Chapter 26Ingrid. Early December, Five years ago
INGRID. EARLY DECEMBER, FIVE YEARS AGO
"We practically missed his whole set!" Ingrid yelled over the music as she pushed through the packed venue. She scanned the venue until she spotted Beck behind the drums, arms moving with wild energy.
"It’s not my fault we missed the subway," Eden shot back, her pout betraying her guilt.
"Okay, but they have the best birria tacos," Eden argued, eyes wide. "And you weren’t complaining when you were demolishing them," she added, crossing her arms.
"What was I supposed to do? Not eat one?" Ingrid shot back with an eye roll. She had to admit, that taco had been borderline life-changing.
The last few songs of The Defectors’ set pulsed through the room, the crowd moving in a chaotic, sweaty mass.
Rodney, Beck’s brother, owned the stage like he was half frontman, half human hurricane.
His sweat-slicked hair clung to his forehead as he stalked the stage, the mic cord whipping around his arm.
"I know Rodney’s a complete fuckhole, but damn it, he’s good on stage," Eden shouted, bouncing along with the crowd like she hadn’t just insulted the guy.
Ingrid nodded, but a small knot of tension sat stubbornly in her chest. Beck had warned her about Rodney’s unpredictability, his struggles with addiction, the way he could implode mid-gig without warning.
The final song burst into a crescendo of guitar and drums, the crowd roaring loud enough to rattle in Ingrid’s bones.
As the band stepped back, soaking in the applause, people began trickling out into the crisp night air.
Ingrid and Eden lingered at the bar, nursing their drinks and waiting for Beck.
"I feel like a groupie," Ingrid muttered, half into her glass.
When he finally appeared, sweaty, flushed, still crackling with post-show energy, his eyes found her instantly.Her pulse skipped. He moved through the crowd like it didn’t exist, beelining straight for her.
Without a word, he wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her: hot, breathless, all adrenaline and relief. His lips tasted like sweat and whiskey, and though a small part of her wondered how much he’d had to drink, the rest of her didn’t care. After days apart, she needed this. Needed him.
Behind her, Eden snorted. "Hate to break it to you, babe, but you are a groupie."
A loud catcall rang out from the other side, and Ingrid stepped back from Beck.
"Eden, why don’t you ever greet me like that?" Finn called, hands on his hips.
Eden sauntered over, eyes locked on his. Just as he started leaning in like an idiot, she jabbed a finger straight into his ear. Finn let out a high-pitched, cartoonish shriek. Reef nearly dropped his drink from laughing, while Beck rubbed his temples like he was reconsidering all his life choices.
Eden just shrugged. "I show my love in different ways."
Eden had grown friendly with the guys over the years, late-night gigs, cramped after-parties, random run-ins at dive bars. There was an easy rhythm to it now.
Rodney, though? Different story. He hadn’t ever said a single word to her or Ingrid. Not even a nod. Which was rich, considering he once tried to sabotage her set at Battle of the Bands.
Ingrid pulled back slightly from Beck with a soft smile, her heart fluttering as she took in the sight of him. "Hi," she murmured, tracing the collar of his shirt with her fingers.
"Hi," Beck replied, voice low, gaze locked onto her like she was the only person in the room.
From nearby, Finn groaned dramatically. "I swear, if they get any cuter, I’m staging a public shaming. Tar, feathers, the whole medieval package."
"They’d still make it look like a Vogue spread," Reef said, deadpan. "Ingrid would be out there making peasant chic a thing."
"Feathers are trending," Ingrid said with a grin, curling closer into Beck’s arms. She felt his warmth at her back, the steady rise and fall of his chest under her hand.
But before Finn could fire back, a voice cut through.
"So, this is your little girlfriend?"
The sarcasm in Rodney’s voice was thick and sour, and the mood shifted instantly. The back of Ingrid’s neck prickled.
She turned slowly, schooling her expression into something neutral. Polite, but firm.
"Hi, I’m Ingrid," she said, extending a hand. A peace offering.
Rodney barely looked at it. "Rodney," he grunted, leaving her hand dangling in the space between them.
Her fingers curled back to her side, the air suddenly heavier, too dense to breathe properly. She could feel Beck’s tension humming just beneath her skin.
Eden, never one to leave silence unchallenged, jumped in. "And I’m Eden," she said, too cheerfully. "The one who won Battle of the Bands this year. Remember?" She tilted her head, smiling like she had nothing to lose.
Rodney didn’t flinch. His stare glazed past her like she wasn’t even there.
Eden’s grin sharpened. "Quick question, were you raised in a barn? Because I swear, I’ve met mules with better manners."
