Page 134 of One Last Encore

She turned the knob and shoved the door open. Eden followed as she closed it firmly behind them and slid the bolt into place.

Ingrid sagged against the door, the cool wood pressing into her spine as she exhaled a shaky breath.The room was silent except for her uneven breathing, the hollow stillness pressing down on her chest.

He had given in to the very thing he once swore he would fight. This wasn’t like the casual beers after a gig. Missing her performance, the night she had poured her soul into, felt like a betrayal too sharp to forgive with slurred apologies.

Her throat tightened. He had watched her rehearse until she collapsed, rubbed her blistered feet, whispered against her skin,You’re made for this, like it was gospel.

But when the curtain rose, he wasn’t there. He had left her to fall alone.

He had promised, again and again, in the quiet, in the chaos, but those promises felt like smoke now, vanishing when she needed something solid to hold.

She had believed him because it was easier than facing the truth, that he was slipping away, that he needed help. And God, she wanted to save him. But she couldn’t let him drown her too.

The pain clawed at her chest, wild and relentless, until she couldn’t hold it in anymore.

She collapsed, her back slamming against the door, knees buckling under the weight of it all. Tears came hot and fast, blurring the room into a swirl of shadows and broken light. Sobs tore from her throat like something being ripped straight out of her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to block it all out, but the memories broke through anyway–his laugh, warm and careless; her hand tucked into his jacket pocket; the way he used to hum low into her hair. Now every memory felt hollow, spoiled by the hurt.

A soft thump against the door made her flinch. Then another, softer, almost hesitant. His voice followed, rough and broken.

"Please, just open the door, Ingrid."

She froze, every muscle locking up, her whole body curling inward like armor against a blow she couldn't afford to take. Then, barely a whisper, came the words,

"I love you."

She wasn’t sure if she had heard it right; maybe her mind was playing tricks on her, offering comfort where there was none.Part of her wanted to believe it. Wanted to swing the door open and fall into the lie. But she knew better. She had to know better.

Her vision blurred again. Her breath caught painfully in her chest.

Eden moved beside her, wrapping her in a hug. Ingrid barely registered it. She was underwater, drowning in grief, heartbreak, betrayal.

She couldn’t open the door. Not again. Because if she did, it would all start over, the apologies, the promises, the fragile peace that cracked under the smallest weight. Until the next time he didn’t show up. The next time he chose the bottle over her.

She wasn’t strong enough to save him. And slowly, painfully, she was realizing she shouldn’t have to.

Her tears blurred into the sharp sting of that truth. Her heart twisted itself into something small and aching and still.

Beck’s voice softened, one last thread fraying. His knocks grew weaker, each one fainter than the last, until they stopped altogether, leaving only silence on the other side.

He was still there. She could feel him, just on the other side of the door. But it might as well have been an ocean between them.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t open it. Because loving someone shouldn’t mean losing yourself. And tonight, for the first time, she chose to keep what pieces she had left.

So she let him stay out there, alone, and left him to self-destruct on the other side of the door.

CHAPTER 35

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

No one ever thinks about how it will happen. But it wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not over whiskey. Not in a bar that reeked of stale cigarettes, spilled liquor, and the kind of loneliness that settled into the walls. Not with the word ‘dead’ hanging in the air like smoke he couldn’t breathe through. But there it was.

"Ma’s dead," Rodney said, his voice flat as concrete, like the news was just another fact to be filed away, like it didn’t blow a hole straight through Beck’s chest.

The world didn’t stop. It didn’t even slow down. It just tilted, off-axis and cruel, a sickening lurch that stole Beck’s balance. He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. The words hit harder than any punch he’d ever taken, cracking open something deep, vibrating through bone and memory.

One second, she had existed. Laughed. Fought. Cried. Breathed. And the next... she didn’t. No goodbyes. No finalbreath. No whispered last words through a scratchy prison phone. Just a void where she used to be. Just gone.

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