. He’d been here before, watching someone self-destruct while he stood helplessly on the sidelines.

His mother had been the first. He could still remember the unanswered calls, the half-hearted promises, the slow-motion disaster. He had spent years trying to save someone who didn’t want to be saved. And now, he was watching it happen all over again.

"Damn it," Beck muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

"Don’t let him take you down with him." Finn’s voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it, an edge honed by experience. The kind that came from knowing exactly how bad things could get.

Beck didn’t respond. He was tired. Tired of playing mediator, of picking up the pieces, of being the responsible one while everyone else crashed and burned around him.

So his mind escaped somewhere far from this mess. Somewhere Ingrid was standing too close, her voice low, teasing. Where her lips, soft and ridiculously distracting, flashed in hismemory. The way she had tasted like vanilla, how her breath had hitched right before she kissed him, how her fingers had curled into his jacket like she wasn’t sure whether to pull him closer or push him away.

Before Ingrid, Beck never let himself get caught up in things like this. He didn’t have the bandwidth for relationships, not with everything else he carried. One-night stands were easier, cleaner. No strings. No attachments. No expectations.

But then Ingrid waltzed into his life and drop-kicked that whole system straight into oblivion. Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being a game. He had no idea when it happened. Okay, fine, maybe that kiss had sealed his fate.

One second, he was just having fun pushing her buttons, and the next, he was lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, wondering if she always smelled like vanilla or if his sleep-deprived brain was just messing with him.

"Damn it," he muttered again.

Finn shot him a look. "Rodney-related trauma or something else?"

Beck didn’t answer. He just let out a long, pained groan and threw an arm over his eyes. His head thudded against the couch in defeat.

He wasn’t about to give them any ammunition. Because if they knew his brain had been stuck on Ingrid for days, he would never hear the end of it. These guys had fully embraced the musician lifestyle: easy hookups, drinking, partying, living like they were in the world’s longest, least-funded rock documentary. Meanwhile, here he was, internally composing love sonatas.

"He’s been MIA lately. Didn’t show up at McCabe’s or Reno’s all week. And Beck never skips a perfectly good excuse to binge drink," Finn mused.

Those were their usual spots. Close to their apartment, familiar, and staffed by bartenders who occasionally slid themfree drinks. Practically a second home, which made Beck’s absence all the more suspicious. But instead of meeting them, he had been hanging out with Ingrid after class.

Reef, who had been lounging with all the energy of a cat in a sunspot, finally cracked open an eye. "Huh," he said. "That’s weird."

Finn grinned. "Oh, it’s more than weird. It’s suspicious."

"You know, now that you mention it…" Reef turned his gaze to Beck, brow lifting ever so slightly. "Oh shit. It’s agirl."

"It’s not–" Beck started, but Finn was already pointing at him like a detective who had just solved the case of the century.

---