Page 65 of Balancing Act (Soulmate #1)

TWENTY-THREE

BETH

Beth barely glanced up when she heard the front door open and close. She recognized Jamie’s footsteps instantly—the steady thud of sneakers against hardwood, the brief pause near the entryway, the quiet exhale. But she didn’t go to greet her. Not this time.

If Jamie wanted to talk to her so badly, she would have to come to her.

Her hands worked methodically, wrapping a print in crisp tissue paper before sliding it into a shipping tube.

The studio smelled like ink and cardboard.

The rhythmic motion of packing orders usually grounded her, but tonight, irritation sat heavy in her chest. Jamie had walked out on her earlier, avoided her text, and now she was back like nothing had happened.

Beth tightened the twine around the next package a little harder than necessary.

She heard Jamie moving through the house—pausing, maybe listening for her—before the sound of her footsteps neared the studio. A moment later, Jamie appeared in the doorway, her dark eyes scanning Beth’s workspace.

She didn’t look up from where she was working as she braced herself for awkwardness, but a faint rustling caught her attention. She lifted her head and noticed the takeout bag in Jamie’s hand.

“I come bearing takeout and an apology,” Jamie said, her voice soft and rueful as she leaned against the door frame. Brown curls tumbled over her shoulders, and her body seemed relaxed, more comfortable than she had been earlier.

Beth was unable to help the way her lips twitched toward a smile at the sight of Jamie, which Jamie took as permission to enter. She set the takeout bag on the worktable before stepping closer and reaching for Beth’s hands.

Beth let her take them, enjoying the warmth of their fingers intertwined.

“I’m sorry for earlier,” Jamie said, her thumbs brushing over her knuckles.

“For shutting down and for running. I got scared, and I defaulted to what I always do. But I don’t want to keep making that choice.

” Her voice carried the certainness Beth had learned was so Jamie when she really decided she was doing something.

“I know it doesn’t serve us. I know it doesn’t serve me .

And I’m working on changing that pattern. ”

Beth blinked. She hadn’t expected Jamie to come back with that kind of honesty. She had expected to have to convince Jamie to see her point of view, to beg her to understand, but not this.

“Jamie,” she started, searching her face.

Jamie offered a small, self-conscious smile. “I’d love to tell you more about where my head’s been recently,” she said.

Beth studied her for a long beat, still feeling the remnants of her frustration, but they were fading away into a softness. Jamie was here. She was showing up. She wasn’t running from her.

She squeezed Jamie’s hands lightly, pulling away and reaching for the takeout bag. “I’d like that,” she said, “but first, food.”

Jamie breathed her relief, smile growing as she followed Beth toward the kitchen.

By the time they finished dinner, the sky had deepened into a rich navy, the last hints of daylight fading along the horizon.

The air was crisp, carrying the scent of pine and salt from the water.

Beth led Jamie down to the dock, their bare feet quiet against the weathered wood.

The day had been unseasonably warm and sunny by Pacific Northwest standards.

She settled onto the edge of the dock, legs crossed beneath her as she reached into her pocket, producing a small metal tin. Turning back to Jamie, she held it up with a sly smile.

“A little end-of-the-night relaxation,” Beth said, shaking the tin slightly.

Jamie let out a surprised laugh. “You smoke?”

“Occasionally,” she said, with a shrug, her grin widening. She plucked out one of the joints. “I figured tonight might be a good night for it.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Beth teased, lighting the joint with practiced ease, inhaling deeply before offering it to Jamie. “This,” she said, the smoke curling around them, “is how I like to unwind when my thoughts feel too complicated.”

Beth watched as Jamie’s lips wrapped around the joint and she pulled slowly, letting the smoke sit in her lungs before releasing it into the night and passing it back to Beth.

Beth leaned back on her palms, watching Jamie and wanting nothing more than to understand where her mind was at. “So, talk to me.”

Jamie didn’t speak, dark eyes looking out over the water, fingers tapping gently against her thigh.

She took another slow drag, and Beth could tell she was trying to buy herself a little more time.

For Jamie, she had nothing but her time to give.

“This feels so stupid to say out loud,” Jamie said softly, passing the joint back to her.

“Nothing you have to say is ever stupid,” Beth reminded.

A stretch of silence followed her words, before Jamie found her courage. “I got a call from my doctor today. When I was in the kitchen earlier.”

