Chapter 26Ingrid. Early December, Five years ago #2
"Well," Beck said, voice dry and bitter-edged. "Now you’ve met Rodney. Isn’t he just great?"
Ingrid opened her mouth to reply, but Beck pulled away from her hands with a sudden motion.
"Jesus, I need a drink," he muttered, pivoting toward the bar. His strides were too sharp, his movements clipped like he was trying to outrun whatever was clawing at his chest.
With the bartender’s back turned, he reached behind the counter, grabbed a random bottle, and twisted the cap off with way too much force.
At this rate he was going to get arrested.
He’d already punched a wall, now he was stealing booze.
She glanced around, half-expecting someone to step in. But no one moved.
The bottle tipped back, and he drank like it was the only thing keeping him standing. Desperate, punishing gulps. By the time he tossed the bottle into the trash with a sharp flick of his wrist, it was nearly empty.
He’s going to break himself. And she couldn’t stop him.
Beck dropped into a chair at one of the empty tables, slumped low, his shoulders caved in like the fight had drained whatever was left of him.
Ingrid hesitated for a moment before sitting beside Beck. She didn’t reach for him this time. Didn’t speak. She just sat there, her heart aching as she tried not to imagine how many times he’d sat like this, alone, hurting, convinced he deserved it.
"My life is a mess," he said finally, voice quiet, bitter. "I have nothing. No family. No money. Just… nothing."
The words spilled out raw, tumbling from him as if they’d been festering too long, waiting for the right moment to escape. Ingrid stayed silent, her heart breaking in quiet pieces. She didn’t interrupt, didn’t try to fix anything. She just let him speak, her hands trembling by her sides.
"My mom’s been in prison for eight years," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "She’s got twelve more to go. She was driving drunk and killed someone–a kid, our age now. She took his whole damn life away."
"He was in college. Wanted to be a teacher," Beck went on, voice cracking. "And she was so far gone, so drunk, she didn’t even remember hitting him. She was on her way to buy more booze."
A single tear slipped down his cheek. He wiped it away roughly, as if furious at himself for feeling anything at all.
Ingrid’s chest ached in ways she couldn’t explain. She reached out, hesitated, then rested a hand gently on his arm. He didn’t pull away, but his expression hardened, and he forced a bitter laugh.
"That’s my family," he said, voice flat, venom in every word. "My mom only calls when she needs something. Money for commissary, to buy fucking soup. It’s pathetic. I hate it. I hate her, but she’s still my mom, you know?"
"My grandma was the only one who ever really cared," he whispered, his voice trembling. "And now she’s gone. It’s just me and Rodney, and he’s–" He gestured vaguely toward the door, where his brother had just been dragged out. "He’s a fucking disaster. And I’m the idiot trying to keep it all together. "
For the first time, Beck turned to look at her. His eyes, raw and unguarded. It hit her like a gut punch, how lost he was.
"She messed him up. She messed me up too. And I don’t know how to fix it, Ingrid. I don’t know how to fix me."
Ingrid swallowed against the lump in her throat, her fingers tightening around his arm as if she could hold him together by touch alone.
"Beck, I can’t pretend to understand everything you’ve been through," she said softly. "But the fact that you’re still here? Still fighting? That matters. It means something."
She leaned closer, meeting his eyes.
"That says everything about who you are."
For a second, something flickered in his gaze, a fragile kind of hope, like a match struck against the dark.
"You don’t have to do this alone," she whispered. "I’m here."
Beck exhaled sharply, the sound ragged. His breath shook as he leaned back, frustration creeping into his tone.
"I could never ask you to take on this mess," he said, shaking his head. "You’ve got this amazing future ahead of you. You don’t need my mess dragging you down. This is my problem to handle."
Ingrid opened her mouth to argue, to tell him he wasn’t a burden, that she wanted to help, but something caught her eye. Eden was approaching, her face softening when she saw Beck.
Beck sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. "I’m really sorry you both had to see that," he muttered.
Before either of them could respond, he stood abruptly, his shoulders tense, and walked toward the bar.
Eden slid into the seat Beck had vacated, her eyes flicking toward him before settling back on Ingrid.
"Are you okay?" Eden asked gently, her concern clear in her voice. Ingrid barely heard her.
Her gaze was fixed on Beck. He’d said something brief to the bartender and whatever it was, it earned a laugh, and the man poured him another drink. She wasn’t sure how Beck had managed to smooth things over, but he had. The bartender didn’t seem to care that he’d just punched a hole in the wall.
Beck grabbed the glass almost before it was set down, his knuckles tight around it, his grip white. He didn’t savor it. He didn’t even taste it. He was drinking to disappear.
His motions were harsh, angry, like he was trying to bury something inside of him, trying to outrun the pain. This wasn’t a bad night or a one-time spiral. This was a pattern. A wound left untreated. A need for numbness.
Her body screamed at her to stand up, to cross the room, to pull him away from the bar, to tell him he didn’t have to fight alone. But she stayed seated, frozen, hands gripping the edge of the table as if it could stop her from falling apart.
"Ingrid," Eden said again, her voice soft but insistent.
It was enough to pull Ingrid’s gaze back to her friend, but the ache in her chest didn’t ease.
"I don’t know," Ingrid whispered, her voice trembling. She didn’t even know what she was answering.
Her gaze darted back to Beck as he poured himself yet another drink. Each sip was another wall, another layer of armor, another step away.
And all Ingrid could do was sit there, helpless, watching the man she cared about slip further away, unsure how to stop it.