Chapter 30Beck. Mid December, Five years ago
BECK. MID DECEMBER, FIVE YEARS AGO
Beck watched with a deepening frown as the dancer on stage struggled to keep up with what could only be described as an overenthusiastic oboe player. Their timing was so off it felt like watching a fight rather than a performance.
The oboe let out a particularly tragic squawk, and Beck visibly winced. Somewhere in the back row, someone audibly whispered, "Dear God."
He sighed in relief, reminding himself that he and Ingrid were up next and at least they had put in the work.
Beck couldn’t remember ever preparing so thoroughly for anything in his life. But then again, his motivation had been clear: every rehearsal meant more time with Ingrid. So he’d happily found any excuse to tweak their routine, fix their timing, or just accidentally need another run-through.
He was definitely over-prepared, but honestly? Worth it. Every second spent with her was worth it.
Finally, the oboe let out its last, mercifully flat note that sounded like a balloon slowly losing air. The sound trailed off awkwardly, leaving the room in a heavy silence. The student lowered the instrument, face flushed, eyes down.
"Thank you," the instructor said, breaking the quiet. There was a short pause before the class offered a few light claps, more out of sympathy than anything else.
"The last performance is Ingrid and Beck," the instructor announced.
Beck straightened, rolling his shoulders. Thank God. Time to show these people how it was actually done.
He gave Ingrid a quick nod before kneeling to set up his drum kit. Across from him, Ingrid stretched with effortless grace, flexing her feet and rolling her shoulders. Without thinking, Beck reached out and wrapped his fingers around her ankle, a grounding touch, as much for himself as for her.
She glanced down, a flicker of surprise in her expression before her lips curled into a small, knowing smile. Not just any smile, the smile. The one that softened her entire face, made her dimples appear, and left him utterly brainless. He knew he was staring, but damn it, how could he not?
Then came a terrible realization: other people were probably seeing that smile.
People who weren’t him. Strangers. Casual bystanders.
Some guy in a hoodie who didn’t even appreciate greatness.
His gaze swept the room, half-tempted to start throwing out silent threats.
Look away, Chad. You haven’t earned this.
He didn’t deserve it either. He knew that. But he was a selfish bastard, and if she was handing out sunshine, he was going to roast in it like a lizard on a rock.
When he looked back at her, she was still smiling at him. Just for him. Just like that, the jealous flare in his chest cooled into something else, something softer. Warmer. Less murdery.
He settled behind his drum kit and picked up his drumsticks, the familiar weight familiar in his hands.
He didn’t get nervous. Not when there was something to prove.
And there was always something to prove.
That had become the rhythm of his life. Any nerves had long since been evicted, replaced by the sharp, almost petty determination that kicked in whenever there was an audience.
Ingrid moved into her starting position, head bowed, one arm extended like a sculpture come to life.
Beck struck the first beat of the snare drum. Instantly, she moved, her body weaving through the space like the music had been made for her. Because it had. Every note, every rhythm, every pause had her name written all over it.
Every beat pushed her forward, every move syncing with his like they shared the same pulse. It wasn’t just skill. It was something deeper, something unspoken. Like their bodies knew how to speak a language only they understood.
And even knowing how professional she was, Beck couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment was different. Special.
Everything, every decision, every twist of fate had led to this: their chance meeting, the late-night rehearsals, his grandmother’s love of ballet. It didn’t feel random. It didn’t feel like coincidence. It felt inevitable.
As the music swelled and softened around them, his thoughts kept circling back to her—the way she moved, the way she smiled, the way she made him feel like he was exactly where he was meant to be.
The final note rang out. Ingrid’s movement stopped in perfect tandem.
Silence stretched for half a second before the studio erupted into applause.
Beck didn’t hear it. His focus was locked on Ingrid, her chest rising and falling, her skin glowing, her eyes searching for his.
"Bravo! Bravo!" the instructor exclaimed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Flawless! So imaginative! We have the winning performance!"
The class broke into another round of clapping, but Beck barely registered it. Ingrid was still looking at him and standing there with that soft, heart-flipping smile. And God help him, he was completely done for.
