Chapter 38Ingrid. Mid December, Present #3
She arched against him, a sharp, helpless sound escaping her lips as his hands roamed, rediscovering the dips and curves of her like he was learning her all over again.
When she felt the hardness of his erection pressing against her, her breath hitched in her throat.
Her fingers fisted in the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him as if letting go would shatter her.
"Beck," she whispered, the sound breaking somewhere between a plea and a prayer.
His lips paused against her neck, his breath unsteady. Then he lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers. His gaze was dark and burning.
"Tell me to stop," he rasped, like it was being dragged from somewhere deep and unwilling. He rested his forehead gently against hers, his breath uneven. "If you don’t, I won’t be able to."
She didn’t. Instead, she yanked him back down, crushing her lips to his, answering him with a hunger words could never match.
His hand slipped beneath her hoodie, fingers grazing her bare skin, sending a shiver through her. He traced a slow path down her body, his fingertips skating over her stomach before sliding up, brushing just beneath her breast.
When he finally cupped her, his thumb teasing over her nipple, a sharp gasp tore from her lips. She arched into him, her body seeking more, the hoodie bunching between them.
His lips followed, trailing heat down her skin, his mouth closing over her nipple. A strangled cry escaped her as her fingers tangled in his hair, her body trembling beneath him. The scattered letters crinkled under them as his tongue flicked and teased, sending fire curling through her veins.
She tugged at his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp, urging him on. Every slow drag of his tongue, every teasing graze of his teeth sent lightning through her. She had chased this feeling before, but nothing had ever burned like this. Like him.
With a firm tug, she guided his face up, their eyes locking. His were dark and intense, mirroring everything crashing through her. She leaned in, lips just brushing his–
A sudden knock rattled the front door.
"Ingrid Dubois?" A gruff voice rang through the door, thick with a New York accent.
Beck groaned, dropping his forehead against her collarbone before pulling away. Ingrid yanked her hoodie down, hands trembling as she sat up, her breath still uneven.
Beck ran a hand through his messy hair, jaw clenched as he stalked toward the door. Ingrid trailed after him, her pulse thrumming from Beck's touch.
He yanked the door open. A stocky man stood there in a uniform, mustache thick and twitching like he was trying not to laugh the second he saw them.
"Ah. Hope I’m not interrupting."
Ingrid smoothed her hair, trying to compose herself. Beside her, Beck looked equally wrecked. His hair was wild and a faint flush was lingering at his throat.
"The rat’s been taken care of," the man announced, puffing out his chest. "Caught him myself and let him loose a few blocks away."
It took Ingrid a second to process. "Oh," she said, clearing her throat. She glanced at his name tag, "Uh thank you… Rufus. I owe you one."
Rufus grinned, tipping his cap. "No problem, miss. Let me know if any other rats bother you." He cast a pointed look at Beck.
Beck smirked, completely unbothered. "Will do."
Rufus gave a satisfied nod before whistling a cheery tune and strolling away.
Ingrid stood frozen in the doorway, gripping the frame as everything crashed down on her. Her breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh, something wild and breathless and impossible to name.
She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw something. She wanted to collapse into him and demand why he hadn’t said anything sooner. Instead, she just stood there.
The hallway stretched out before her, empty and quiet, but everything inside her was in chaos.
It felt like she’d been cracked open, splintered right down the middle. Every nerve was raw, every emotion scraped to the surface.
"What are you thinking?" Beck’s voice broke through, low and careful, like he was afraid to tip the balance. There was something beneath it, an edge, something unreadable that made her want to curl in on herself and scream why didn’t you tell me?
She turned, lips parting, but the words tangled in her throat, too big and sharp to say. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths.
Her voice barely carried across the space between them. "I just... I need the night to process everything."
Beck’s expression softened, a quiet understanding settling behind his eyes.
"Of course," he murmured. Then he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear just like he used to. His touch was so gentle it sent a shiver skimming down her spine. "I’ll leave my door unlocked when you’re ready to come home. "
Home . The word threaded its way straight through her ribs.
He wasn’t talking about Eden’s apartment. He meant himself. His heart. A place not built of walls or keys, but of memory, of breath, of flesh and bone.
