Chapter 24Ingrid. Thanksgiving, Present
INGRID. THANKSGIVING, PRESENT
After dinner, an aggressive game of Catan had taken over the living room. Quentin was currently lording over the board like a medieval tyrant, while Ronan looked two seconds away from flipping the whole thing over.
Eden and Ingrid, both ruthlessly betrayed and eliminated early, had taken their defeat maturely by abandoning the game entirely and retreating to the fire escape with a blanket and a bottle of wine.
"It’s always the quiet ones," Eden muttered, glaring through the window at Quentin. "That man smiled so sweetly while stealing my longest road. I trusted him, Ingrid."
"I told you," Ingrid said, shaking her head. "He’s freakishly competitive. Like if a golden retriever decided to major in finance and ruin lives for sport."
Eden sighed dramatically. "Ronan’s the same way. He once made a seven-year-old cry during Uno."
"Honestly? I respect it."
They clinked their glasses in solemn agreement.
Ingrid stole another glance inside. Beck sat at her dining table, casually trading wheat for brick like he wasn’t single-handedly sabotaging her sanity with that stupidly perfect smile.
Having him here, laughing with her friends, felt weird like watching two completely separate parts of her life crash into each other. And yet, somehow, nothing had exploded.
Eden smirked. "Sooo… how’s the whole ‘awkwardly living next to your very hot ex’ situation going?"
"Like a house on fire," Ingrid deadpanned. "But like, actually on fire. With no exits. And the fire department is just outside, roasting marshmallows. And I’ve only seen him twice… well three times if you count tonight"
"Oof. So, not great." Eden winced. "It’s been two months, Ingrid. I’ve seen my nail tech more than you’ve seen your next-door neighbor."
Ingrid groaned. "Well, he doesn’t make it easy. He’s still the same guy I fell in love with, except now he’s older, wiser, and somehow even hotter. Which is honestly just rude."
Eden gasped. "How dare he grow as a person?! You should definitely hold that against him forever."
"Exactly!" Ingrid waved a hand. "He’s being all… Beck , and it’s making it really hard to pretend I don’t still have feelings for him."
Eden arched a brow. "You don’t have to pretend, you know."
Ingrid leaned back against the railing with a groan. "Ugh. What if I just… talked to him about the breakup? Like, actually unpacked the five years of emotional baggage?"
Eden’s eyes widened in mock shock. "Wow. Revolutionary. Next thing you’ll tell me is you’re planning to use your words like a functional adult."
Ingrid shot her a look, but couldn’t help the small laugh. Then Eden’s voice softened.
"I’ve gotten to know him over the past three years on tour. He’s solid, Ingrid. He’s been doing the work."
Ingrid hesitated. "Yeah?"
Eden nodded. Beck had shown up for her when her old band imploded after a messy breakup. He didn’t have to, but he did. And even though Ingrid had been avoiding him like the plague for half a decade, Eden clearly wasn’t done playing cosmic matchmaker under the banner of ‘closure.’
Ingrid frowned. "Feels like you know something I don’t."
Eden shrugged, but her smile was gentle. "Just that he’s not the same guy who left. And you’re not the same girl who got hurt."
Ingrid swallowed hard. "It’s scary," she said, her voice quiet.
"Anything worth a damn usually is. That’s how you know it matters. And if you’re still carrying something for him after five years? That means something."
Ingrid leaned back, letting Eden’s words settle in.
Deep down, she knew she was right. Holding onto all these unresolved feelings wasn’t just exhausting, it was corrosive.
It burned a hole through her. Avoiding Beck, refusing to talk about the past, all of it was eating her alive. She nodded slowly.
"Hate when you make sense."
"Love when I’m right."
Eden changed the subject. "So, how’s Swan Lake rehearsal going? Still surviving?"
Ingrid groaned, letting her head fall back against the railing. "Barely. If my instructor tells me to ‘elongate my port de bras’ one more time, I will throw a whole ballerina at someone. And those girls may look delicate, but they will take you down."
And she meant that. One time, she had accidentally stepped into another dancer’s spot during a rehearsal, and the pure malice in that girl’s eyes had been enough to make Ingrid update her will.
Eden smirked. "I, for one, would love to see a ballerina brawl. I feel like they fight like swans, graceful on the outside, absolute violence underneath."
"You joke, but I have seen a girl take an elbow to the ribs over center stage placement," Ingrid said, dead serious.
Eden’s eyes widened. "And that is why I stick to the music industry, where all we do is write passive-aggressive lyrics about each other and pretend we’re fine."
"Yeah, well, in ballet, we silently destroy each other and pretend we’re fine. Totally different sport."