Her eyes widened with understanding. “Oh.”

Jamie nodded, gaze fixed on the water. “My annual mammogram. It’s next week.” She let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “I completely forgot about it.”

Beth frowned slightly. “That’s good, right?” She paused, watching Jamie’s jaw strain and her fingers tighten around the joint. “Isn’t it?”

“No. Because when I remembered, it hit me twice as hard. And that scared me more than the appointment itself.”

Beth stayed quiet.

Jamie swallowed hard but kept speaking. “It’s the thing I dread most every year. Like a kind of morbid New Years celebration. If I pass—lucky me, I get another year.” Her smile was weak as she let out a shaky laugh. “Sorry, the dark humor really kicks in when I try and talk about all of this.”

She reached out and placed her hand on Jamie’s thigh, rubbing gently. Encouraging her to continue.

“But this year? It slipped my mind. I’ve been so fucking happy that I completely forgot, Beth.

” Jamie shifted, turning to face her, one leg dangling off the end of the dock.

“But the second I answered that call, it was like being yanked back underwater. All the fear, all the what-ifs—it hit me all at once, because what if this is when my time is finally up?” she choked out.

Jamie hung her head, quickly wiping at her cheeks—she was crying and trying to hide it. Beth immediately leaned forward, wrapping her arms around Jamie, pulling her close.

“I can’t even imagine what that felt like for you,” she said softly into her hair.

She knew Jamie’s fears about her cancer history, but they had seemed so abstract in the ways the two of them had talked about them, not concrete or real, not in this way. But now, she could truly see the toll this mental burden was taking on Jamie.

Beth dropped her arms, taking one of Jamie’s hands in hers, her thumb rubbing small circles.

“I love this life we’re building,” Jamie continued. “I love you, I love Lily, I love us . But I’m so fucking scared that I’ll be the reason it all comes crashing down.”

Beth inhaled slowly, the buzz from the joint filling her chest as she chose her words carefully. “I understand why you’re scared, Jamie. God, you have every right to be scared. But do you see what you’re doing?”

Jamie’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Beth shifted, resting her elbows on her knees. “You’re afraid of something terrible happening someday, maybe and trying to protect yourself—understandably so. But in doing that, acting from that place of fear of what might happen in the future is damaging what we have now, in this moment.”

Jamie’s shoulders dropped and sadness filled her eyes.

Beth softened. “I know you think you’re protecting yourself. But I need you to understand that shutting me out isn’t just hurting you—it’s hurting us .”

Jamie met her eyes, and as she did, she nodded, dark curls swaying with the movement.

A long silence stretched between them, the only sound the soft lapping of water against the dock as the joint was quietly passed back and forth.

She watched as Jamie opened and closed her mouth a few times, trying to get words out that wouldn’t come to her, and she nervously rubbed her hands over her thighs.

Beth reached out, taking a hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

She didn’t have the power to take away Jamie’s fear—she knew that.

But she had the power to help her feel less alone as she navigated its complex waters.

“Would you come with me?”

Beth blinked. “Where? To your appointment?”

“Yeah. I mean, I usually go alone. I always have. But I don’t think I want to this time.”

“Of course I’ll go,” she answered quickly. Like she would ever say anything but yes.

“Thank you, not just for coming, but for”—she shrugged—“for just being you, and being someone I can talk to about this.”

Beth smiled softly. “That’s the cool thing about us being girlfriends now is you never have to do anything alone, ever again if you don’t want to.”

Jamie laughed, that smile Beth had been trying to coax out of her appearing. She brought Beth’s hand to her lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “I’m learning that.”

She knew this wasn’t an instant fix. Jamie’s fears wouldn’t disappear overnight. But this? Jamie asking for help? Letting her in?

It was a step. A big one.

She scooted closer, nestling herself up against Jamie’s frame, and Jamie instinctively wrapped her arms around her as they gazed at the dark water.

The following Thursday came quickly, and she found herself perched on a standard-issue doctor’s office sofa that was too stiff, with floral patterns that she supposed were meant to be calming.

She took in the room around her, cataloging the various shades of taupe and blush pinks.

Calming artworks with abstract swaths of color adorned the walls, creating the illusion of decor.

It was all kind of sad—an artificial environment meant to trick the brain into calmness.