And deep down, she knew he was right. Beck had always felt like home: steady, warm, familiar in a way that defied reason.
How could someone she’d known for such a brief moment in the vastness of her life still hold her like this?
Still have the map to all the soft and secret parts of her?
And yet, he did. Even after all the time, the distance, the silence.
She had spent so long searching for this feeling.
Chasing it in fleeting smiles, in cities where no one knew her name.
Trying to recreate it in the curve of someone else’s hand or the sound of a laugh that almost matched his.
Telling herself it had been a fluke. A moment of weakness. A dream mistaken for truth.
But standing here, with Beck’s voice still clinging to her skin and the ghost of his touch still humming along her nerves, the truth dropped into her like a stone. It had always been real. And now, she had to figure out what to do with that truth.
She needed space. She needed to breathe, to think, to stop herself from sprinting headlong into something that could either save her or shatter her completely.
With Freddie clutched to her chest, she forced herself to turn away. Her legs felt like lead, each step dragging as she made her way back to the apartment. Her heart thundered, her thoughts spiraling in every direction.
Time stretched, elastic and unforgiving. Every minute crawled by, her mind circling the same thought on an endless loop: Beck is just steps away. Beck wants her back. Beck never stopped loving her.
Then her thoughts jumped to Eden. Eden, who had been nudging her toward Beck from the beginning. Who had dropped breadcrumbs in their conversations, never quite confirming but never fully denying. Eden must have known. About his mother. About his sobriety.
A hot flicker of betrayal ignited in her chest, fast and bright. Eden was her best friend. Her sister in every way that counted. She should have told her. Shouldn’t she?
But even as the thought bloomed, it began to wither. Because deep down, Ingrid already knew. It wasn’t Eden’s story to tell.
And no matter how much she hated being the last to know, how much it stung to feel like everyone else had been holding the pieces but her. But she couldn’t blame Eden for keeping a promise that wasn’t hers to break.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for her phone, thumb hovering over the screen. Then she dialed Eden’s number.
The phone rang twice before Eden picked up, her voice warm and familiar. "Hey, love."
There was a faint crunch in the background, chips maybe, or granola, something so normal it felt cruel. Like the world hadn’t just split open beneath Ingrid’s feet.
Ingrid didn’t bother with a greeting. Her voice came low, cracked. "Did you know?"
A pause. "Know what?" Eden’s tone was still light, easy. She hadn’t caught up to the weight of it yet.
Ingrid swallowed hard, forcing the words out like glass in her throat. "About Beck. That his mom died. That it happened the night of the debut. That he’s… sober now."
The line went quiet. No more chewing. No background hum. Then Eden sighed, long and slow.
"Yes," she said softly. "I knew."
Ingrid closed her eyes. There it was. The truth. As gentle as Eden’s voice tried to make it, it still landed like a sucker punch.
"How long?" She whispered, her voice splintering.
"For a while," Eden admitted. "He didn’t want anyone to know. Not until he was ready."
"And you didn’t think I should know?" Ingrid’s words cracked open then, the pain finally spilling out. "You just let me walk around thinking he was the same person I left. Thinking he didn’t care. That he’d never grow up, never change."
"I wasn’t letting you do anything, Ingrid." Eden’s voice was steady, but there was ache in it too. "I was respecting what he needed. And maybe, on some level… what you needed too."
Ingrid’s grip on the phone tightened. She hated that. Hated that it made sense.
Ingrid’s breath hitched. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now. Everything’s upside down."
"I know," Eden said gently. "But you don’t have to make sense of it all at once."
"I thought I had him figured out," Ingrid said quietly. "Pinned down, boxed up, locked away in some forgotten drawer. But he’s…" Her voice trailed off, the words too big to fit. Beautiful. Real. Everything.
"He's?" Eden asked gently.
"He’s…calmer. Stronger. There’s this softness to him now, and it kills me, because I’m the one who left. I shut the door and didn’t look back. And now I can’t stop thinking about the way I left him, when he was at his lowest."
"You were trying to survive," Eden said. "So was he. That doesn’t mean you stopped loving him. Or that he stopped loving you."
There was a beat. A silence so full, it practically buzzed.
Then Eden asked, "You still love him, don’t you?"