Rodney’s laugh came low and bitter. "No, actually. Trailer park," he said. His gaze snapped to Ingrid, dark and cutting. "Did you know that, Ingrid? Beck and I were food stamp kids, except Mom didn’t buy food. She sold the stamps for booze."
Ingrid blinked. The words hit fast and hard, but she stood still. Her heart kicked against her ribs. She’d known, sort of. Little pieces Beck had let slip, hints between lines. But nothing like this.
"Rod, don’t," Beck said, voice tight.
"Why not? She should know," Rodney shot back. "Does your fancy girlfriend know she’s dating trailer trash?"
Ingrid’s stomach dropped.
Her mind scrambled to stay grounded, to sift truth from venom, but it blurred too easily. Beck had gone rigid beside her, and that unsettled her more than anything Rodney could throw. She reached for him without thinking, her palm resting gently over his heart. His heartbeat was a thunderclap.
But Rodney’s eyes followed the gesture, and his voice twisted.
"Did you tell her about Dad?" he pressed. "How he chose pills over us? Or about Mom, wasting away in a jail cell while you pretend she doesn’t exist?"
Beck moved faster than thought.
"That’s enough," he snapped, shoving her hand aside and lunging before she could stop him.
Ingrid gasped, her body jolting. It felt like the floor shifted beneath her.
She stood frozen as Beck’s hand fisted Rodney’s collar, slamming him against the wall with a sickening thud. The sound rippled through the bar, silencing everything. Conversations stalled. Glasses hovered midair.
"Shut the fuck up," Beck growled, voice low and shaking.
It wasn’t just anger in his tone. It was years of grief, shame, fury, all bleeding out at once.
Ingrid’s mind was spinning. Her heart hurt, not just from the fight, but from everything it had dragged up with it. How awful it must’ve felt for Beck, having all that childhood trauma thrown out in front of everyone.
Finn and Reef rushed in, voices urgent, hands grabbing at shoulders, trying to break it apart. But the damage was already done.
She barely had time to process the shift before Beck surged forward.
Rodney’s mouth twisted into something mocking, cruel. "You think you’re different?" he sneered. "That she makes you better? That a new zip code and a girlfriend wipes it all clean? You’re still trash, Beck. Just like me."
Beck slammed Rodney into the wall so hard it rattled the framed flyers beside them. Ingrid flinched as glass clinked in its casing. Beck’s hands twisted into his brother’s shirt, breath tearing out of him in short, frantic bursts.
"Don’t," he spat. "Don’t talk about her. Don’t talk about me. You don’t know shit."
Rodney laughed. A mean, broken sound. "I know you. I know exactly what you are. You’re the same scared little kid who watched Mom sell our dinner for a bottle. Who begged Dad to come back even after he left us without a goodbye."
That’s when Beck lost it.
Ingrid barely saw the fist before it hit the wall, just inches from Rodney’s head. A deafening crack echoed through the bar as the drywall gave, cracking open like a wound. Plaster exploded into dust, flakes raining down over both of them.
Rodney recoiled. But Beck didn’t stop. For a terrifying second, Ingrid thought he might actually rain his fists down on his brother until the rage burned out.
His shoulders heaved, fists clenched so tight they shook.
He looked ready to tear the world apart just to feel something break.
Her pulse thundered in her ears as she pushed forward, slipping between Finn and Reef to lay a gentle hand on Beck’s arm.
"Beck," she murmured, voice low and steady. "Let him go."
The bartender’s voice sliced through the tension. "Knock it off, or I’m calling the cops!"
Beck didn’t care. His body still coiled with violence, with the kind of fury that came from being hurt too many times in too many ways. His knuckles bled, red smearing down his hand and onto the sleeve of her sweater, but she didn’t move. His whole body trembled with restraint.
Then his gaze flicked to Ingrid. His chest rose and fell like he’d run miles. Then his gaze broke, dropped to Ingrid. To her hand.
He exhaled hard, guttural. Then shoved Rodney back one last time and let go.
Rodney slumped back, laughing bitterly. "That’s what I thought," he muttered as Finn and Reef grabbed an arm each and dragged him toward the exit. Eden trailed after them, casting one last worried glance over her shoulder before slipping outside.
Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Beck stood frozen, his chest heaving, fists still clenched at his sides like he hadn’t realized the fight was over.
Ingrid stepped forward, her heart thudding loud in her ears.
She reached up and cupped his face, thumbs brushing over the rigid line of his jaw.
His skin was warm beneath her touch, too warm, vibrating with leftover adrenaline.
Come back to me , she thought. Beck closed his eyes, his chest rising with a shaky breath that hitched before falling into a heavy sigh.