Chapter 24Ingrid. Thanksgiving, Present #2
Beck glanced over his shoulder, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks for the invite. Or should I be thanking Eden?"
Ingrid kept her face blank, but Beck was annoyingly good at reading her. She ignored him completely.
"How much did you scam off those bozos?" she asked, smoothly changing the subject.
Beck grinned, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and flashing the cash he’d won. "Sixty bucks. Plus a piece of gum. Tossed the gum, though, it was loose in Sadie’s purse."
"Solid haul," Ingrid replied, smirking as she glanced at the TV. It was still on from earlier, softly playing the opening notes of Law & Order.
Beck followed her gaze, his eyebrows lifting slightly.
Ingrid rolled her eyes but gave a half-hearted gesture toward the couch. He flopped down on her couch without hesitation, and to her surprise, it wasn’t awkward at all. Even when she sat down next to him.
Freddie jumped up beside them, immediately curling against Beck’s leg. Beck scratched behind the cat’s ears without looking, eyes still on the screen like he belonged here. In her apartment. On her couch. Next to her.
It didn’t bother her nearly as much as it probably should have. His running commentary had her actually laughing, and she was trying not to let the sound of his voice stir up something she wasn’t ready to face.
"How much do you think those extras get paid?" Beck mused, scratching Freddie’s ears. "Or do you think it’s just about the glory for them? I would do it for free. Just lie there, perfectly still on the floor, and let the camera get a severe close-up of my tragic demise."
"Of course you would," Ingrid deadpanned. "That’s a given. You’d love your pretty face being immortalized for the masses."
"Are you calling me self-centered? I am a drummer. I don’t need the spotlight."
"Mm-hmm," Ingrid hummed, unimpressed. "Says the man who just monologued about playing a corpse."
"I just know my strengths," Beck said with a smug grin. "And I would absolutely kill the slayed-victim role."
"Always quick with the puns," she muttered, shaking her head.
"That’s the supportive, neighborly attitude I’ve been looking for," he teased, nudging her.
She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm. Freddie had been peacefully loafing beside Beck, took this as a personal attack, and immediately leapt off the couch, shooting them both a look of pure betrayal before trotting off.
"Great, now you’ve scared my cat," Ingrid said.
"Correction. You scared your cat. I am the victim in this scenario because now I have no cat to pet," Beck countered, reaching toward Freddie to soothe her.
As he moved, the thin gold chain around his neck slipped free from his shirt. The pendant caught the light, a quick flash of gold, just a second, but it was enough.
Her stomach flipped violently.
Because she knew that necklace.
Beck must have realized it too, because his hand shot up, tucking it back beneath his shirt. But it was too late. The damage was done. The image was burned into her mind, seared into her retinas, her heart hammering against her ribcage.
Without thinking, she leaned closer, reaching for the chain.
Beck’s hand wrapped firmly around hers before she could touch it. His grip was warm and steady. A shiver ran up her arm at the contact, but neither of them moved. Her pulse pounded, her voice coming out too fast, too unsteady.
"Let me see it."
For a moment, Beck didn’t move. His eyes locked onto hers, searching. The silence stretched before he slowly let go. His grip softened, his fingers brushing against her wrist as they slid away.
Ingrid’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for the chain again, gently tugging it free from his shirt. The metal was still warm from his skin. The pendant caught the light, a small, worn compass with the gold finish dulled by time.
Her breath hitched as she stared at it, memories rushing in like waves, knocking the air from her lungs. A busy street. Laughter between kisses. Words spoken like promises. Words that had meant everything.
At first, there was confusion, then it gave way to something softer. Something that felt like relief. Because this meant he still cared, in some small, stubborn way. That maybe she wasn’t completely crazy for carrying so much of him, even after all this time.
When her eyes met his, he didn’t look away. And in that stare, she saw everything–what they had been, what they might have been, what he still wished they were. And suddenly, she couldn’t remember how to breathe.
"How long?" she whispered, barely above a breath.
"Since you gave it to me," he said softly.
Ingrid’s breath caught. Five years. He’d kept it all this time.
Her fingers brushed the pendant, flipping it over to read the engraving on the back. She already knew the words, but reading them again hit like a memory with teeth–sharp and familiar, and still too close to the bone.
Never lost, right where you should be. All my soul – I
A lump rose in her throat. Her heart swelled, then cracked just slightly under the weight of it all. She blinked fast, willing the tears back. She didn’t cry easily and definitely not in front of him.
But then Beck’s hand moved, his fingers ghosting over her cheek, catching a stray tear that had escaped.
"Why?" she asked, barely above a whisper. The word hung between them, heavy with everything she wasn’t saying. Why was he still wearing it? Why had he never taken it off?
Beck’s gaze didn’t waver. "Why do you think?" he murmured.
The way he looked at her made her chest tighten. It was raw, unflinching. And it scared her.
She wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe he had loved her with the same wild, reckless depth she had once fallen headfirst into. The way he could make her laugh without meaning to. The way it had felt like flying and falling, just to be seen.
But even the sweetest memories carried their own kind of weight. Threads of sorrow woven through the good. Little pieces of a life she had gathered up with trembling hands, after it all slipped through her fingers.
Her arm twitched as she tried to pull back, to create some distance, but Beck didn’t let go.
"Ingrid," he murmured, his voice softer now, more certain.
She swallowed hard, struggling to steady herself, but then–
"Would you start over with me?"
It wasn’t just a question. It was a plea.
His voice was measured, but underneath it was that fragile thread of hope, trembling at the edges.
"Are you serious?" she asked, barely above a whisper.
"Yes," he said, eyes steady, voice soft.
The word lingered. It sent a shiver down her spine, and she wasn’t sure if it was fear or the flicker of something far more dangerous. Hope .
"This time will be different," he said, his voice low. "I’m still the same person you fell for... but I’ve grown. I’ve changed in ways I didn’t even think I could."
There was no hesitation in him now. Just quiet, unguarded truth, the kind that left nowhere to hide.
"I made mistakes," he went on, something pleading in his eyes that nearly undid her. "But I’ve worked for this. For me. For you. I’m not perfect, Ingrid. I never will be. But I’m trying. And I’ll keep trying."
Her chest tightened, old hurt rising like a tide against her ribs.
"Beck," she breathed, his name breaking against her lips like a wave against rock. Fragile. Unsteady.
Doubt clung like armor, a shield built from all the broken pieces she had quietly gathered and stitched back together. And the past lived inside her, too sharp, too deep to forget.
Beck leaned closer, close enough that she could feel the warmth of him, the steady pull of someone who wasn’t running anymore. His voice dropped, rough and tender all at once.
"I’ll prove it," he said.
Not just a promise. A vow, carved right into the space between them. A vow he meant for her and maybe, just as much, for the boy he used to be.
Ingrid exhaled, her breath shaky, as something delicate shifted inside her. Something she wasn’t sure she could stop, even if she tried.
"Okay," she whispered, the word so soft it barely seemed to cross the space between them.
Beck’s smile was small, almost broken, but it cracked something deep inside her, an ache she hadn’t even realized she was still carrying.
The warmth it left behind seeped into her chest, slow and persistent, blooming into something tender and cautious and real. She braced herself against it, against the sharp, shimmering edges of hope–the kind that could just as easily cut as it could heal.