Chapter 20Beck. Early November, Five years ago
BECK. EARLY NOVEMBER, FIVE YEARS AGO
Those scars had been stuck in his mind for days. He still felt them under his fingertips, raised and even. The memory of them lingered in the back of his head, keeping him up at night for the past week.
He’d sent her a couple of texts, casual enough not to push, but she hadn’t responded. She had gone radio silent on him.
He wanted to see her, talk to her, do something, but he knew better than to force it. Her story was hers to share when she was ready.
So when he found her standing in front of his apartment, it didn’t feel real. For a second, he thought he might be imagining it. But then it hit him, and the wave of disbelief gave way to something warmer, heavier.
She’d come to him.
Now, sitting across from her in his favorite café, a spot he’d practically claimed as his second home since moving to Brooklyn, it still didn’t feel real.
She was right there, but his brain hadn’t caught up.
He’d spent so much time thinking about her, imagining her little reactions to his day.
The look she’d give him for buying a churro from a subway vendor, the way she’d laugh when he tipped his beanie to a reckless driver like a gentleman bidding them farewell.
And now she was here, not just a daydream. He gave his own leg a quick pinch under the table, the sting told him that this was real. She was actually sitting in front of him.
"I wanted to tell you about the scars," she said, her voice trembling just enough to make his heart sink.
"My dad met my now-stepmom on a business trip overseas and fell for her almost instantly. And my mom..." Ingrid paused, her voice shifting into something flatter, more careful. "She’s not exactly the easiest person to deal with." Ingrid started, her voice measured.
"He came back, sat her down, and told her he wanted a divorce. Let’s just say she didn’t take it well." She paused, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug.
"It’s not like they were madly in love. Their marriage was more about convenience than anything else. A partnership that looked good on paper but didn’t have much behind it." She let out a dry chuckle, but there was no humor in it. "My mom got… bitter. She doesn’t do second place. Ever."
"With my dad out of the picture, she needed somewhere to put all that anger,” Ingrid said softly. “And I guess I was the easiest target. It didn’t start loud. Just... small things. Offhand remarks. Comments about my weight. About not being good enough, not standing out."
"Eventually, it turned into warnings. That people leave when they get bored. That I had to stay skinny, talented, perfect —so it wouldn’t happen to me too."
She finally looked up, meeting Beck’s gaze head-on.
"I was fourteen. And I thought she was trying to help me."
Something in Beck broke at that. He tightened his grip over her hand, his thumb running slow, steady circles against her skin.
"When my dad moved to South Africa to be with his new girlfriend, it was just me and Mom. And suddenly, managing me became her full-time obsession. What I ate, how I trained, how I stood, how I slept. It stopped being parenting. It turned into control."
Her voice softened, trembling slightly, though she tried to keep it steady. "She’d nitpick everything. Every tiny mistake. Every ounce gained. Every moment I didn’t hold perfect posture."
"It escalated. The pressure. The criticism. The constant feeling of falling short. It got to the point where I couldn’t even breathe without wondering if I was letting her down."
She exhaled shakily.
"At first, I thought I could handle it. I tried to keep myself in line by snapping a hair elastic on my wrist if I messed up a turn or forgot choreography. But after a while, that stopped working."
"One night, it just felt like too much. All the pressure, all the expectations. I couldn’t escape it. So, I started cutting… in places no one could see. It gave me this weird sense of control that I’d lost, like I could choose that pain instead of drowning in everything else."
Beck didn’t say anything, he just held her hand tighter. But inside, something ignited, hot and bitter and sharp. He hated that she had gone through that alone. Hated that she’d felt like hurting herself was the only way to breathe.
"Eden noticed. She always does. It’s the gift and the curse of knowing each other so well," she added with a weak smile. "But I couldn’t bring myself to tell her. She had her own stuff going on, and I didn’t want to pile mine on top of hers.
So I kept it all bottled up. I figured if I could just push through, I’d be fine. "
"Eventually, the school counselor got involved. I opened up to him, and he had to tell my parents. My dad flew back from South Africa as soon as he found out, but my mom? She acted like it never happened. Didn’t say a word about it.
