Page 38 of Balancing Act (Soulmate #1)
FOURTEEN
JAMIE
The gym was empty except for Jamie, the echo of her boxing gloves hitting the heavy bag the only sound cutting through the stillness.
She threw punch after punch, her muscles straining with each hit, sweat dripping down her face and chest. The storm inside her wouldn’t quiet, even as her fists slammed into the bag again and again.
She shifted her stance, jabbing with her right hand, then ducking into a sharp left hook.
The impact jolted through her—a welcome pain—something she could focus on, something she could hold onto.
Her fists ached with every hit, but it wasn’t enough.
The bag swung back like it was laughing at her, like it knew her fear and wasn’t letting go. She only swung harder.
Jamie stepped back, gasping for air. Wiping her forearm across her forehead, she caught her reflection in the gym’s mirrored wall.
Her face was flushed, her wild curls frizzing at the edges of the braids barely holding them in place.
She looked wrecked—emotionally, physically, mentally—but that was the point.
She wasn’t here to feel better. She was here to burn it all out.
To pound her fear and uncertainty into something that made sense.
She stepped back up to the bag, planting her feet firmly on the ground, and threw another barrage of punches.
Her muscles screamed with every blow, her lungs burning as she tried to catch her breath.
Sweat dripped into her eyes, blurring her vision, but she didn’t care.
She couldn’t stop. Not until she figured it all out.
The raw ache in her arms matched the tension twisting tighter in her chest.
How could she be so strong here, with her fists against the bag, and still feel so weak when it came to her feelings?
It made the most sense to start with the problem that loomed the largest. That was the thought of the cancer coming back—of her body betraying her again.
It clawed at the back of her mind, a persistent, gnawing fear.
She could handle the fear alone and had been handling it for years, but that fear took on a new meaning entirely when Jamie thought about Beth and the ramifications of recurrence if she ever really were to let her in.
If Jamie let her see how fragile she was, how easily her life could unravel.
She had never been good at letting people see her when she was anything less than perfect.
She had built her walls high for a reason—she wasn’t sure she was ready for anyone to see past them.
Her gloves slammed into the bag again, body twisting with the punch’s force.
Beth’s face came to her mind—the steady presence, the warm smile—and it only made Jamie punch harder.
The fear of wanting her, letting her in, letting Lily in, too, had become unbearable.
For weeks now, she had tried to push those feelings down, to keep things simple, to shove Beth into the safe category of “friend” and nothing more.
But deep down, she knew she’d been fooling herself.
She wasn’t scared because she didn’t want Beth. She was scared because she did.
The bag thudded against the chains as Jamie hit it again, harder this time. Her breath clawed its way up her throat, each inhale stinging. The gym air, heavy with sweat and the sharp scent of leather, clung to her skin, and every drop of sweat felt like it was scalding.
Amanda had been right.
If Jamie wanted to be with Beth, she needed to get out of her own damn way.
She needed to stop running. No more pushing.
No more hiding behind excuses. The truth was staring her in the face, and she had been too scared to admit it, because admitting it meant letting go of the little control she had over the situation.
Control had been her only defense for years.
When her body had failed her, control was all she had left.
It was easier to keep people at a distance and to manage her emotions like a set of neatly packed boxes, each one sealed tight.
But with Beth, the edges were fraying, the boxes tipping open, and the control she had spent years perfecting was slipping through her fingers.
Jamie’s fists slowed as the truth settled in her. She wanted Beth. She wanted the possibility of them, together. The idea made her heart pound, not with fear this time, but with something that felt like hope.
Her punches stopped altogether. She stood there, heaving, fists falling to her sides, sweat dripping down her neck.
She was in love with Beth.
Love. The word was terrifying. It tasted risky.
Jamie almost wanted to laugh at herself.
She didn’t love people—she didn’t let herself get that close to anyone.
She had never allowed herself to feel this before.
Not like this. Not the kind of love that consumed her, that made her heart feel heavier and lighter simultaneously.
It wasn’t just about Beth. It was about her—about the part of her that had been so terrified to let anyone in, to believe that she could have this, that she was worth it. But then, Beth wasn’t just anyone.
Her name felt like a weight in Jamie’s chest. Love. It felt too big, too fast—but also like she had subconsciously known it all along. It terrified her, but it also felt right. Like this was what she had been missing for so long, what she had been avoiding without even knowing it.
Jamie’s breaths were uneven, her hands shaking slightly as she lifted them to press against the heavy bag.
She leaned her forehead against it, her skin cool against the rough canvas.
“I love her,” she whispered to the empty room.
The words felt strange in her mouth, unpracticed.
Saying it out loud didn’t make it any less terrifying, but it did make it real.
Her mind raced. Could she really do this? Could she let herself have this, knowing all the risks that came with it?
What if the cancer comes back? Jamie was a risk. She had always been a risk.
What if I ruin them? The thought gnawed at her. She had spent years keeping people at arm’s length for this very reason—to protect them from her. From the baggage she carried, the risks she brought. It was safer to stay on the outside and to keep her walls high.
Five years in remission was supposed to feel like freedom, like she had won the fight.
But that wasn’t how it worked. Every day, the fear followed her.
Every ache, every cough, every sleepless night felt like a reminder that the cancer could come back.
And if she let Beth in, if she let her heart hope for something real— what then?
How could she ask someone to stay when her body might betray her again?
She tried to shake it off, to remind herself of all the reasons why loving Beth was dangerous. But no matter how often she told herself to stop, the thought kept creeping back. What if this was her chance? What if running away from love, from Beth, was another way of hiding?
But it was the idea of what her life could look like, what her life could be, that excited her.
That sent a tingling sensation through her body.
It electrified her. She closed her eyes.
She could see it. Mornings with Beth, waking up to those amazing blue eyes.
Coffee dates and talking about mundane things like who would grocery shop and who would do the laundry.
Lily’s laughter and bubbly spirit filling their home.
She could see it so clearly. But the vision wavered at the edges, darkened by the shadow of what-ifs.
She shook her head, pushing the fear back, but it never disappeared completely.
Maybe it didn’t have to. Perhaps it didn’t have to be one or the other.
Maybe her fears and hopes could live side by side.
Jamie pushed off the bag, her gloves falling to the floor with a soft thud.
She sank onto the bench, burying her face in her hands.
Her heart was pounding again, but this time, the fear didn’t win out.
It was a possibility. The pull of something bigger than herself that she couldn’t ignore any longer.
She wanted Beth. And she was in love with her.
It wasn’t one moment that made her realize it; it was a hundred little moments strung together.
It was how Beth looked at her that night at the gallery, as if Jamie was worth seeing.
It was how she listened without judgment and cared without asking for anything in return.
It was the way Beth laughed—that soft, warm sound that made Jamie want to smile every time she heard it.
It was in Beth’s patience, even when Jamie knew she was being difficult.
Hell, it was even in how Jamie felt protective over Lily—the need to remove as many obstacles for her as she could.
It was all of it. Every moment. Every look. Every quiet conversation over the last three months. It had all slowly and quietly built up until it hit Jamie like a freight train.
Maybe the cancer would come back. Perhaps she’d mess things up. But maybe—just maybe—Beth would be willing to face those fears with her, together.
She stood up slowly, her legs still shaky from the workout. But what she felt for Beth wasn’t something she could ignore anymore. It terrified her—the idea of saying it out loud, of putting it into words.
She needed to talk to Beth, and soon, before the fear could claw her back into hiding. Before she convinced herself that this was too dangerous. Because even though it terrified her, the thought of losing Beth was worse.