Page 131 of Balancing Act

Beth let the words sit between them before continuing. “Because I’ve seen it happen, Jamie. A few times now. And I know why you do it. I know you’re scared. I know you’ve been through more in your life than most people could handle in six lifetimes.” She paused, weighing her next words. “But I can’t—I won’t—build a life with someone who will leave me in the dark when things get overwhelming. I can’t do that to Lily either.”

“I know. I know, and I don’t want to be that person anymore.”

Beth reached out, taking Jamie’s hand between both of hers.

“Then I think you need help,” she said carefully.

Jamie blinked. “What?”

Beth squeezed her fingers. “I mean I think you should see a therapist.”

Jamie stiffened slightly, the resistance there, a knee-jerk reaction.

“What? You think I’m that messed up?” The smallest of smiles cracked at the corner of her mouth as she deflected, but Beth didn’t back down.

“Jamie.” She held her gaze. “You’ve been carrying this fear alone for so long. You’ve built your whole life around surviving. But you don’t have to live like that anymore.”

Jamie swallowed, glancing down at their hands. “I don’t know if I agree with you,” she said slowly.

“I know it’s scary,” Beth continued. “I know it won’t be easy. But I think it would help you.”

Jamie was silent for a long moment. Then, finally, she nodded.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she said.

Beth let out a slow breath, relief washing over her.

Jamie glanced up, a small, tentative smile pulling at the corner of her lips. “I’m serious about moving in, you know.”

Beth smirked. “I know.”

“Good.”

Beth smiled softly, then tugged Jamie forward until their foreheads touched, both of them breathing each other in, steady and sure.

Beth finally felt like they were moving forward.

Together.

TWENTY-EIGHT

JAMIE

Jamie hated this waiting room.

Everything about it—the cold, sterile air, the muted pastel walls, the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights overhead—made her skin crawl.

She sat stiffly in one of the plastic chairs, her knee bouncing up and down as she stared at the closed receptionist’s window. The waiting room was only half-full, but it didn’t matter. She still felt trapped.

Her fingers curled the chair’s armrest like it was the only thing keeping her from bolting.

Beth must have noticed, because she reached over and touched Jamie’s knee warmly, stilling the restless movement. “You’re okay,” she murmured.

“I don’t feel okay.”

Beth squeezed gently. “I know.”

Jamie exhaled through her nose, tilting her head against the chair and staring at the ceiling. She hated this. She hated how her body still reacted to the smell of disinfectant, how her chest tightened at the sound of distant beeping that always seemed to echo in the hospital, even without a monitor in sight. Evenafter all these years, this place—any medical facility, really—felt suffocating.