Just carried on like everything was normal.
Then, a few months later, she left for France and never looked back. "
Ingrid let out a bitter laugh that didn’t reach her eyes. "Classic her. Out of sight, out of mind."
She swallowed, her voice softer now.
"My dad was better. He tried to be there for me, to help me figure things out. But then he remarried, and my stepmom moved in. I love her, I really do. She’s kind and supportive in her own way, but… they’ve got their own lives now. Sometimes, I feel like I just fade into the background."
"Eden moved in the year after her mom died. Having her around changed everything. She grounded me when I felt like I was drifting. I started therapy, and things started to settle."
Her voice steadied as she pressed on.
"I haven’t self-harmed in years. It’s still hard sometimes, but I’ve learned how to manage it. How to push back when the old habits try to creep in. And…" She paused, her voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t believe I just said all of that out loud."
Her eyes met his, just for a moment then flicked away.
"Letting you see this part of me?" she said. "It scares the hell out of me."
Beck didn’t hesitate. He brought her knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss there.
"You don’t have to be scared with me," he murmured. "I’m here, okay? For all of it. The good, the messy, everything. Whatever you need."
Her lips parted slightly, like she wanted to respond, but no words came. Instead, she blinked, her chest rising and falling with a deep, measured breath.
"You are so strong," he whispered, his thumb brushing gently over her fingers. He kissed her knuckles again. "Brave." Another kiss. "Thank you for trusting me with this." He held her hand a little closer, his voice a breath against her skin. "Trusting me with you ."
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting his words settle around her. When she opened them again, something had shifted. Her hand tightened around his.
"How are things with your mom now?" he asked softly.
"She’s the same as always. Still thinks Juilliard is pointless. I’ve stopped hoping she’ll ever see it differently."
Beck’s jaw tightened. He hated how easily she said it, like her mom’s dismissal was just something she’d gotten used to.
Like it was normal. Like she didn’t deserve better.
But she did. God, she really did. She deserved someone who saw her fire, her talent, not someone who measured her worth against their own narrow view of success.
“She thinks I should be auditioning nonstop, skipping the degree and jumping straight into the ‘real world.’ Like getting an education is some kind of detour.” Ingrid rolled her eyes. “In her mind, there’s one right way to do things, and surprise, it’s hers.”
Beck frowned, his fingers brushing lightly over the back of her hand. He knew that feeling all too well. Chasing something you loved while someone you cared about acted like it didn’t count. Rodney had never missed a chance to talk down his decision to go to Juilliard.
"I get it. It’s hard," he murmured.
"Yeah," she sighed. "But there’s an upcoming winter ballet intensive at Paris Opera Ballet School during the semester break, so I’ll be spending a month staying with her."
Her fingers tensed slightly in his.
"But it’s just a month. I can handle it," she added quickly, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than him.
He hadn’t realized she was leaving for Paris in two months. It was temporary, sure, but the date felt uncomfortably close now. At least she’d be back for the spring semester.
The thought of her staying with her mom didn’t sit right with him.
He’d seen firsthand how hard Ingrid was on herself.
How she pushed through injury, danced past pain.
The blood on her pointe shoes, the clenched jaw after rehearsals, the way she smiled through bruises and blisters.
It was all part of the unrelenting standard she held herself to.
And her mother? She’d only pile on more pressure. The pressure would build, and Ingrid would carry it all like she always did, without complaint, burying it where no one could see.
"Just be careful, and call me if she starts with any of that overbearing shit," Beck said. "You’re insanely talented, Ingrid. Don’t let her dim that."
Her lips curved into a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, Beck," she said softly, her eyes meeting his.
He leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. "Please tell me you know how incredible you are."
A faint flush rose to her cheeks as she gave a small shrug.
How could someone like her, so gifted and full of fight and fire, not see it? Not recognize the strength she carried, the light she brought into every room? It was unthinkable. And if she couldn’t see it yet, he would show her. Again and again, for as long as it took.