Eden snorted, shaking her head as Ingrid sighed and raked a hand through her hair. "I keep trying to remind myself it’s been five years since the last time I did Swan Lake. I’m a different person now. A stronger dancer with more experience."
Stronger dancer? Yes. Stronger person? Debatable. If anything, she just had fancier ways of repressing her feelings now. Avoidance, for one. Humor, for another.
"You’re an unbelievable dancer. Swan Lake is light work for you now," Eden said, so firm it was like she was trying to manifest confidence into Ingrid’s bloodstream through sheer force of will.
Ingrid tried to absorb the compliment, took a steadying breath, and immediately got ambushed by her own brain. What if you’re actually worse now? What if everyone’s just being nice because they feel bad for you? What if you peaked in college and now you’re just a walking cautionary tale?
"Stop whatever you’re thinking," Eden leaned in slightly, her gaze locking onto Ingrid’s. "Just trust your gut–with Beck, with Swan Lake. You know when something’s right. You just have to surrender to it."
Ingrid visibly flinched. "Surrender is a strong word," she muttered. So is ‘gastroenteritis,’ and she would rather deal with that.
Eden raised a brow. "Oh, please. You’ve thrown yourself onto a stage with a sprained ankle, danced through a fever so bad I thought you were going to hallucinate mid-pirouette, and willingly done fouetté turns in pointe shoes for fun, but talking to one man? Suddenly, that’s too dangerous?"
"That man could emotionally vaporize me," Ingrid shot back. "Gravity at least has the decency to play by the rules."
Eden let out a knowing laugh, shaking her head.
Ingrid scowled. Eden had once been just as stubborn, just as determined to keep herself locked behind sarcasm and carefully placed walls.
But then Ronan had crashed into her life, and now she was all soft edges and romantic bliss like a reformed cynic in a romance movie.
Ingrid eyed her friend suspiciously. "You’re so disgustingly happy now. What’s next on the agenda for ‘Little Miss Life All Figured Out’?"
Eden grinned. "Writing more music, recording. Loving my hot husband, just living the dream, basically."
Ingrid groaned. "Ugh. Brag much?"
Eden batted her lashes innocently. "Would I?"
"Yes," Ingrid deadpanned. "And I hate that I can’t even be mad about it."
Eden just beamed. Ingrid shook her head with a laugh. "But seriously. I’m so happy for you. Even though I miss the heck out of you."
"Miss you like hell," Eden said, pulling Ingrid into a tight hug.
Their heartfelt moment lasted a grand total of three seconds before a knock sounded, followed by the window swinging open. Ronan’s head poked through.
"Beck took all of my cash," Ronan lamented, shaking his head. "He hosed all of us. I should’ve known when he suggested we play for money."
"Poor baby," Eden pouted, patting his cheek. "We should call it a night before you lose our future child’s entire college fund."
"You’re not–" Ingrid’s words faltered as Eden climbed through the window with Ronan’s help.
"God no, not yet," Eden replied with a chuckle, swinging her legs over the ledge. "I’m not ready for teen pregnancy."
"You do realize you’re twenty-seven, right?" Ingrid deadpanned.
"I always forget," Eden admitted, looking genuinely bewildered by her own adulthood.
Ronan and Eden said their goodbyes. Quentin left soon after, mumbling something about a talk show appearance in L.A.
Then there was Sadie, lingering at the door with a devious grin. "Meeting up with a friend," she announced, holding up her phone to flash a dating app on the screen.
"A friend?" Ingrid repeated, unimpressed.
"A new friend," Sadie clarified with a wink, stepping into the hall.
"Come back if you need a place to crash," Ingrid called after her, arms crossed.
"I’ll call you if I do, but I doubt it," Sadie shot back.
"Share your location," Ingrid demanded, narrowing her eyes.
Sadie rolled her eyes but relented. "Okay, Mom. I’ll be fine, I promise." She waved and disappeared down the corridor like a woman with no survival instincts.
Ingrid shut the door, exhaling. She turned around, only to immediately regret it.
Beck was at the sink, washing dishes like he paid rent.
His sleeves were pushed up, showing off tattooed forearms that flexed with every swipe of the sponge.
The sight made Ingrid’s heart stutter in a way that felt deeply inconvenient.
She wanted to pretend it didn’t rattle her, but the truth was, it absolutely did.
Freddie wasted zero time weaving around Beck’s legs like she, too, had already chosen a side in this war.
"I can do the rest," Ingrid offered, fully prepared to reclaim dominance over her kitchen.
"I'm almost done," Beck replied, casually grabbing the last plate.
Ingrid crossed her arms, watching in slight disbelief as he dried it, using a hand towel draped over his shoulder.
"Thank you," she murmured sincerely, because even if it annoyed her, she did appreciate it.