Because she looked proud, really proud, and it hit him straight in the chest. That feeling, of someone actually being proud of him, was rare.
He’d spent most of his life bracing for disappointment, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But now, here she was, and that look on her face let something loose inside him.
Before she could even open her mouth, he was already on his feet. He left the drum kit behind, sticks forgotten on the floor, and crossed the room in a few quick strides.
He wrapped her up in his arms, lifting her slightly off the ground like she weighed nothing, and buried his face in her shoulder, letting the applause fade into a distant hum. This was the only thing that mattered. She was the only thing that mattered.
Ingrid let out a startled laugh as he spun her, her arms looping around his neck. "Beck!" she squeaked, though she wasn’t exactly protesting.
"I don’t know how I got so lucky," he murmured against her neck, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You are more than I deserve."
That made her pause. She pulled back slightly, eyes narrowing, her expression flashing with something that looked almost like anger. Then, without a word, she grabbed his face and kissed him.
The room exploded. Catcalls, whistles, dramatic gasps, and someone actually whooped. Laughter mixed with applause, and Beck couldn’t hear a thing over the roaring in his chest because holy shit, she was kissing him.
And not just a quick peck, either. This was a statement.
A public, no-going-back, everyone-is-seeing-this kind of statement.
It was one thing to kiss in a grimy dive bar; it was another to do it in front of all her dance colleagues.
His heart pounded so hard he was surprised it didn’t sync up with the clapping.
Somewhere in the background, their instructor let out a strangled cough.
"Oh, my!" he stammered, clapping his hands together like he had just walked in on something he absolutely did not want to see. "Looks like our performers are… very connected to the energy of the performance!" His tone suggested he wished he had taken the day off. "Alright, alright, settle down!"
Ingrid finally pulled back, her expression calm but resolute, as if she hadn’t just turned his entire existence upside down. Around them, the noise slowly died down.
"There’s no luck involved," she said firmly, her voice steady, leaving no room for argument. "You deserve every good thing that happens to you."
Beck blinked, completely thrown off balance. By the kiss, but also by what she had said. So confident. So certain.
Meanwhile, he was fighting every instinct screaming at him to doubt it. He wanted to believe her. He really did. But that old familiar doubt was already creeping in, loud and annoying as ever. How could she be so sure of him when half the time he wasn’t even sure of himself?
Still, he pulled off a faint smile, trying not to let the mess in his head show.
"You’re something else, you know that?" he said softly, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand.
Her lips curved into a small smile. “So are you, Beck."
The instructor, still looking mildly traumatized, clapped his hands together. "Class is dismissed! Great job, everyone!"
Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. A girl was weaving through the dispersing crowd, heading straight for them, grinning like she had just been handed front-row seats to the juiciest drama of the century.
It was Sylvia. Beck had seen her with Ingrid around campus enough times to recognize her. He'd heard Ingrid mention her often. But they had never officially met.
Beck barely had time to brace himself before she reached them, practically vibrating with excitement.
"You guys killed that," Sylvia said. "It was like you were sharing a brain during that performance."
"More like I was borrowing his," Ingrid quipped, giving Beck a teasing nudge.
Sylvia pulled her in a hug. "You were incredible," she said, pulling back just enough to examine Ingrid’s face. "Can’t say the same about my flutist, though."
Ingrid grimaced, shaking her head. "Yeah… she played with more spit than air."
Sylvia snorted. "I thought I was gonna slip on the floor."
"But you didn’t, because you’re truly that amazing," Ingrid shot back, laughing. "By the way, this is Beck."
"I’m Sylvia. Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you."
“Nice to meet you,” Beck said with a crooked smile. “Hopefully all good things?”
Sylvia let out a laugh, light and teasing. "It was touch and go at the start. I personally vouched for you, though. Told her to give you a chance. She was this close to chucking you out of the studio window."
Beck arched a brow at Ingrid, who just shrugged, entirely unbothered.
"I guess I owe you big time, then," he said, tugging Ingrid closer. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I’m the luckiest guy on earth that she even gives me the time of day."