"My grandmother used to tell me, ‘You’ll never reach your destination if you stop and throw stones at every dog that barks.’ You’re too incredible, too talented, and too brilliant to let the barking dogs slow you down."
She squeezed his hand, and slowly, the corners of her mouth lifted into a smile, tentative at first. Then it grew. Wider. Brighter. Until it bloomed into a full, breathtaking smile that revealed dimples he hadn’t even seen before. It wasn’t a polite smile. Or a teasing smirk. It was real.
Beck’s breath caught.
That smile wasn’t just radiant. It was transformative. It lit up her entire face, making her look almost luminous in the dim glow of the café. He had seen her smile before, sure, but nothing like this. Never like it belonged to him, even for a second. And that was it. That was the moment he knew.
If he hadn’t already been falling, that smile pushed him off the edge. Warmth spread through his chest, curling around his ribs like something meant to stay. He was falling for her. Hard.
"Wow," Ingrid said, her voice breaking the spell, eyes bright. "Does your grandma hate dogs or something?"
"No, not at all. She loved all animals, used to take in every stray she could find. That was just who she was, caring to a fault." His smile softened as the memory of her flooded his mind. "But we’ve always been more of a cat family."
"Well, Freddie’s not exactly easy to win over," she said, her tone playful.
"Freddie?" Beck raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
"My cat," she explained, a teasing glint in her eyes.
"When can I meet him?" Beck leaned in slightly, his grin widening.
"Her," Ingrid corrected. "Off to a bad start already. But soon. If you play your cards right. Freddie doesn’t warm up to just anyone, so she’ll be a challenge."
"I don’t mind a challenge," he said, smiling knowingly.
"Yeah, I bet," she mused, half-teasing.
"What about your family?" she asked, more gently now. "You seem close to your grandmother ."
His smile faltered. His fingers tapped lightly against the table as he thought of where to begin.
"I was," he said, his voice quieter. "She was sick for a long time and passed away three years ago. She was more of a parent to me than my actual parents ever were. My father left when I was a baby, and my mother… well, she’s inconsistent in my life, to say the least."
"I ended up staying with my grandmother for most of my childhood because my mom struggled with addiction," Beck admitted.
"There were times I felt completely lost growing up, but my grandmother was always here for me.
She even got me my first drum set from a yard sale and let me practice in her garage, no matter how loud or terrible I sounded.
She said drumming was my ticket out of Pennsylvania. And, well… she was right."
A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he remembered her.
"She didn’t have much, but what she did have, she shared with anyone who needed it. That’s just how she was. She was my rock, the one person I could always count on. Losing her… that was the hardest thing I’ve ever been through."
"She sounded like an incredible woman," she said quietly. "I’m really sorry you lost her, Beck."
"She was," he nodded, a fond smile softening his features. His fingers traced patterns on the table idly, the nostalgia tugging gently at his chest. "She loved ballet. Always made me watch The Nutcracker, Swan Lake, anything she could find on cable. As a kid, I hated it. Thought it was boring as hell. I’d sit there, fidgeting, counting the minutes until it was over. But as I got older, I started to see how mesmerizing it was, the precision, the storytelling without words. It’s. .. incredible."
His gaze flickered to Ingrid. "When I saw you that day during the audition, it felt like fate, in a weird way. Like we were meant to meet." He hesitated, his voice quiet. "Does that sound strange?"
Ingrid paused, a small smile tugged at her lips. There was no mocking, no teasing. Just a kind of knowing.
"No, not weird at all," she said gently. "It’s quite beautiful, actually."
Her hand squeezed his just a little tighter, her thumb brushing against his knuckles.
"I wish I could have met her."
"She would have adored you. Sweet, but you don’t take any shit," he said with a chuckle.
"Especially not from you," Ingrid shot back, her caramel eyes warm and inviting, drawing him in like quicksand.
"Finished teasing me?" he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
She nodded. Leaning in, he let his breath mingle with hers, his voice a low whisper against her lips.
"Good, because I still want to kiss you. Now more than ever." His lips met hers, and the world around him blurred, leaving only the warmth of her lips and the beating of his heart as he found himself falling deeper.